Turan Tales

Welcome to the first episode of Turan Tales in 2026! We'll look at the fascinating story of oil and gas in Kazakhstan: the history of the industry, corruption scandals, the environmental damage it likely causes and much more.Joining us is Paolo Sorbello a journalist and researcher based in Almaty, Kazakhstan. He is the English language editor at independent news outlet Vlast.kz where he also hosts Dapter, a podcast about research in Central Asia.Paolo holds a PhD from the University of Glasgow, where he researched Kazakhstan’s oil sector. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

Over the past few months, Central Asia has witnessed a series of significant developments in the art world, from the opening of the Almaty Museum of Arts, the largest modern art museum in the region, to the launch of the first-ever Bukhara Biennale.As new institutions, exhibitions, and art spaces continue to emerge across the region, a larger question arises: Can modern art flourish in Central Asia?To find out, we’re joined by Timur Karpov, a documentary photographer and cultural entrepreneur from Uzbekistan, and the founder of the 139 Documentary Centre. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

On November 30th, Kyrgyzstan went to the polls to elect a new parliament - the first since Sadyr Japarov became president in 2021 following a revolution just a few months earlier. How exactly has Kyrgyzstan changed under Japarov, who has ruled in tandem with the powerful head of the security services, Kamchybek Tashiev? And what should we know about the latest election?To find out, I spoke to Asel Doolotkeldieva, a research fellow at the University of Potsdam, a critical political scientist and political sociologist who has widely published on Kyrgyzstan’s revolutionary politics and the populist turn of October 2020. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week we're joined by Diora Rafieva, an Uzbekistani lawyer and human rights activist who has been at the frontline of the fight to save Samarkand and its architectural and social heritage from the ongoing demolitions - and bad taste. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

They came to Russia for work, not war. Yet thousands of Central Asian migrants now fight in Ukraine - drawn in by promises, pushed by pressure, and caught in a stark imbalance of power.This story is part of our new series of audio features - also available as long reads - made possible by the International Press Institute. If you enjoy it, leave us a comment or reply to this email with your feedback — we’d love to hear what you think. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

In this week's episode, we'll try to answer the question of whether Turkmenistan is on the path to reform. Joining us is Ruslan Myatiev, a Turkmen journalist, and the founder and editor of Turkmen.news - an independent media and human rights organisation based in the Netherlands that focuses on Turkmenistan. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week on TURAN TALK we trace the history of US relations with Central Asia through the experiences of Daniel Rosenblum - a former US ambassador to Kazakhstan and Uzbekistan, and a long-time expert on the region. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week, we’re looking into a fascinating and often misunderstood topic: witchcraft, clairvoyance, fortune telling, and other spiritual practices popular in Tajikistan and the rest of Central Asia.Joining us is Dr Anna Cieślewska, a social anthropologist and orientalist at the Institute of Ethnology and Cultural Anthropology at the University of Łódź in Poland. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week, we’re talking about uyat and Central Asia’s culture of shame. Joining us is Dr. Hélène Thibault, Associate Professor of Political Science at Nazarbayev University in Astana. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

Astana has risen from the steppe as a city of glass, steel, and soaring ambition - a capital built to embody a nation’s dreams. But can a dream live up to its promise?Support Turan Tales with a paid subscription at: turantales.substack.com/subscribe Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week, we’re talking to Uzbekistan’s most prominent writer, Hamid Ismailov. He is a longtime BBC and Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty journalist, and the author of numerous works of fiction and poetry in several languages. He is the recipient of the EBRD Literature Prize for his novel The Devils’ Dance – sometimes called “an Uzbek Game of Thrones.” His latest novel, We Computers, has been the finalist of the 2025 National Book Award for Translated Literature, one of the most prestigious literary prizes in the U.S. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

Our guest this week is one of the most fascinating contemporary scholars from Kazakhstan and the author of What Does It Mean to Be Kazakhstani - Diana Kudaibergen, a cultural and political sociologist and Lecturer in Central Asian Politics and Society at University College London. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

