In 1994, on a typical evening in rural Kazakstan, I was watching television with my host family on their new Korean-made television.  My host father, who was anxiously awaiting for coverage of the World Cup games to begin, repeatedly used the remote control to channel surf between a Russian television station, which was broadcasting a dubbed version of the popular Mexican soap opera, "Simply Maria," and a Kazakstani station which was showing a Kazak-language movie.  He paused for a few minutes on the Kazakstani station to watch an entertaining advertisement for a Kazak company that sells foreign cars.

At the beginning of the commercial, a large group of Kazak men on horseback are galloping madly across a scenic mountain valley.  As the camera zooms in on the group, it becomes clear that they are playing kokpar, a Central Asian sport which has recently been restored as a legitimate national pastime after being banned for several decades by the Soviet government.  The sport resembles polo except that there are no sticks and the object of play is a goat carcass, not a ball.  Dressed in a "traditional" manner, the horseback riders in the commercial look as if they are trapped in a timeless, nomadic past. The commercial continues as one player charges across the valley, deftly holding the goat carcass in place across the horse's withers.  His teammates try to protect him while members of the opposing team struggle to grab the coveted object.  With great difficulty, one of the opponents manages to snatch the goat away and to turn his horse in the opposite direction.  Suddenly, a sleek and shiny black sport utility vehicle emerges in the distance.  The undulating terrain presents no problem for this powerful vehicle which quickly catches up to the riders, who now appear to be living in the "modern" world.  The driver opens his power window and smiles broadly as the rider passes him the goat.  As soon as he has a tight hold on the carcass, the driver speeds off into the horizon leaving the riders behind in a trail of dust.  After briefly stating the sponsor's name, the commercial ends.
 

Men playing kokpar.

There are multiple ways to interpret this commercial and at least two messages for Kazak viewers: the first invites them to consume foreign goods, while the second encourages them to remember their national traditions.  Although the quality and creativity of this commercial make it somewhat exceptional, the odd juxtaposition of the past and the present is hardly unusual in post-Soviet Kazakstan (or other regions of the world, for that matter).  On a daily basis, the Kazaks are bombarded with messages that encourage them to pursue both "traditional" and "modern" practices.  On the one hand, the official revival of Kazak nationalism includes the proliferation of publications describing "authentic," pre-Soviet traditions and tribal genealogies and the celebration of new holidays and events glorifying the past.  Most of the Kazaks I spoke to were proud of the fact that their families were making an effort to restore lost practices and knowledge.  On the other hand, the fall of the Soviet Union, which had long maintained a nearly impenetrable barrier to Western and global forces, has ushered in a comprehensive restructuring of the global economy.  Kazak consumers, who previously did not have direct or legal access to many "Western" commodities, are now intrigued by the deluge of "imported" consumer goods.

In anthropological terms, the Kazaks I spoke to were able to acquire "cultural capital" by consuming modern goods and by reconstructing national traditions.  Are these two processess independent or interdependent?  And, can similar occurences be found in other regions of the world?  This paper examines the connection between these two processes, at the national and local levels in post-colonial Kazakstan.

Locating the "Traditional" in the "Modern" World:

The presence of ìWesternî consumer goods in exotic, non-Western worlds may seem odd to the casual tourist, but is hardly new for cultural anthropologists who for decades have examined the intersection of the local and the global.  Over the years, anthropologists have revised the way they understand social change and explain the co-existence of "traditional" and "modern" goods, ideas and practices.  The Gary Larson cartoon, which depicts natives hiding their electronic goods as anthropologists march uphill towards their village, reminds us of the tendency in our discipline's past to create a strong distinction between "traditional" and "modern" societies.  In fact, it wasn't so long ago when we actually debated whether or not the discipline of sociocultural anthropology could even survive if the "primitives" ceased to live like "primitives."

It is hardly remarkable that these fears developed at a time when modernization theory was popular.  Modernization theory holds that the transition from a subsistence-based to an industrial-based economy brings about an overall transition from "traditional" to "modern" social forms.  The acquisition of "modern" consumer goods is viewed as an early stage in the inevitable process of social change and cultural erosion.  First, the members of a society embrace Western material goods, and then later, they start to adopt the economic behavior, cultural values and family structure of the "modern" Western world.

