Tajikistan has one of the highest emigration rates globally, with most Tajiks migrating to Russia for work. One million Tajiks are estimated to reside in Russia at any given time, sending crucial remittances back home. However, migration is not just about money. Novastan interviewed Dr Elena Borisova who, in her book, argues that social expectations related to what it means to be a ‘good’ person play a crucial role in motivating Tajiks to move to Russia.

Tajikistan’s economy is highly dependent on remittances. Approximately one million Tajiks reside in Russia, mostly for work. When in Russia, Tajiks face xenophobia, an increasingly restrictive migration regime and even the risk of being drafted into the Russian army to fight in Ukraine. What then motivates Tajiks to continue to move to Russia, despite the growing risks involved?

Read more on Novastan: Moscow attacks highlight Tajikistan’s radicalisation problem

To discuss the paradoxes of migration from Tajikistan to Russia, Novastan spoke to Dr Elena Borisova, a social anthropologist based at the University of Sussex. Originally from Russia, Elena has studied migration since 2012. While doing her first research inside Russia, she there met an ethnically Uzbek woman who invited Elena to join her on a trip to her native village in the north of Tajikistan. Later, in 2017-2019, Borisova spent fourteen months conducting ethnographic fieldwork as part of her PhD research there. Based on this research, she published her book ‘Paradoxes of Migration in Tajikistan: Locating the good life’, which is freely available at the website of UCL Press.

Common misconceptions about migration from Tajikistan

Elena Borisova highlights two common misconceptions about migration in Russia, which also apply to migration in general. First, migration is often seen as a ‘new’ phenomenon, without a history. As her colleagues Malika Bahovadinova and Isaac Scarborough showed, in the late Soviet period, there were programs to resettle Central Asians to Russia. These were often unsuccessful, as Central Asians did not want to move. Russian ethnographers and sociologists explained this failure as the result of inherent traditionalism in Central Asia. However, when the Central Asian republics experienced deep economic crises after the fall of the Soviet Union, many Central Asians did migrate to Russia, which caught many Russian researchers by surprise.

Second, migration is often explained with the help of economic theories, in which migrants are exclusively seen as rational actors trying to maximise their economic benefits. This is coupled with ‘push-pull’ logic: Central Asia has a ‘labour excess’, which leads to a ‘flow’ of migrants that is ‘absorbed’ by Russia’s economy. This obscures the motivations and experiences of the individual migrants, and the obstacles they face. Why do Tajiks feel they need to migrate? Motivations vary.

Migration as a way to live the ‘good’ life

Elena Borisova’s work shows that migration is intimately linked with people’s pursuit of living a ‘good’ life. This is not just about getting ahead economically, but also about being recognised as a good person by your community. To achieve this status, one must engage in major life projects, such as getting married, building a house, getting children and caring for the elderly, in a good and timely manner. After the Soviet Union collapsed it became practically impossible to achieve these things while working in Tajikistan. So, migration emerged as an alternative way to fulfil social expectations.

The village where Elena Borisova lived and conducted her ethnographic fieldwork, in Sughd province in the north of Tajikistan, was transformed by the Soviet modernisation project in the 1950s. A factory was built, which provided work and infrastructure. Schools, kindergartens, libraries and even a House of Culture were built, which gradually transformed people’s lifestyles. Goods produced at the local factory were shipped all the way to Moscow, and the local youth travelled throughout the USSR for education and military service. Graduates from around the Soviet Union also moved to Tajikistan to work, and people with different ethnicities mingled at work in the factory and during social activities. Russian became the lingua franca as it was seen as an integral part of this modernity.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the ‘modernity’ that had emerged came under pressure. The movements of goods and people throughout the Soviet space came to a standstill, and infrastructure gradually degraded. These changes were experienced as isolating the village. Interethnic social relations declined when the factory and social facilities shut down. Migration to Russia slowly started in the 1990s but really took off in the early 2000s, after the border with Uzbekistan had closed. Going to Russia was an attempt of retaining modernity, which was already linked to mobility since the very emergence of the new industrialised place on the map. It was not just about closing a financial gap, but also about perceiving the ideal of being a modern, cultured person.

Retaining modernity

A tragic paradox arises in that when Tajiks come to Russia, these modes of self-fashioning are not relevant in Russian society. The Russian migration regime sees Central Asians as unskilled, disposable labour migrants. The Tajiks are there to create modernity for the Russian middle classes but are never recognised by the Russians as being modern themselves.

While the conceptions of the ‘good’ life in different parts of Tajikistan might vary, they are always bound up with social expectations that can be contradictory. In her book, Borisova highlights the example of a man who is a single child and does not have a son himself. This requires him to simultaneously care for his immediate family and his elderly parents, for which he needs to be physically present in his village. However, he is also expected to provide for them financially, to build a house and to organise important festivities. This forces him to move to Russia to work and make money. These contradictory social expectations make him move back and forth between Russia and Tajikistan constantly, which puts a lot of pressure on him.