Hi all,Our guest today once shared with me a fascinating story. Back in 1981, when the Uzbek pop group Yalla was touring Uzbekistan, they passed through the town of Uchkuduk — a name worthy of a song. Yurii Entin, one of the band’s lyricists, supposedly wrote it in just 40 minutes. Little did he know that his quick scribbles would go on to make history in Uzbek and Soviet pop music.Uchkuduk, a song about a small town in Uzbekistan, became so popular that the authorities banned it from the airwaves for an entire year, fearing it would draw attention to the area’s main industry: uranium mining. According to legend, the song made the band so recognizable that when its frontman, Farrukh Zakirov, once came to the Kremlin Palace for a concert, a security guard simply said: “Oh, Uchkuduk — come right through.”If you haven’t yet, I’d love for you to become a paying subscriber — it makes a huge differenceThis episode is a special one: we’ll talk about Central Asian music in Soviet times, and about the history of the region as told through music. Joining us is Leora Eisenberg, a fifth-year PhD student at Harvard University, where she studies Soviet and Central Asian history, with a special focus on Soviet estrada, in other words, the pop music, of Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan.Leora has kindly shared with us one of her favorite playlists of Soviet Central Asian estrada. You can find it here: My fellow Poles will even find a little surprise there: one of the songs is a Kazakh remake of Szła dzieweczka do laseczka, a folk tune that needs no introduction.Hope you will enjoy this one!Have a great end of the week,— Agnieszka Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

Hi all,I’m writing and recording this week’s intro from my new home in Almaty. The weather is perfect, as it so often is in late summer. I spend my days getting to know my neighborhood, walking my dog, meeting friends old and new, and writing. I’m very grateful to be back in Central Asia after almost four years in Europe. I hope Almaty will be a good host for me — and for Turan Tales. If any of you, dear listeners, are around, make sure to drop me a line.This week’s guest and I will be discussing a topic that always draws a lot of attention: first daughters and the female face of Central Asian politics. Since the five Central Asian republics gained independence, there has been no shortage of presidential daughters. Some have been famous, audacious, and highly ambitious, like the legendary Gulnara Karimova and Dariga Nazarbayeva. Others have been more low-profile but still played important roles in their fathers’ administrations, such as the Mirziyoyev sisters or some of the many daughters of Tajikistan’s president, Emomali Rahmon. And some are only now stepping out of the shadows, like Oguljahan Atabayeva from Turkmenistan.Regardless of their public profile, all of them play a role in preserving their fathers’ rule. The questions are: Could any of them succeed their father? Could a woman ever become president in Central Asia? And what role, if any, do first daughters play in changing the position of women in their respective countries?Joining us is Galiya Ibragimova, an Uzbekistan-born freelance journalist and researcher focusing on political transformation in Central Asia and Eastern Europe. She is also a PhD candidate in political science at the University of World Economy and Diplomacy in Tashkent.I hope you enjoy this one!Have a great end of the week,— Agnieszka Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

The Caspian Sea is shrinking, its shores littered with seal carcasses. For scientist Assel Baimukanova, each one tells the story of an ecosystem on the brink. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week, we’re taking a deeper look at Central Asia’s postcolonial legacy and how Russia’s centuries-long influence has shaped ways of thinking, institutions, and everyday life in the region.Russian colonisation of Central Asia began in the early 1800s and expanded steadily throughout the 19th century. Following the Russian Revolution, most of Central Asia was incorporated into the Soviet Union. This period brought rapid industrialisation and infrastructure development – but it also suppressed local cultures in a manner typical of colonial regimes.The Russian language came to be seen as a marker of civilisation and positioned as superior to local languages, while people were expected to conform to the values of a secular, rational Soviet state.To meet the demands of the increasingly authoritarian new super-state, millions of people, representatives of ethnic groups seen as suspicious and potentially rebellious, were deported to Central Asia.GULAGs, that is - forced labour camps - were established across the Soviet periphery. Finally, man-made famines – driven by brutal collectivisation policies – claimed thousands of lives in both Central Asia and Ukraine. The ethnic and demographic makeup of the region was permanently altered.And yet, some scholars – both in Russia and the West – continue to argue that the Soviet Union was not an empire, but rather a benevolent force striving to build a just, multicultural society.Even in modern-day Central Asian states, which gained independence after the Soviet Union’s collapse in 1991, many still express nostalgia for the Soviet past, often overlooking its darker chapters. Russian remains widely spoken – and for many, it is still the only language they know.Today, we will look at all those paradoxes, explore Soviet nostalgia and imperial melancholia, focusing on a rarely heard perspective: that of Turkmenistan.Joining us is Selbi Durdiyeva, a decolonial scholar originally from Turkmenistan, and a Teaching Fellow at the College of Law, Anthropology and Politics, at SOAS, University of London. Her research interests include decoloniality, transitional justice, and socio-legal approaches. Her book titled “The Role of Civil Society in Transitional Justice: The Case of Russia” was published by Routledge in 2024. She is also my Substack colleague and runs a newsletter called “Nodes from Pluriverse.” Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