By the late 1960s, scholars representing different theoretical approaches were becoming equally dissatisfied with modernization theory.  To begin, the post-modern critique in anthropology challenged the fundamental concepts of modernization theory.  Post-modern anthropologists demonstrated that the dichotomy between the "traditional" and the "modern" was a social construction.  The "traditional" is only regarded as such if we grant it the status of authenticity (Spooner 1986).  Anthropological texts, moreover, helped create and perpetuate this dichotomy by consistently representing "traditional" societies as timeless and unchanging (Said 1979; Fabian 1983).

At the same time, Marxist-inspired world-system theorists (Frank 1966; Wallerstein 1974; Wolf 1982) attacked the basic premise of modernization theory.  From their perspective, it was naive to assume that internal efforts could foster the transition from a "traditional" to a "modern" society.  Instead of becoming "modern," world-system theorists argue that "traditional" societies were developing into "peripheral" nation-states, as the cancer known as capitalism spread from Europe to the rest of the world.  From this perspective, the persistence of "traditional" cultural forms in the "periphery" is overshadowed by the emergence of universal features, such as poverty and discrimination.  Regrettably, this model fails in two regards: it does not accurately portray the entire range of interaction between the "core" and the "periphery" and it does not acknowledge the persistence of cultural difference within the "periphery."

The new literatures on consumption and transnational processes offer new approaches for understanding the relevance of "traditional" or "local" cultural forms in the "modern" world.  These scholars reject the belief that globalization is creating a new homogenous "global village" (McLuhan 1964).  Instead, they argue that the increase of transnational processes, which have accompanied the restructuring of global capitalism, is actually contributing towards the reproduction of cultural difference (Appadurai 1996; Basch, Glick Schiller and Szanton Blanc 1994).  However, as some point out, the presentation of cultural difference is now taking on global forms (Miller 1995; Wilk 1995; Chatterjee 1993).  In the remainder of this paper, I will demonstrate that the ways in which Kazaks are embracing foreign ideologies, purchasing foreign goods, and re-constructing their national identity can all be understood as the local consumption of global institutions.  Although the Kazaks did not create these borrowed ideologies and objects, they do reproduce their cultural uniqueness by modifying these forms and imbueing them with their own contested meanings.

Consuming Modernity, Imagining Tradition at the National Level:

The consumption of "modern" cultural forms and the revival of "traditional" cultural forms is occurring at both the national and the local level in Kazakstan.  At the national level, the newly independent state of Kazakstan is importing global models for organizing economic and political life.  Given Kazakstan's position within the world economy, the government has little choice but to adopt these models.  With the waning of subsidies from Russia, the leaders of Kazakstan have turned to international organizations, such as the IMF and the World Bank, for loans.  Attached to these loans, there are a number of undisclosed "conditions" for restructuring economic and political institutions, including the privatization of state enterprises, the liberalization of prices, and the democratization of political institutions.

Although Kazakstan is under pressure to adopt these global models, the government does have the liberty to choose which models they want to borrow and to decide how they want to modify them (Jacoby 1998).  For example, the "democratic" constitution of Kazakstan calls for a strong president and a two-chambered Parliament.  The local modification of global ideologies can also be observed in President Nursultan Nazarbaev's discourse about his country's future development.  Heís made up his own rendition of the Asian Tiger concept used to describe the successful economic development of several Asian countries.  Instead of joining the pack of Asian tigers, Nazarbaev has declared that Kazakstan is the leader of the "Central Asian Snow Leopards."

 

Statue of Lenin and Banner for President Nazarbaev's 2030 program.

  While this concept emphasizes the uniqueness of Central Asia, the modification of global forms in Kazakstan is influenced by both Central Asian and Soviet culture.  In the photo above, the legacy of Soviet rule goes beyond the anachronistic presence of Lenin.  A billboard-style political announcement, reminiscent of the Soviet government, is used to remind citizens of Nazarbaev's development plan, which promises that Kazakstan will be on par with advanced industrial nations by the year 2030.