Weddings are particularly important social events that mark the creation of a new family, and a person’s gender and place in the extended family. To be perceived as a good person you need to have your wedding in a timely manner, before you are considered too old. Weddings then create social obligations between people and are important in establishing social networks. If you invite someone to your wedding, they ‘owe’ you and you can turn to them for future help.

The scope of festivities has differed over time, and some research suggests that they were the largest in late Soviet times. Festivities shrank during the post-Soviet economic downturn and the civil war in the 1990s but have increased in size again due to migration. Working in Russia has given people access to more financial means, and this has exacerbated competition when it comes to feasts. People feel pressured to organise larger and larger family events and are often forced to go to Russia to make enough money to pay for them.

Another paradox relates to citizenship. Russia has tightened its migration regime since 2012, and in 2016 introduced a blacklist of Tajiks who are not allowed to enter Russia. To avoid being blacklisted, many Tajiks have tried to obtain Russian citizenship. However, this should not be seen as them ‘belonging’ to Russia, but rather as an attempt to facilitate meeting social obligations and expectations at home. This, rather than ‘legality’, is their main concern. People are concerned with entry bans and illegal status only as far as it troubles the temporalities of their social being.

The impact of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine

Dr Borisova’s current research together with Dr Malika Bahovadinova examines how Russia weaponizes the institute of citizenship to attract manpower for its war in Ukraine. The regime grants citizenship as a reward for doing military service and threatens with police violence or revoking citizenship when naturalised citizens fail to meet military expectations. The Tajiks are using their decades worth of knowledge about Russia’s bureaucracy and changing migration laws to navigate these new existential risks.

Read more on Novastan: How Russia is recruiting Central Asian soldiers for its war in Ukraine

In Russian media, this has resulted in a new popular construct – that of a ‘migrant with a Russian passport’. This concept shows how the distinction between a migrant and a citizen is obfuscated. Developments like these change the perception that Tajiks have of Russia, and of migrating there. That is why many Tajiks are looking to move elsewhere. Yet, this is often easier said than done. Tajiks have established themselves in Russia for decades. They often own property there, and their children often only speak Russian.

Central Asian governments are also exploring new destinations for their citizens to work. For example, Uzbekistan signed agreements with different countries, including with Germany, which has recruited Uzbek care workers. Uzbekistan also seeks to strengthen cooperation with Saudi Arabia, South Korea, Turkey, and the UK as potential recipients of migrant workers.

Time will tell whether the diversification of Central Asian migrant workers’ destinations will continue.

The interview has been edited for length and clarity.

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The post The paradoxes of migration from Tajikistan to Russia: an interview with Dr Elena Borisova appeared first on Novastan English.

Kyrgyzstan’s capital Bishkek is home to a small but vibrant metal scene. In the still largely traditional Kyrgyz society, local metal artists often struggle to find an audience, produce their music and get media attention. However, some leading figures in Bishkek’s metal scene are actively trying to promote the genre, both at home and abroad. One of these people is Alexander Degtyariov (32). He has been active in a large number of projects, produced a several albums with different bands and performs regularly in Bishkek and other places in Central Asia. His birthday festival in November 2023 attracted a large crowd of over 100 people who gathered at Bishkek’s favourite hangout place for metalheads: Bar56. Novastan spoke to metal pioneer Alexander about his life and career and the role of metal music in Kyrgyz and Central Asian societies.

“I first got into music when I was 14. I grew up in Tokmok, and back in the day that was a tough place. There were a lot of social issues, often connected to drugs. When I was in school, I started playing in a punk band. Later, a friend introduced me to a song from ‘Blur’. This resonated with me. I went online on a Kyrgyz forum to explore more music and found out that a lot of people were into one or the other of some mainstream bands, such as Metallica, ACDC, Black Sabbath and Slayer. I really liked those bands as well, but still felt like there was something missing, so I explored further.

Slowly I discovered other types of music, such as metalcore, grindcore, hardcore and melodic death metal. When I played this music for my friends, they would often shy away and say that it was too much for them. But I loved it. The louder it was and the more it provoked people, the more I liked it. I liked the anger.

When I was 16, a friend asked me to play in another band, but I found myself too old for this, as I thought that making music was something only the younger kids did. In the end he persuaded me to play after school for once. After this I kept coming back and started performing regularly.

From one band to another

In the past, there were very few metal bands in Kyrgyzstan. And those that performed only played covers. Soon after my first gigs, I started a band called Almagest. With Almagest I got to do my first big concert. It was an open-air concert for some 500 people. I loved the emotions and the energy of the crowd, how the crowd would turn into a single organism during the concert. With Almagest we also played in some local rock bars. Sadly we didn’t produce more than one single before the band split up.