This week we are revisiting the legacy of one of the most important figures who shaped Central Asia following the collapse of the Soviet Union: Nursultan Nazarbayev, the former president of Kazakhstan.Born in 1940, Nazarbayev served as Kazakhstan’s first president from 1991 until 2019, when he stepped down and transferred power to Kassym-Jomart Tokayev, then Chairman of the Senate – and the current president.Like all Central Asian leaders, Nazarbayev left behind a mixed legacy. While he sought to be remembered as the Leader of the Nation – Elbasy – and the founding father of modern Kazakhstan, many continue to associate him with autocratic rule and widespread corruption.In 2022, following mass protests – known as Qantar, or Bloody January – in which more than 200 people likely lost their lives, Nazarbayev was stripped of his Elbasy title and his position as chairman of the Security Council, a role that was originally intended to be held for life.To discuss Nursultan Nazarbayev, his presidency, and his legacy, we are joined by Joanna Lillis, a Kazakhstan-based journalist with two decades of experience reporting from Central Asia. She is the author of Dark shadows: Inside the secret world of Kazakhstan and the upcoming Silk mirage: Through the looking glass in Uzbekistan, set to be published this autumn. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

According to the Russian Interior Ministry, there are about 10.5 million people from Uzbekistan, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan working in the country. It has long been clear that they experience derogatory treatment, humiliation, and racism on a daily basis.The situation has further deteriorated since Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. In September of that year, the Duma – Russia’s lower chamber of parliament – passed a law fast-tracking citizenship in exchange for military service. Around the same time, Moscow’s Mayor Sergey Sobyanin launched an army enlistment campaign aimed at migrants.According to a report by Hochu Zhit , a project by Ukraine’s Defence Ministry, more than three thousand Central Asians are now serving in Russia’s military.The numbers recorded in the Hochu Zhit report are the following:· 1,110 Uzbek nationals have been enlisted, of whom 109 have been killed.· 931 Tajiks enlisted, 196 killed.· 360 Kyrgyz citizens enlisted, 38 killed.· 170 Turkmen enlisted, 27 killed.· 661 Kazakhs enlisted, 78 killed.These numbers have likely changed since May, when the report was published.Our conversation today focuses on a documentary directed by my dear friend and one of the journalists whose work and courage I truly admire: Shahida Tulaganova. Her new film titled Spirit Untamed tells the story Bahrom Hamroev, a well-known human rights defender from Uzbekistan who spent years working with and supporting Central Asian migrant workers in Russia.Hamroev was arrested at the onset of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine on suspicion of being part of Hizb ut-Tahrir, a non-violent Islamist organisation banned in Russia – a charge he denies. He was sentenced to 13 years and nine months for allegedly justifying terrorism and organising the activities of a terrorist organisation.You can watch the film’s trailer here.Shahida Tulaganova is an Emmy-nominated filmmaker, born and raised in Uzbekistan and currently based in London. Shahida began her journalism career with BBC News in 1996. Since then, she has reported from Syria, Afghanistan, Eastern Ukraine, Palestine, and Somalia, among other places. Her two recent films - Children of Ukraine (2022) and Ukraine’s Stolen Children (2023) - focused on the situation of children during Russia’s war against Ukraine and were produced by ITV. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe

