Latest / The Story of Uzbekistan: Silk Road Kingdoms and Soviet Legacy — Fexingo History / The Jadids: Uzbekistan's Forgotten Reformers
Transcript
- Lucas: So Luna, we've talked a lot about the big forces — empires, conquests, cotton. But I want to zoom in on a group of people who tried to change Central Asia from within, using ideas, not swords: the Jadids. Luna: The Jadids — I've heard the term, but I don't really know who they were. Lucas: Right. The word comes from 'usul-i jadid', meaning 'new method' — it originally referred to a new way of teaching in Muslim schools. But it grew into a whole movement for cultural and political reform. This was in the late 1800s, early 1900s, under Tsarist Russian rule. Luna: So they were like reformers, modernisers? Lucas: Exactly. They believed that Central Asian Muslims had been left behind by the modern world — illiteracy was huge, the traditional ulama were often resistant to change. The Jadids wanted to revive Islam through education, science, and even women's rights. They were influenced by similar movements in the Ottoman Empire, India, and even Russia itself. Luna: Who was the key figure? Someone from Uzbekistan? Lucas: The most important Uzbek Jadid was probably Mahmud Khoja Behbudiy. He was born near Samarkand in 1875, travelled widely — to Istanbul, Cairo, even Moscow — and came back convinced that the only way forward was through a modern school system. In 1908, he wrote a play called 'The Patricide' — one of the first plays in the local language, about a young man who kills his father over an arranged marriage. It was a huge scandal. Luna: A play? That's bold. I imagine the conservatives were furious. Lucas: Absolutely. Behbudiy was attacked by the ulama, but he also founded a newspaper, 'Samarkand', and opened new-method schools. The idea was to teach in the vernacular, not just classical Arabic, and to include geography, math, history — subjects that would prepare kids for the modern world. And girls too — he advocated for girls' education. Luna: Did the Russian authorities support them or crack down? Lucas: It's complicated. The Russians were suspicious of any kind of political organisation, but they also saw the Jadids as a potential counterweight to the more conservative Islamic leaders. So there was a kind of tolerance, sometimes even cooperation. But when the Jadids started calling for political autonomy, that's when the trouble began. Luna: So they went from education to politics — I guess that was inevitable. Lucas: Yes. By 1917, with the Tsar overthrown, the Jadids saw their chance. They were instrumental in setting up the Kokand Autonomy — a short-lived, moderate Islamic republic in the Ferghana Valley. But the Bolsheviks crushed it within months. And after that, the Jadids were caught between two fires: the conservative Basmachi fighters and the Red Army. Luna: What happened to Behbudiy? Lucas: He was arrested by the Bolsheviks in 1919 and executed outside Samarkand — shot without trial. Many other Jadids were killed or forced into exile. Abdurrauf Fitrat, another leading Jadid from Bukhara, initially worked with the Bolsheviks as a cultural figure, but he was purged in the 1930s. The movement was essentially wiped out. Luna: It's tragic — these were the people trying to build a modern, educated society. Lucas: Exactly. And for decades, their legacy was buried. The Soviet narrative painted them as bourgeois nationalists, not reformers. But since Uzbekistan's independence, there's been a revival of interest. Behbudiy's work is studied again, his plays are performed. There's even a monument to him in Samarkand. Luna: So their ideas didn't completely die. Lucas: No, they didn't. And that's what's fascinating — the Jadids were trying to answer a question that's still relevant today: How do you preserve your culture and religion while embracing modernity? They didn't have all the answers, but they started the conversation. Luna: I had no idea there was such an intellectual movement in Central Asia. It's a side of the story I never hear. Lucas: That's exactly why I wanted to cover it. And speaking of covering stories — you know, it's because listeners like you support the show that we can dive into these lesser-known topics. A small group of listeners chip in monthly through buy me a coffee dot com slash fexingo, and that's what funds making episodes like this one. Luna: Yeah, it's a great way to keep the show ad-free and independent. It really makes a difference. Lucas: Absolutely. And just today, the Jadids themselves were all about self-reliance and community funding for schools — so it feels right. Anyway, back to the Jadids: one of their lasting contributions was the Chaghatay gurungi, a literary society that promoted the local Turkic language for modern writing. Luna: So they were also linguists, not just educators. Lucas: Yes. They believed that using the vernacular — Chaghatay Turkic, which later evolved into modern Uzbek — was essential for reaching the masses. Fitrat wrote poems and essays in it. The Jadids essentially helped forge a modern Uzbek identity, separate from pan-Islamic or pan-Turkic identities. Luna: That's huge. I never realised the language itself was a political choice. Lucas: Exactly. And it came at a cost. Under Stalin, even the language was reformed — the script was changed from Arabic to Latin to Cyrillic, cutting ties with the past. But the Jadids' spirit of reform, their belief in education as the path to dignity — that's something that survived. Luna: It's a powerful legacy. I'll definitely look up Behbudiy's play. Lucas: It's a good starting point. And it reminds us that history isn't just about emperors and battles — sometimes it's about a schoolteacher with a printing press and a vision.