WHY UZBEKISTAN IS LOSING ITS PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD

Nostalgia can become a source of strength, but it is time to stop pushing away those who have long acted as our unofficial ambassadors.

I am standing in the reception hall of the Uzbek embassy in a European capital. An inspiring speech is being delivered in Uzbek. There are nearly one hundred people in the room. At best, half of them understand it. Next to me is an architect who was born in Tashkent. Successful, well-known, with an extensive network of professional contacts. He leans toward me and whispers quietly: “I feel like a student who came to class unprepared.”

An hour later, a certificate “For Strengthening Friendship Between Nations” is awarded to a local professor who once visited Samarkand – as a tourist. My neighbour, who has spent decades promoting Uzbekistan in the media, business, and cultural life of this country, simply shrugs.
My name is Marat Akhmedjanov. I am not ethnically Uzbek. But Uzbekistan is my homeland. I have travelled to more than seventy countries giving lectures and presentations about the country and have participated in embassy events in seven different states. And almost everywhere I see the same pattern: a vast community of people for whom Uzbekistan is not just a point on the map but a part of their identity remains largely invisible to official structures. This is not an isolated case. It is a system.

THE NUMBERS WE PREFER NOT TO SEE

Millions of people who were born in Uzbekistan – or are tied to it through family and culture – now live abroad. A significant number of them are not ethnic Uzbeks. They are Russian-speaking Tashkent residents, Bukharan Jews, Koreans, Tatars, Tajiks, Armenians – people shaped by this land and its culture.

Even conservative estimates suggest several million individuals. If we include their families and children, the number grows into tens of millions. In effect, this is an entire country without borders. A community with capital, networks, knowledge, and reputation. A community that still calls Uzbekistan home.

And what do we do with this? At best, we allow them to feel nostalgic. At worst, we signal that they are not entirely our own. This problem is not unique to Uzbekistan – but for Uzbekistan it is especially consequential.

To be fair, similar dynamics exist across much of the post-Soviet space. The Soviet system conditioned societies to think in terms of bloodlines, language, and the nationality line in a passport. Russia, Ukraine, the countries of the Caucasus, and much of Central Asia still operate – consciously or not – within the framework of “correct” identity.

Yet for Uzbekistan the issue is both more acute and more promising than elsewhere, because historically Uzbekistan was a crossroads of civilizations. For centuries Turks and Persians, Jews and Russians, Koreans and Tatars, Armenians and many others lived and created here side by side. Today millions of people who grew up in Tashkent, Samarkand, or Bukhara live across the world in an era when a single individual can serve as a bridge between markets, cultures, and nations. At the same time, Uzbekistan itself stands at a moment of reset – when it is still possible to shape a different model of national belonging.

Many post-Soviet states have already missed this moment. Their diasporas have either drifted away entirely or integrated into the national narratives of other countries. Uzbekistan still stands at a crossroads. It can narrow the definition of “we” to an ethnic and linguistic framework. Or it can take a step that only confident nations take in the twenty-first century: recognising that a nation is not defined solely by blood and language, but also by memory, choice, and participation.

WHAT IS GOING WRONG

I am speaking not from theory but from experience. Language often becomes the first barrier. Presentations in Berlin, Paris, or New York are delivered exclusively in Uzbek – or in rigid, formal English. For whom? For the local audience? They do not understand. For the diaspora? Many of them primarily speak the language of the country where they live.
In the end, the key message reaches almost no one. Equally problematic is the closed circle of participants. Events rarely include the everyday but successful members of the diaspora – artists, entrepreneurs, filmmakers, bloggers. Instead, the same faces appear again and again: official guests, ethnic activists, formal partners. The atmosphere can feel almost caste-like. Meanwhile, the people who spend years organising exhibitions, writing articles, introducing investors to Uzbekistan – often without any compensation – remain invisible. Awards frequently go to visiting foreigners or to those who fit comfortable ethnic categories. In the process, the most dedicated advocates are overlooked.

Context is also lost. In Istanbul one might speak about Turkic roots. In Tel Aviv about the heritage of Bukharan Jews. In Seoul about the Korean diaspora. Yet too often the message becomes generic and impersonal. And it is precisely the local connection that makes a country feel alive and relevant.

WHAT COULD CHANGE?
THE SOLUTIONS ARE NOT COMPLICATED

Bilingual communication should become the norm. Every event abroad should be conducted in at least two languages: Uzbek and either the host country’s language or English. All materials should be prepared in multiple versions from the outset. This is not a concession—it is respect and effectiveness.
Participation should replace protocol. Culture is not transmitted through formal speeches alone but through experience: plov prepared by a diaspora chef, embroidery workshops for designers, dance for younger audiences. Culture enters through emotion, not through official statements.
Diplomacy of connection. Each country offers its own points of connection with Uzbekistan – historical, cultural, or human. These should be actively sought out.
Recognition of one’s own people. Diaspora activists of all backgrounds should receive systematic recognition. Advisory councils at embassies should include real community leaders rather than purely ceremonial figures.
An economic bridge. Dedicated programmes could connect the diaspora with the country’s development – investment tours, project support, legal assistance, and clear mechanisms for participation.
Uzbekistan stands at the threshold of a new stage. In the twenty-first century, strong nations are not defined by the size of their territory but by their ability to expand the circle of “we.” That strength already exists, it is embodied by millions of people across the world for whom Uzbekistan is not simply a memory but a living part of their identity. They do not need to prove their loyalty. They only need to hear something simple: you are ours, you matter, you are needed.

It is time to stop being guests in our own home – and to speak to our extended global family in a language everyone can understand.

by Marat Akhmedjanov