A boy on the screen, 12-year-old Yersultan, cries in a rare emotional outburst against his father. “What am I, just cattle you can give away?” he asks, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.His father is confused. Moments earlier, he was furious, angered by his son’s poor school performance and lack of the skills needed to survive the harsh rural life. But Yersultan’s outburst softens his tough posture, and though he reaches out to hug the boy, he meets resistance.Is it too late to apologise and be a family again?The answer never comes.This scene is part of Bauryna Salu, a Kazakh Oscar nominee and the directorial debut of Askhat Kuchinchirekov. The film has won several awards, including the Special Prize at the Cinema Heritage Festival in France, the Best Youth Feature Film Award at the Asia Pacific Screen Awards, and the Best Feature Film Prize at the Ischia Film Festival in Italy. Kuchinchirekov was also nominated for the New Directors Award at the prestigious San Sebastian International Film Festival.This scene was more than fiction – it reflected a moment Kuchinchirekov had replayed in his own mind countless times. Unlike his protagonist, Yersultan, however, he never found the courage to confront his father before he passed away.“I could not confront my father. And I could never call my biological parents ‘dad’ and ‘mom,’ or hug them. There is a feeling inside you that doesn't let you say it,” Kuchinchirekov says, sitting in a small café on the outskirts of Almaty.“It would feel like betraying my grandmother.”Like Yersultan, Kuchinchirekov was given away by his parents as a child to be raised by his grandmother, who lived in a village several hundred kilometres away. This was not an act of cruelty or neglect – it was part of an old nomadic tradition practiced in Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Karakalpakstan for hundreds of years. The custom is called bauryna salu, or sometimes nebere aluu. According to tradition, a man gives his first child to his own parents to be raised.In another version, called bala beru, a couple gifts their first child to childless relatives or even strangers, as childlessness was considered a lonely and tragic fate in traditional nomadic societies. Those without children were referred to as kubas, or “lonely heads.” The emotional realities of the children, mothers, and grandparents involved in these practices were seldom discussed – that is, until now. Kuchinchirekov’s film, which has toured festivals and cinemas across Europe this year, seeks to give voice to their experiences.In nomadic communities, where large families lived in multigenerational households, bauryna salu had practical roots. Young adults were occupied with tending cattle, farming, or building yurts, while elders, with more time, cared for the children. New mothers often struggled to balance household duties with raising children, so grandparents stepped in.In theory, another purpose for the tradition was to reduce infant mortality. Young women in nomadic societies often gave birth early and frequently, lacking the experience to care for newborns. As a result, many babies died. Entrusting a child to older, more experienced hands increased their chance of survival.Over time, the practice gained symbolic meaning, with children viewed as the source of a family’s strength and happiness. Entrusting a firstborn to one’s parents became a profound expression of love and respect.This gift also elevated the parents’ status. For a grandmother, who has spent her life in submission to her husband or in-laws, raising a grandchild was a reward and recognition. It allowed her to apply the wisdom she had gathered over her lifetime to raise a child slowly and patiently, unlike her own children, whom she raised as a young, inexperienced woman.It is also believed that children raised by elders grow wiser and more mature. Living among elders provides deeper exposure to the community’s traditions, stories, and values – knowledge their siblings may not receive.In modern times, the practice often serves a different purpose: filling the empty nests of aging parents. Grandparents want company, and a grandchild is a source of purpose and support. Some grandmothers even negotiate the adoption – either formally or informally – of the firstborn before the child is born. In some families, the grandparents take over after breastfeeding ends. In others, young mothers are not even allowed to touch the child.In many cases, the firstborn son of a son is considered as the property of the grandparents. Sometimes they demand the child, regardless of the mother’s wishes. Resisting their authority is viewed as shameful and disrespectful in deeply hierarchical societies where elders must be obeyed.Children given away in this manner – especially boys – are raised as the youngest members of their new household and are expected to remain with their grandparents for life, supporting them until their death.In other cases, young mothers, overwhelmed by early motherhood or subsequent pregnancies, give their children to the grandparents as a form of relief. Some mothers live or work abroad, and leaving the child behind is seen as a practical, even necessary, solution.This was