Read more on Novastan: Darkestrah, a Black Metal Band from Kyrgyzstan

Around 2014, I really got into New York hardcore, but there was no-one who was playing it. I found out that supply creates demand: if you start playing something, people will come and listen to it. Some will not like it, but others will and they stick with you. That’s why I started playing more of the genre myself and founded a second band: Art of Gore. With Art of Gore we did a tour in Kazakhstan, but unfortunately our drummer got into some legal problems and we had to stop the project.

In 2016 I started yet another new project, Shahid, and another band called Devouring Genocide followed soon after. In-between I had a lot of other bands. I played every day. There is even a meme that has been going around about me starting new bands all the time.

Clash of cultures

In general it has been tough making metal music in Kyrgyzstan. Often they think you’re a Satanist. There are two ways to be into metal in Kyrgyzstan: you have to be strong or you have to hide. It is a traditional country and sometimes people react badly. Also economically, it has been tough. Back in the days we didn’t have money for equipment. When I got my first guitar, I ate noodles for half a year to pay for it. We got our drums from the old Dom Kultura, the Soviet-era hangout place for the youth. A friend of mine managed to get his hands on a studio monitor, and then we started recording. We never had a proper studio and I think there still are no professional metal studios in Kyrgyzstan.

We play in our garages, basements or wherever we can. If you have a socket, some lamps, walls and a roof, you can play. Still, the economy keeps us small. When people have little money to spend, going to concerts is not their priority. Luckily there are several good venues where underground metal bands rehearse, and there have always been people who tried to make studios, clubs and concerts for the underground. We rely on these fanatics who support the local scene.

The way is up

Nowadays the situation is slowly improving. People are starting to get more money. Before we only had old Soviet and cheap Chinese instruments, but now we’re getting our hands on better stuff. The interest among the public is also growing. Metal is spreading because of the internet. The music doesn’t depend on nationality anymore, but it has become globalised. Kids just find out through TikTok. There is a new generation of musicians coming up, now that the guys who were listening to us as teenagers have started to understand the music and interpret it in their own ways. Technology also has made it cheaper for us to make music, as some of the production has become digital.

In Kyrgyzstan the scene is less noticeable than in Kazakhstan, especially Almaty. We often play there. The population is larger and the economy is more developed as well. When we struggled to find money to buy our equipment, the guys in Kazakhstan usually managed to get something better. The scene in Uzbekistan is also growing, since the country has been opening up under the current president. Previously everything there was underground, but soon they’ll be having their first big concert by a band from outside the region, The 69 Eyes from Finland.

Read more on Novastan: Kuturgan Fest – How Bishkek Becomes the Metal Capital of Central Asia

In our small scene, everyone knows each other and tries to help each other. Back when we started we had no-one to help us. Right now there are three of us who are more or less running the metal scene in Bishkek. Arseny Zherdev plays in KASHGAR, an ethnic black metal band. He does the large concerts and manages to get big bands from outside the region. A very important moment for everyone was when Sepultura, a Brazilian heavy metal band, came to Bishkek. We couldn’t believe that happened. Mikhail Efimenko focuses on the local established bands from Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. He plays in MY OWN SHIVA, a metalcore band.

I only work with the underground people. For me it’s the emotion that matters.  If a shaman starts banging a drum and wants to make metal, I will help him. My life philosophy is around supporting creativity. Whether you play a temir komuz, grindcore, punk, death metal or whatever – that’s all great by me. Just play. If I have the possibility to help, I will help.

Music connecting the world

Through my music I connect with people from outside the country, from all over the world. The first album of my band Shahid, Откровение (Revelations), was about social problems in Kyrgyzstan: crime, revolutions, street violence, hatred, family issues, poverty, drugs, and mental health problems. It was post-Soviet melancholy, post-Union noir. It was about doom. We don’t have a lot of opportunities in Kyrgyzstan. There has been a lot of instability.

In the album I needed to speak out. I didn’t expect anyone to understand this, but it turned out that people in the entire post-Soviet region think and feel the same way. People wrote me from Ukraine, from Belarus, from Kazakhstan, Russia and Poland. I even got a message from two guys from Canada. Even though my lyrics are only in Russian, they told me that they knew what I meant and how I felt. Then I understood that with globalisation, problems are the same all over the world. And when you sing about it, people everywhere will understand you.

For us, music is more than just a hobby. It is a way of life. We’re all getting a bit older now and we have work problems, family problems, social problems and other problems. We don’t make money when we play. On the contrary: we often pay to travel and perform. But this doesn’t matter to us. We’ll keep trying to help the locals who want to play, lend them guitars, drums, microphones – anything they need. We have no material interest in this, we’re just doing this out of our passion and ideals. And I keep performing as well. Soon, I will even play with Death before Dishonour (a hardcore band from Boston, USA) in Almaty. If you would have told me this five years ago, I would not have believed you.”

Photos are courtesy of the ROCK DA BONE festival in Bishkek

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The post Inside Bishkek’s Metal Boom: Portrait of a Music Pioneer in Kyrgyzstan appeared first on Novastan English.