Siro by David Ignatius (short books to read txt) 📕

pillar of the Uzbek-American community. He had long ago become an American citizen, reading the books about Jefferson and Lincoln that his children brought home from school. He had sent his three sons to college, and two of them to graduate school. He went to the mosque each Friday and once a month gave an envelope full of cash to the mullah to accomplish good works. He had learned, above all, the American middle-class secret of keeping to himself, staying out of harm’s way, nursing his wounds in private. And for nearly twenty years—until that very day, in fact—the strategy had worked.

Taylor rang the doorbell and Munzer immediately opened the door. He didn’t shake the visitor’s hand, didn’t offer a greeting, didn’t say a word. Instead he led Taylor silently down to the basement, closing the door behind him. The basement had the musty air of an old library. Bookshelves lined two walls; they were filled with volumes in Turkish, Uzbek Turkish, Russian, German and English. In the dim light, Taylor saw what looked almost like a shrine at the other end of the room. It was a large framed picture of an Oriental-looking gentleman with a thin mustache, dressed in a black frock coat, bearing the unmistakable Mongol eyes and high cheekbones of Central Asia. On each side of the portrait stood a lighted candle. Taylor walked closer to get a better look.

“Who’s that?” he asked.

“The leader of our movement, Mustafa Chokay. A great man. Come, sit down and I tell you about him, and many other things. What you like to drink? Tea? Coffee? Beer maybe?”

“Coffee.”

Munzer shouted a guttural word upstairs. A short while later, a heavyset woman clambered down the stairs bearing a pot of Turkish coffee and two small cups. Mrs. Ahmedov, apparently; Munzer didn’t bother to introduce her. She poured the thick coffee into the cups with a practiced hand and then disappeared upstairs again.

“To Turkestan,” said Taylor, lifting his cup. Munzer narrowed his eyes. He said nothing in response. He took his coffee, slurped some of the dark black foam into his mouth, and then pointed to the face flickering in the candlelight.

“Mustafa Chokay,” he said, “was leader of all Turkestani peoples. Uzbek peoples. Kazakh peoples. Tatar peoples. All peoples. If you understand story of Mustafa Chokay, you understand everything.”

“I would like to understand.”

“So I tell you. You listen. You want cigarette?”

“Sure,” said Taylor.

Munzer shouted upstairs again and the older woman returned with a new carton of Marlboros. A mere pack wouldn’t do in an Uzbek household; it would seem inhospitable. Munzer took out several packs and pressed them into Taylor’s hand.

“Thank you,” said Taylor, lighting up.

“So, Mustafa Chokay was a Kazakh, from a very noble family of Middle Horde. You know Kazakhs? They have Greater Horde, Middle Horde, Lesser Horde, Bukey Horde. Chokay was Orta Zhuz, Middle Horde. Okay? So in 1906, when he young boy, sixteen, Chokay read famous poem of Mir-Yakub Dulatov, ‘Wake Up, Kazakh.’ It tells truth for all Turkestanis, not just Kazakhs. You know this poem?”

“No,” answered Taylor.

“I have English translation. You read it.” Munzer pulled down a volume from one of the bookshelves and handed it to Taylor, who read the poem aloud:

“ ‘Every year our land and water grow smaller,’ ” read Taylor. “ ‘They are taken by the Russian peasants. The tombs of our glorious ancestors are now in the middle of the streets of their villages. Russian peasants destroy them, taking the stones and the wood for their houses. When I think about this, my heart is consumed by sorrow, like fire.’ ”

“That’s a very sad poem,” said Taylor when he was finished.

“Ach!” said Munzer, putting his hand on his heart. “So Chokay, he hear this poem, and like all men of Turkestan, he want freedom and independence. But still he hope maybe some good Russian men can help Turkestani become modern men, too. So he go to Russian Gymnasium in Tashkent and to Rechtfakultät, faculty of law, at St. Petersburg to be like Russian men. And later he join Russian Duma and serve as secretary for Turkestani affairs until revolution begin in February 1917.

“And that is first great tragedy of our Turkestani peoples. Because Chokay and others believe Russian men when they promise to help. Kerensky promise in 1916, during Great Uprising in Turkestan, that he will make reforms. But when Kerensky get power in February 1917, what he do for our people? Nothing. So Chokay begin to look to Moslem men and Turkish men. He start newspaper called Ulug Turkistan—Great Turkestan—and another called Birlik Tuuy—Unity.”

“Flag of Unity,” corrected Taylor.

“Allah! You speak Turkish?”

Taylor nodded.

“Then you know story of Mustafa Chokay?”

“No. Until now. I didn’t know a thing about him. Go on. Tell me more.”

“Okay. So October 1917 Revolution comes and it is second tragedy of Turkestani people. Bolsheviks make Turkestan Council of People’s Commissars in Tashkent. But all fifteen men on council are Russian! Not one Moslem man. How can this be? So one week later—famous day, November 22, 1917—Moslem men meet in Kokand in Uzbekistan for All-Turkestan Congress of Moslems. And they form government of free and independent nation of Turkestan. And Mustafa Chokay is elected president!

“But this great dream dies. This Free Turkestan last only two months. Bolsheviks send Red Army and Armenian militia to Kokand in February 1918 to destroy us. Turkestani nation have no army. Bolsheviks and Armenians slaughter all Moslem men and burn city three days. Half of Kokand die in this massacre. People wonder why we hate Armenians—what they ever do to us that we hate them so much? So now you know. But Mustafa Chokay—thanks God!—survive and escape to Tbilisi in Free Georgia. And when Red Army invade Free Republic of Georgia in 1920, Mustafa Chokay escape to Turkey to continue fight. He start new magazine in Istanbul, Yeni Turkistan—New Turkestan. And then he move to Europe and publish new magazine in 1929 called Yash Turkistan.”

“Young Turkestan,” translated Taylor.

“Yes, very good. They teach CIA man better Turkish