Askhat Kuchinchirekov’s story – and likely Yersultan’s as well.The film’s protagonist lives with his elderly grandmother and leads a relatively carefree life. He supports her with household duties and clearly loves her. Despite this attachment, he cannot stop thinking about his biological parents – the people who left him shortly after birth and never sought to build a bond with him. He holds their photograph, searching for resemblance. Did he inherit his mother’s nose or his father’s eyes? Could they ever be a family?When his grandmother dies, Yersultan travels to his parents’ village, only to face rural hardship, social exclusion, and his parents’ cold indifference.The film delves deeply into the emotions of a child who feels rejected at birth – and his struggle to understand why.Born in 1982 during the final decade of the Soviet Union, Kuchinchirekov, the director of Bauryna Salu, was given to his grandmother to raise after his mother got pregnant with his younger sister. Raising two children under harsh economic conditions in southern Russia, close to the Kazakh border, was more than she could manage, even with her husband’s support.Kuchinchirekov was one year and three months old when the family brought him to northern Kazakhstan and left him at his grandparents’ humble home. He soon forgot the smell of his mother’s skin and the warmth of her body.“For a child, everything relates to smell. If you don’t have common smells with someone, you don’t have much in common,” he tells me.He grew up surrounded by his grandmother’s boundless love. She taught him everything and made him who he is today. But even her devotion could not fill the void left by a mother’s absence.“I felt the same thing many others like me feel. You grow up with this sense that you’re not really needed. And that feeling stays with you for life,” he says.“Some people cope, others become aggressive, and some suppress it. For me, it fuelled creativity, expressed through film.”Kuchinchirekov knew his parents, but he never bonded with them. They didn’t see his first steps or help him with his homework. Compared to his grandparents, who cared for him when he was sick and cheered his first words, they were strangers.“I don’t believe what they say – that a psychologist can fix it. That feeling of abandonment never goes away. You’ve never lived with these people; you don’t share any experiences. That barrier remains. They weren’t there when you scraped your knee or fell in love for the first time,” he says.Although he adored his grandmother, their relationship wasn’t the same as mother and child. She was gentle – even when she scolded him. There were no strict boundaries or rules.“I had very few restrictions and enjoyed great freedom. And that freedom profoundly shaped me,” Kuchinchirekov says.As a teenager, he began to notice how his life differed from his classmates. He wasn’t discriminated against, yet he felt different. He envied his peers who had a “normal” family – namely, a mother and father. Resentment grew within him.The first time I witnessed bauryna salu in real life, no one could name it for me. It was in 2015, during my first visit to Karakalpakstan, Uzbekistan. Through Couchsurfing, an app connecting travellers with local hosts, I met Timur, a Karakalpak man around my age, eager to host tourists for free.Timur lived in Nukus with his wife, son and beloved parents, who had an apartment just across the hall on the same floor. While my companion and I stayed with Timur and his wife, their son slept with his grandparents. Initially, I assumed this was a temporary arrangement, but Timur soon explained the family’s rules.As the youngest son, he was traditionally obligated to remain close to his parents. However, working abroad in Russia, Timur was rarely home. To bridge this gap, he entrusted his first son to his parents – a sign of love, respect, and appreciation for all they had done, meant to compensate for his absence.Timur’s son called him “brother,” reserving “mom” and “dad” for his grandparents. He spent most of his time with them – riding in the car with his grandfather, shopping at the market, and visiting relatives.Timur insisted this was a mark of respect, but I couldn’t help noticing how hard his wife restrained herself from touching her firstborn, calling him her child, or hugging him too tightly.Unlike her husband, she hadn’t grown up with this tradition. She came from Andijan in the Ferghana Valley, on the other side of Uzbekistan, about 1,380 km from Nukus – a 20-hour drive, according to Google Maps.They met by chance in the 2010s when Timur’s friend randomly called phone numbers, hoping to connect with young women open to chatting. This was a not-uncommon practice in Uzbekistan’s conservative communities, wh

This week, we’re exploring the issue of energy deficiency in the region and how best to address it. Joining us is Anatole Boute, Professor at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. I asked him whether nuclear power is the right path for Central Asia, what needs to be done to improve access to cheap and clean energy, and whether Central Asian states are ready to cooperate in this vital sector. Get full access to Turan Tales at turantales.substack.com/subscribe