History. Where the road of history leads a young scholar

Currently in Tashkent on an American Councils for International Education (ACTR/ACCELS) Combined Research and Language Training Fellowship, Lale is planning to write her dissertation on the 1898 Andijan Uprising, particularly the neglected socio-economic dimensions of anti-tsarist resistance in the late 19^th century. "While a great deal of notable work has been done on this period, and this uprising in particular, I'm really interested in what drove people to take part in this ill-fated rebellion. I also want to try to take Central Asian history and study it in a regional perspective - to try and understand resistance vis-а-vis anti-colonial movements in the Middle East, North Africa, and the Caucasus," explains Lale. She is currently working in the Beruni Institute of Oriental Studies, where she is reading a manuscript written by Muhammad Ali Ishan, the leader of the rebellion, and is also working in the Central State Archive and Navoi State Library. But her visit to Uzbekistan is not just about research. In many ways it is about meeting her father's family and learning Uzbek. According to Lale, what may have led her here was a "desire to fill in the many gaps" in the stories she heard as a child. What this desire led to I found out when talking directly to Lale Can.

Based on your name I can assume that you have Turkic roots. Am I right?
Yes, you are right. My father Muhammad Jon (their last name, "Can" is the Turkish spelling of the Uzbek "jon") was born in Andijan and my mother, Saliha, is from Istanbul. We all actually have Turkic names - Saadet, Sherafet, and Ahmet. My father picked all of my siblings' names and my sisters picked mine (tulip) because I was born in April.

So, I was right. And how did it happen that your father was born in Uzbekistan and life brought him to the United States? It's a pretty long way. My father was born in Andijan, and lived in Osh until about age seven. But his father was from Andijan so he always says "Men Andijanlikman" (I'm from Andijan). My grandfather passed away when my dad was very young. His family, especially his mother, was very religious and decided to emigrate to Kashgar in the early 1930s. During the purges. While they left with a group of family members, most of the others turned back because the political situation in Kashgar wasn't very stable either. His mother, however, decided to go on - something I think was extremely courageous for a woman with two small children in that period. My father recounts that she said that it would be better to die on the way to Kashgar than to live in a communist country.

How do you think such recollections have shaped you?
It is difficult for me to say. My father left what is now Uzbekistan in an extremely volatile period, essentially escaping communism, and then later had to flee Kashgar for similar reasons. So, it is sometimes difficult for me accept the dominance of Russian culture in Central Asia. In a very personal way, it makes me very sad. However, I like to think that I can be objective in my research and I hate to think that I am one of scores of American graduate students "searching for their roots." I think that even if I had no personal or family links to Central Asia, I would be very interested in the region and this period, and I can't understand why more work hasn't been done in America on this topic. Actually, let me correct that, I can - it's because you have to learn too many languages! Between Russian, Uzbek, Persian, and Chaghatay it can be really overwhelming.

So, back to my question: how did your family end up in the United States?
After living in Kashgar and working as a merchant on the Silk Road between Lahore and Kashgar, my father left for political reasons in the late 1940s and went to Saudi Arabia where he spent about five years. Then for reasons I'm still not clear on he decided to move to Turkey and served in the army for two years. As he was getting ready to go back to Jeddah, he met my mom and settled in Turkey. And what led them to America was my oldest sister Saadet. Although she was born after the polio vaccine was already in widespread use, she wasn't vaccinated and contracted polio at nine months. On the advice of her doctors, my parents immigrated to the United States in the late 1960s.
At one point my parents decided to move back to Turkey. I was five. The timing, however, was not optimal because there had just been a military coup, and my siblings had a hard time adjusting. My brother wanted to go to college in America, my sisters had hard time adjusting to life in Turkey. And after seven months, we were back in New York. I, at all five years old, started kindergarten without being able to speak any English - I had forgotten every word I knew in seven months! I guess the short answer to your question could potentially be "fate."

Do you still have relatives in Andijan?
Yes, millions! I have a cousin in Andijan, who I am ashamed to admit I haven't yet called and scores of relatives just across the border in Osh. And some relatives in Jalalabad. I actually went to visit Osh and it was such an amazing experience to meet all of my relatives on my father's side for the first time.

Based on your experiences thus far, how much does your family have in common with the Uzbek families you've observed in Tashkent?
On a very superficial level, there are many similarities: for example, we address my father as "siz" although my mom gets the Turkish "sen." And my father is definitely the "oila reis." But in some ways, I think that I may have had a more "traditional" upbringing in New York than I might have had if I were raised in Tashkent. I think this is endemic to immigrant families who desperately try to cling to their traditions and limit the influence of a new culture on their children. My father was very strict when we were growing up - no boyfriends, no short skirts, lots of religion classes. He went on the pilgrimage to Mecca at least five times and would constantly plead with me, "what will people say if they see the haji's daughter doing x,y, or z scandalous things." But., perhaps more than families here, he has let me make my own decisions. For example, my relatives in Osh were amazed that I was a single woman traveling alone and that I was so headstrong. But I like to think that my intellectual curiosity and wanderlust are some of the best traits I've picked up from my father.