To join the ranks of other "modern" nation-states, it is imperative that the government of Kazakstan also create a national identity that goes beyond the limitations set by Soviet nationality policy.  Although Soviet nationality policy is partially responsible for the development of national identities in the Former Soviet Union, the famous expression "nationalist in form, socialist in content" ensured that these identities were both censored and superficial.  So, in addition to developing new democratic institutions and restructuring the economy, the government of Kazakstan is also involved with the complicated process of re-imagining a more comprehensive Kazak national identity while maintaining inter-ethnic harmony.
 
 

The flag of Kazakstan contains symbols that stress Kazak rather than a multi-ethnic Kazakstani identity.

 

This task blends global strategies for nation-building with Soviet and Central Asian elements.  Global elements include the creation of a national flag; the printing of a national currency; the production of new historical narratives; the celebration of new national holidays (such as the Central Asian New Year); the promotion of the Kazak language; and the formation of" modern" Kazak words (to replace their Russian equivalents).  All of these elements use symbols that stress Kazak, not multi-ethnic Kazakstani, identity.  Other nation-building practices may resemble global forms, but also have deep roots in Soviet history.  For example, the state introduced an extracurricular program for the schools, called the "Fatherland" (Atameken), to teach Kazak children about their national heritage.  The activities and methods used in this program bear a strong resemblance to the Soviet Pioneer program, which prepared youths for Komsomol membership.

Another feature of Kazak nation-building borrowed from the Soviet past is the creation of state sponsored birthday celebrations for deceased heroes.  Several celebrations have been organized since independence, most notably the 150th birthday celebration of the famous Kazak poet, Abai Kunanbayev.  In 1995, after several months of local celebrations, the birthday event culminated when thousands of people gathered near Abai's native village (auyl) in Semei province for a full day of festivities, including Kazak dishes, traditional games, and musical performances.  On the surface, this event was an event of national significance, yet the Kazak media went to great lengths to point out that this was actually a global event.  In addition to highlighting the presence of international guests in Semei province, the media repeatedly focused viewers' attention on the parallel celebration of Abai's birthday in Paris, France.  This apparent desire or need for international legitimacy helps explain why the newly independent state of Kazakstan chooses to replicate global models in the first place.

Consuming Modernity, Imagining Tradition at the Local Level:

At the national level, the simultaneous consumption of modernity and tradition can be observed through the twin processes of state-building and nation-building.  Similarly, at the local level, Kazaks are pursuing "modernity" through the consumption of transnational images and foreign commodities and they are imagining "tradition" through the revival of national customs.

 I conducted fieldwork in a small town, with a population of about 8,000 people, located in the southern region of Kazakstan.  The village is situated along the old Silk Road within a region that historically served as an intercultural conduit for goods and ideas.  Through the rise of transoceanic travel in the 17th century and the tightening of political borders in the 20th century, the Silk Road region became more and more isolated from the rest of the world.  Since the fall of the Soviet Union, however, the multi-directional flow of images, ideas, goods and people across the border of Kazakstan is steadily increasing.

Within the village where I worked, I was able to observe several examples of these transnational flows.  For better or worse, the Kazaks now have direct access to American and European lifestyles through films and television on Russian and Kazakstani television stations.  Although many village households do not have a working television, young people have become very familiar with popular movie stars and television programs from the United States.  They frequently asked me whether I had ever met a number of famous stars, including Sylvester Stallone, Larry Hagman (J.R. Ewing) or Leonardo Di Caprio.
 

The central bazaar, filled with small-scale entrepreneurs, is now housed inside the building which used to be a state-run department store.

In the post-Soviet period, there has also been a sharp increase in the number of global commodities.  Throughout the Soviet period, the state tightly controlled speculative trade and international travel.  Now that these restrictions have been lifted, it is fairly common for Kazakstani citizens to travel to nearby countries (including China, Pakistan, Iran, Turkey and the United Arab Emirates).  Once there, they purchase a small volume of consumer goods which they later resell in local Kazakstani markets.  So now the Kazaks have the ability to purchase the lifestyles they are watching on television.
 
 

Rollerblading has become a popular pastime for young urban Kazaks, like these children in Shymkent.

