Latest / The Story of Uzbekistan: Silk Road Kingdoms and Soviet Legacy — Fexingo History / The Tashkent Metro: Soviet Architecture Under Uzbekistan's Streets
Transcript
- Lucas: So we've talked a bunch about Tashkent, the earthquake of 1966, the rebuilding—but one thing we haven't touched on is what the Soviets built underground. I'm talking about the Tashkent Metro. Luna: Oh, I've seen photos—those stations are gorgeous, like marble palaces. Lucas: Exactly. And that's by design. The metro opened in 1977, about eleven years after the earthquake, and it was both a practical solution—moving people fast—and a Cold War showpiece. The Soviets wanted to demonstrate that they could rebuild a modern city from scratch, and the metro was the centerpiece. Lucas: Each station was themed around a Soviet ideal. For example, the first line included 'Druzhba'—that means Friendship—celebrating the brotherhood of Soviet peoples. 'Komsomolskaya' honored the Communist youth league. And 'Kosmonavtlar'—Cosmonauts—paid tribute to space exploration. Luna: So it's basically propaganda carved in marble. Lucas: Exactly. But it's also genuinely beautiful. The architects used Uzbek marble, granite, and intricate mosaics. At 'Pravda Vostoka'—which means Truth of the East—there are giant murals of cotton fields and happy workers. It's a window into how the Soviets wanted Central Asia to be seen. Lucas: Construction was a huge engineering challenge, partly because of the earthquake risk. They built the tunnels using a cut and cover method, and they designed the stations to withstand strong tremors. In fact, the metro has served as a bomb shelter—during the chaotic years after independence, people would shelter there during unrest. Luna: I didn't know it doubled as a shelter. How did they manage the groundwater? Tashkent is on a river, right? Lucas: Right, the Chirchiq River runs through the area. They had to constantly pump out water during construction. But they succeeded, and the metro became a source of pride. For Tashkent residents, it was a symbol of modernity. Even today, the stations are immaculately clean, and there's a strict no-photography policy in many of them—though that's relaxed a bit since independence. Lucas: After Uzbekistan gained independence in 1991, the Soviet names started to change. 'Pravda Vostoka' became 'Ozbekiston'—Uzbekistan. 'Komsomolskaya' was renamed 'Navoi' after the poet. 'Kosmonavtlar' kept its name, but the cosmonauts depicted now include Uzbek-born Salizhan Sharipov, who flew on the Space Shuttle. Luna: That's fascinating—so they repurposed the propaganda to fit a new national identity. Lucas: Exactly. The murals too—some were modified or reinterpreted. The station 'Hamza', named after a Soviet-era Uzbek poet, still has its original mosaics of workers, but now they're seen as part of Uzbek heritage rather than Soviet dogma. The metro remains a living museum of shifting ideologies. Lucas: There's also a curious detail: the stations are incredibly deep. Some go down 30 meters, or nearly 100 feet. That's partly for seismic safety, but also because they were designed as fallout shelters. The escalators are long, and descending feels like going into an underground cathedral. Luna: I've heard the chandeliers at 'Kosmonavtlar' are stunning—like something from a palace. Lucas: Yes! That station has a blue glass ceiling and crystal chandeliers that evoke the night sky. It's meant to inspire awe and connect the passenger to the cosmos. And at 'Druzhba', there's a huge mosaic of a handshake between a Russian and an Uzbek worker. The level of detail is incredible—each station was a major artistic commission. Lucas: You know, episodes like this—where we really dig into the specifics of a place—are what make this show work. And if you've gotten something out of these conversations, a couple of dollars a month is genuinely what keeps them going. Buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo helps us keep researching and producing these deep dives. Luna: Yeah, it really does make a difference. And we appreciate every bit of support. Lucas: So anyway, back to the metro. One more station I want to mention is 'Chilonzor', on the Chilonzor line—one of the busiest. It opened in 1977 with the first segment, and its design is simpler, reflecting the utilitarian need of that residential district. But even there, you have mosaics of children playing, symbols of a happy future. The contrast between the grand central stations and the more modest ones tells a story of Soviet priorities. Luna: It sounds like the metro really is a microcosm of the whole Soviet project in Uzbekistan. Lucas: Absolutely. And today, the Tashkent Metro continues to expand. New stations have been added since independence, with designs that incorporate more explicitly Uzbek motifs—like geometric patterns from Islamic architecture. The line now extends to the new city developments. It's still the pride of Tashkent, a journey through decades of history every time you ride.