Do you interact with many Uzbeks in the States?
Yes, I've been dragged to many a "toy" in the States where we eat Uzbek food and dance to Uzbek music. But in the past I haven't really spent much time with more recent Uzbek immigrants to the States because they don't mix much with my father's generation. Friends of our family, for instance, are not at all Russified. They don't speak Russian, are generally more religious, and don't have fond memories of the Soviet period. Before coming to Tashkent an acquaintance invited me and my mom to a party in honor of Mustaqillik Bayrami, and everyone there was speaking Russian and my mom and I couldn't understand a word. It was very different from the parties, religious gatherings, and weddings we tend to go to where if people aren't speaking Uzbek, it's because they're Uzbeks from Afghanistan who speak Dari.

Do you feel yourself more American, Uzbek or Turkish?
I think I feel like I'm a mixture of Turkish and Uzbek, with some American thrown in. But maybe, more Turkish. We always spoke Turkish at home and I find that when I speak to children or animals - yes, animals - I speak to them in Turkish. I think ideally I'd like to settle in Istanbul. But, after three months in Tashkent, and after getting over my homesickness, I've come to realize that I will also be spending a lot of time in Uzbekistan in the near future. Initially I didn't really feel a connection to Uzbekistan, but the more time I spend with my relatives and friends here, the connection becomes stronger. When I made dough for the first time for lagman, I felt like it was natural. It was in my hands. And when I met my relatives in Osh, I was amazed at how much alike we are. I used to always make jokes about my fathers genes - about how strong they are - but I learned that there was much truth to my jokes because I have tons in common with his seventy and eighty year old cousins! From our noses to our strong wills, to our sense of humor and temperament.

And what was the driving force of your academic interest in Central Asia, setting aside your Uzbek roots? And what are your future plans?
Good question. One that I ponder a lot when I'm sitting in the archive, staring at the page and wondering what I'm doing in Tashkent trying to read documents in 19th century Turki. I guess I would say that what I really want to do is write a readable history of tsarist Ferghana - one that is both a serious academic work grounded in original research, and one that can appeal to a wider audience than specialists in the field. If I can accomplish half of what Roy Mottahedeh has with his work on Iran - The Mantle of the Prophet, then I will be very happy. As for my future plans, I'm currently thinking about planning a big dinner party when I go back to the States and testing out my new culinary skills.
But if you mean academically, I really want to teach. I'd also like to work with local Uzbek scholars, cooperating on innovative research projects that transcend the current area studies divide between Central Asian and Middle Eastern history. But ultimately, my goal is to write a book that is loosely based on my father's life. I'd love to write a work of historical fiction that traces the life of a figure whose trajectory spans the conquest of Turkistan and the Russian revolution and whose travels extend across a world that no longer exists today. By this I mean the fluid and shifting cultural and national identities of people who lived in a world that extended from Kashgar to Istanbul, and stretched across India, the Arabian peninsula, Iran, the Levant, and Anatolia.

Shifting cultural and national identities, perhaps like your own?
Perhaps. But, perhaps more interesting.

I also asked Lale some typical Time Out questions and here is what she answered

What do you like and dislike about Uzbekistan?
I love the fruit, pomegranates in particular. I also really like the warmness and hospitality of the people, but this also leads me to what I dislike the most: forced ritual eating ("oling, oling, iltimos, oling") and, of course, the millions of questions people ask about your personal life. In my first week I quickly learned that in order to limit probing conversations with taxi drivers I had to tell them I had two children and a husband waiting for me at home. Another thing that disturbs me is how "kelins" are treated by their mothers-in-law. Instead of helping each other, or being kind to their new daughters-in-law, it seems that many women are relentlessly harsh on these new additions to their families.

What do you think about our people?
I think that given the difficult nature of life here, as well as the many hardships Uzbeks (and Kazaks, Kirghiz, etc.) have lived through in the twentieth century alone, it is amazing that people are still so good-natured. Although it is clear that many people are dissatisfied by many facets of life here, I have yet to meet anyone bitter or cynical - a sure change from life in New York.

How is Uzbekistan different from other countries of the world?
I'm not sure that beyond certain superficial markers people in Uzbekistan are all that different. Yes, there are clearly cultural differences between Uzbekistan and 'the West', but the people I meet don't strike me as inherently different; they have the same hopes and frustrations, and they all essentially want the same things - usually, a better future and more opportunities for their children. The problem is that too many people cannot attain these goals by hard work alone. However, this too is not that different from the situation in many other countries.

What would you like to see improving in Uzbekistan in the future?
There are many things I can think of - healthcare, corruption, the social welfare system, for example - but one thing I hope doesn't change is the bazaar. I hope that the country is never invaded by millions of supermarkets and that the quotidian rituals of buying and selling remain colorful and personal.