 

 

The scope of transnational commerce has mushroomed in the past few years for two additional reasons: the production and distribution of "Soviet" goods has been severely disrupted by the fall of the Soviet Union and there have been few economic alternatives for the rising number of unemployed adults.  Through the efforts of these "shopping tourists" and their domestic counterparts, urban and rural Kazaks alike can now find a wide range of foreign goods, such as clothing, electronics, medicines and packaged foods.

Besides the "shopping tourists," many Kazakstani citizens are traveling abroad for other purposes.  Among the villagers I encountered, at least a dozen had traveled outside of Kazakstan within the past few years.  Several college students, for example, received funding from the Turkish government or Islamic institutions to study at Turkish universities.  Another college student traveled to Mongolia to participate in a wrestling competition.  And, finally, the president of the private farmers' association and the leader of a local political party traveled to the United States to participate in two separate USIA-sponsored programs.

All of these transnational processes demonstrate that this relatively small town in a relatively remote area of Kazakstan is connected to the global world in many different ways.  I would like to end this paper by describing some of the ways these processes in the past seven years have changed wedding events, an important social institution.  In rural Kazakstan, new marriages are celebrated with a number of separate events, including a pair of small in-law feasts (qudalyq), a brideís ìface-opening" ceremony (betashar), and at least one sumptuous feast (uilenu toi), with anywhere from 200 to 800 guests.

Throughout the Soviet period, wedding traditions changed in reaction to new policies, influences and commodities.  In the post-Soviet period, rural wedding celebrations have continued to change in ways that reflect both global and national influences.  Wedding events have always entailed conspicuous displays of wealth and generosity.  Therefore, it is not surprising that the local elite have quickly incorporated expensive and prestigious "imported" goods, as well as new national ìtraditions,î into these events.  Shortly after VCRs and videocameras entered Kazakstani markets in the early 1990s, several local entrepreneurs purchased videocameras and started to videotape family celebrations for a fee.

A professional videographer at a Kazak feast.

Within a few years, as poorer families started to imitate the new habits of the elite, the old practice of black-and-white photography quickly disappeared.  In 1995, the use of videotaping escalated to a new level after one of the local state farm directors mounted several television screens on a pole in the central area of the feasting grounds.  He used these screens to present live video footage of the feast events to his guests.  Although this practice is not nearly as widespread as the use of videotaping, it has become routine for the village elite.
 
 

In 1995, Kazaks started to use video screens to show live coverage of feast events.

Foreign music, food and gifts have also permeated Kazak weddings.  Although these events are dominated by pop styles of Kazak music, it is not uncommon for the hired musicians to play tapes of European or American music while they are taking a break.  However, the audience clearly attaches their own meanings to these songs.  In 1994, for example, I attended a wedding feast where they played the song "Yesterday" by the Beatles.  When I told a young guest why this song was not particularly appropriate for a wedding, she replied that the lyrics of the song didn't really matter to her because she and her friends just really liked the Beatles.

Foreign foods are also becoming more common at wedding events.  This is particularly the case at smaller events, where families can actually afford the cost of having several packages of imported candies or cookies.  Despite economic hardship, there has been an expensive shift in the case of drinks.  In 1995, when I completed my dissertation fieldwork, villagers were just starting to incorporate powdered drink mixes from Turkey into their feasts, in addition to the more standard selection of Russian vodka, cognac, fermented mareís milk, and bottled water.  Some families cleverly cut expenses by using just enough powder to color the water.  At that time, there were a number of generic cola products in the local bazaar, but it was hard to find Pepsi-Cola or Coca-Cola.  By the time I returned in 1998, one-liter bottles of Coca-Cola and Fanta from Tashkent were ubiquitous at wedding feasts.  Meanwhile, the inferior cola products were nowhere to be found and the powdered drink mixes were no longer served at large feasts. During and after a feast, guests discuss and compare the quality and quantity of food served.  Since foreign cookies, candies and cola products are considered to be expensive, hosts who serve these are socially rewarded for their generosity.

