• KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
  • KZT/USD = 0.00219
  • TJS/USD = 0.10820
  • UZS/USD = 0.00009
  • TMT/USD = 0.29760
09 September 2026

Viewing results 1 - 6 of 2

From Lenin to Kenesary: What Kazakhstan’s Renamed Streets Say About Power

In July 2026, a new constitutional law on Kazakhstan’s administrative-territorial structure came into force. It retained a layered process for changing place names: local authorities must consider residents’ views, while onomastic commissions review proposals before final decisions are made. The previous legal framework dated to 1993. Replacing it with a constitutional law did not dismantle the machinery of onomastic policy but consolidated the roles of public consultation, local government and official commissions. The law formalized a system built over three decades, during which thousands of streets were renamed but the country’s urban map changed at markedly different speeds. Kazakhstan’s experience is often described as a simple substitution of Lenin with Abai and communist terminology with the symbols of independence. The geography of renaming suggests something more precise: a centralized nation-building project whose reach depends on local demography and the political cost of opposition. Research documenting 6,832 cases across 37 cities between 1991 and 2019 shows the disparity. Five cities accounted for 72% of all recorded renamings: Shymkent had 1,767, Almaty 1,064, Astana 860, Aktobe 783, and Kyzylorda 470. Pavlodar recorded 34, Petropavl 28, Oskemen 23, and Rudny only two. Raw totals partly reflect city size and urban expansion, but the study’s statistical analysis identified both city status and ethnic composition as significant factors. Renaming occurred less frequently where the share of Slavic residents was higher, a pattern the author interpreted as evidence of greater state caution in ethnically mixed cities. The procedure helps explain why a national symbolic agenda produced such local variation. Proposals move through public consultation, local representative and executive bodies, and onomastic commissions. These stages do not guarantee that public preferences will determine the outcome, but they create points at which opposition can slow or redirect a proposal. Astana, extensively rebuilt after becoming the capital in 1997, could remake its urban identity quickly. Established industrial cities in the north and east moved more carefully. The contrast between what disappeared and what survived is equally revealing. Explicitly ideological names associated with Lenin, Marx, Engels, and the October Revolution became far less common, while Almaty retained streets named after Soviet scientists, writers, and figures connected to Kazakhstan’s development. The authorities did not treat every Soviet reference alike. They separated communist ideology from cultural and intellectual contribution, producing selective de-Sovietization rather than wholesale symbolic purification. Municipal practice further complicates a purely nationalist reading. Official data from Kyzylorda for 2025 lists 874 city streets: 497 named after individuals, 270 after localities and water features, and 107 carrying conventional names. This snapshot does not identify which streets were renamed, but it shows that the present naming system encompasses historical figures, local geography, and ordinary municipal conventions. In the expanding Arai-Shugyla neighborhood, seven previously unnamed streets received names drawn from localities and water features. Onomastic policy was therefore organizing new urban space as well as redistributing historical visibility. Naming new streets and replacing old ones use the same administrative machinery, although their political consequences are not always comparable. The politics became clearer when...

Jadids in Germany: Uzbekistan Looks to Past to Inspire Young People

At the Tashkent City Mall, a new Greek restaurant promises what it calls an “unforgettable adventure” for foodies. Superhero fans can check out the Deadpool & Wolverine movie at the mall’s cinema. But it’s not all fine dining and pop culture – a multimedia exhibition there traces the saga of students from Central Asia who studied in Germany and fell victim to Stalinist purges in the 1930s. Why was the exhibition, featuring visual and sound installations, installed in a glitzy shopping complex where lots of people, especially young people, relax and mingle? A clue lies in the Uzbek government’s enthusiasm for highlighting the history of the “Jadids,” members of a progressive movement of pious Muslims who pursued secular education, openness to the outside world and early ideas about independence, even as they faced restrictions and oppression under Russian colonial and then Soviet rule. A century later, the Jadids are a model for Uzbekistan, which seeks new international partners as it searches for ways to train and harness its growing population of young people. The three-month exhibition, titled “Jadids. Letters to Turkestan,” was supported by the state Uzbekistan Art and Culture Development Foundation. It opened on July 18 and coincides with upcoming days of national commemoration on Aug. 31 and Sept. 1. One prominent visitor was Saida Mirziyoyeva, daughter of Uzbek President Shavkat Mirziyoyev and one of his senior aides. Mirziyoyeva said on the X platform that she was impressed by the exhibition’s account of about 70 Jadid (“new” in Arabic) students, “who made significant contributions to our people's science and culture during their short lives.” The students came from Turkestan, an old name for Central Asia. They included Uzbeks as well as Kazakhs, Kyrgyz, Turkmen and Tatars. In 1922, as the Soviet Union was taking shape, they traveled to Germany and studied agriculture, textiles, chemistry, electrical engineering, mining, philosophy, teaching and medicine. “At the root of all this was the dream and goal of achieving national development and national independence,” scholar Naim Karimov wrote. The Stalinist regime saw the students’ education abroad and exposure to different ideologies as a threat to Soviet control. Most of the students who returned to Uzbekistan were falsely accused of espionage and executed or exiled. There was a particularly brutal period of repression in October 1938. The exhibition focuses on the letters, many hopeful and idealistic, that the students wrote while they were in Germany. One haunting section is dedicated to the persecution that they suffered when they returned home. There is a display of the names of Jadids who were shot in 1937-1938 – some had gone to Germany and others helped them travel there. An audio segment plays excerpts from the interrogation of a sponsor of the Jadids, who is accused of treason and says: “I want to live, don’t kill me!” One installation depicts a pile of books that were seized by Soviet authorities and set on fire. A father's appeal can be heard: "Don't burn my daughter's books! Her only fault is...