Growing beyond Taiwan

On Sunday, our collaborator Temirlan invited us to visit one of the most special things for him in the city. Temirlan lives in a neighborhood at the southwestern edge of the city of Taraz that locals call “Taiwan” or  “Taivan”. Taivan received its informal name because of its location and character of settlement: at the time of its establishment in the 1950s and 1960s, it was one of the newest neighborhoods where private construction was allowed. Located to the south of the territory planned to become microrayons or microregions built out by the state to accommodate workers of the rapidly growing city, Taivan hosted people who were able to build in the interstices and edges of the planned economy. While the Soviet ideology disapproved of private property, including housing, and instead sought to provide public housing in return for productive employment in the socialist economy, in practice it condoned and overlooked private construction. Temirlan’s grandparents were forcefully relocated to the city in the 1940s by Josef Stalin’s campaign of repression and deportation of targeted ethnic groups. The family found a refuge in the neighborhood of Taivan where Temirlan’s father was born and raised. The neighborhood also hosted other ethnicities such as Germans who had earlier been similarly relocated by the Soviet regime. In the late 1980s and early 1990s, representatives of these groups began to move back to their historic motherlands and Kazakh families began moving in to their houses.

“There was nothing here but one big swamp” said Temirlan pointing to the rows of houses surrounded by fruit trees and different color metal fences as we passed them. Over time, the authorities diverted the river feeding into the swamp, and the land became inhabitable. It was difficult for us to imagine the emptiness behind the densely packed wall of houses.

As we crossed the edge of the city, Temirlan mused: “Over his lifetime, my father has seen this former swamp  grow into a lively neighborhood, and now I am witnessing the city spill out beyond its southwestern border.” Indeed, we saw vibrant construction of brown-grey cement walls and cars leaving trails of dust as they transported materials. Workers with shirts wrapped around their heads and faces moved to unload bricks. 

This outgrowth of the city was changing the landscape the way Temirlan came to know and love it. He pointed to our destination, a half-built automobile overpass ahead of us. The project was initiated in the Soviet period but then dropped after the collapse of socialism. Temirlan discovered it with friends a few years ago and made a habit of coming here and meditating, especially in the evenings. The overpass provided a beautiful vista that combined the view of the city and the steppe reaching into a mountain range.

Now that the city was booming and the roads were renovated, the authorities were rekindling the project of building an expressway around the city. “In a few years, this bridge will be fully operating; it will become the terrain of cars and out of reach of people like ourselves.” We asked Temirlan if he was sad about these changes and the thought of losing this special place. To our surprise he said that he wasn’t, he was excited about being part of this development and change. Like his father who observed the growth of Taivan, Temirlan was looking forward to witnessing the further growth of the city.