Similarly, the rural elite in particular are able to gain symbolic capital by exchanging expensive ìimportedî gifts, including U.S. dollars, at wedding events.  For example, each set of in-laws is expected to present the other side with a huge array of gifts, which always includes a mix of  livestock, clothing, cloth and money.   As women prepare these gifts, they know that the presence of ìimportedî clothing has become an important criteria in the overall assessment of the giftsí value.  After inspecting the gifts her neighbor was preparing to give to her in-laws, one woman told me that it was unfortunate that her neighbor did not have the financial means to include more imported clothing.  The same can be said for dowry items.  A girlís dowry, for example, would ideally include a winter coat and several silk dresses from Turkey, a factory-made rug from Belgium or Pakistan, dishes from Iran, and furniture from Europe, in addition to a number of domestic goods.

The incorporation of these ìmodernî elements, however, is just one way that rural Kazaks use wedding events to gain prestige in their community.  Ironically, the same people who are serving and exchanging global commodities are re-constructing Kazak ìtraditionsî which were abandoned in the Soviet period.  In some ways, this process is directly related to the process of nation-building at the national level.  For example, the state has gone to great efforts to sponsor the publication of new books on the history, traditions and genealogy of the Kazaks.  Additionally, state and independent newspapers alike regularly contain articles which describe in detail the way that Kazaks traditionally performed certain rituals.   In many instances, these articles include interviews with elderly, rural Kazaks since it is generally believed that they have better knowledge of national traditions.  Some of the rural Kazaks I spoke to expressed great pride in their role as culture-bearers, while admitting that they too do not know enough about their cultural traditions.  To learn more, they are also reading the new books.  Thus, at the local level, these books and articles serve as references for the Kazaks as they collectively search for ìauthenticî traditions, refresh their memories, and forge a new post-Soviet identity.

One of the most interesting developments regarding weddings is the reinstitution and reinterpretation of the ìtraditionalî arranged marriage.  In the late 1920s, the Soviet state, in an attempt to rectify gender inequalities, banned arranged marriages as one of the many ìcrimes against custom.î   The people I encountered insist that arranged marriages became practically non-existent after the Second World War.  However, another illegal form of marriage, marriage by abduction (alyp qashu), actually became more popular in the post-war period.  In the Soviet and post-Soviet period, many but not all of these kidnappings involve the womanís prior consent (but not her parentsí consent).

A young bride receiving a pair of earrings, the symbol of an arranged marriage, from her future mother-in-law.

This is all changing in the post-Soviet period.  In both urban and rural settings throughout southern Kazakstan, the educated elite in particular are putting their new knowledge to practice as their grown children reach the age of marriage.  After reading about their national ìtraditions,î they have adopted the concept of ìarranged marriageî (quda tusu) to describe a new path to marriage which combines both ìmodernî and ìtraditionalî elements.  On the modern side, the bride and groom decide on their own to get married, although their parents may play a role by instigating some introductions.  After the youths decide that they would like to get married, their parents follow what they consider to be the ìtraditionsî for arranging a marriage.  The groomís family sends a delegation to the brideís house, where the two sets of in-laws discuss the marriage, the bridewealth and the feast arrangements.  During this event, the future mother-in-law ritually welcomes her future daughter-in-law by presenting her with a pair of gold earrings.  Although this form of marriage is relatively new, it has gained a lot of currency among the local elite who now judge marriages by abduction to be a vastly inferior path to marriage.  The dichotomy became further entrenched when the President of Kazakstan himself arranged a marriage for his daughter to the son of the President of Kyrgyzstan.

Beyond these attitudinal shifts, there has been a shift in the celebration of wedding festivities.  In addition to the customary wedding feast at the groomís house, arranged marriages also entail an equally sumptuous feast at the brideís house, which culminates when the wailing bride departs for her new home.   The case of arranged marriages clearly demonstrates that even though global models for nation-building are being used to reinvigorate Kazak national identity, the local interpretations of these models tend to reproduce cultural difference.

Conclusions:

I began this paper by asking whether the consumption of "modernity" and the imagination of ìtraditionî should both be viewed as two separate processes.   I will conclude by repeating that these two processes, which can be observed at the national and the local level in Kazakstan, should be viewed as the consumption of global forms.  However, the local adaptations of these global forms, as observed in Kazak wedding events, serve to reinforce the existence of cultural distinctions.  As a final note, I would add that the processes occurring in Kazakstan can probably be observed in many postcolonial situations throughout the world.

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