Did you know that the Kazakh steppes in spring seem like a living, breathing canvas? Green strands of feather grass, pink heather, and yellow dandelions interweave to create intricate relief patterns that gently sway in duo with the fresh wind.

Just as tightly interlaced are the cultures of different peoples of Central Kazakhstan, whose generations have lived here hand in hand over the past centuries. Entire ethnic groups, who arrived here involuntarily from various corners of the USSR, put down roots here, like the mighty karagach trees1 near the famous atmospheric Summer Theater in the heart of Karaganda2, which was built without a single nail by Japanese prisoners.

"Nerbert!" - "Here!"
"Krupko!" - "Here!"
"Gainullin!" - "Here!"
"Ehm!" - "Here!" "Rakhimov!" - "Here!"

This is how the morning roll call used to start in my class. The school list abounds with different surnames—German, Korean, Russian, Ukrainian, Kazakh, Tatar, and so on. While the teacher unhurriedly chooses a victim to read Sergei Yesenin's3 "White Birch" poem at the blackboard, Tatar boy Gainullin teases Kazakh girl Assel, pulling her tight braids. Russian Vitkovsky, sighing, reluctantly approaches the board, and along the way threatens with his fist the gap-toothed German Andrey Freier, while Korean girl Lilya Kim gazes thoughtfully out the window, where plump pigeons have started a playful scuffle over a hefty crust of bread in the schoolyard.

We all share the same interests and hobbies, and we have no idea why and how our ancestors ended up on this land. Surely some, like my grandfather, fell victim to Stalin's political repressions; others came to develop virgin lands, and some arrived from poor remote villages seeking a better life in this industrial region.

Time erases traces of the past, but memory preserves the history of these places. Where today the vertical shafts of coal mines rise like steampunk artifacts, and the walls of Brezhnev-era panel buildings are covered with the eternally relevant graffiti "Tsoi Lives"4, in 1934 there was just a modest settlement. Its fate was predetermined by the rich coal deposits discovered in the 19th century.

During the Soviet era, the city transformed into a true forge of industrialization, but behind its industrial growth facade lies another bitter page of history: masses of people were deported here by the hundreds of thousands—Germans from the Volga region, Chechens and Ingush from the North Caucasus, Koreans from the Far East, Crimean Tatars, Poles from the western regions of the USSR and Poland, Meskhetian Turks from Georgia, as well as kulak families during the collectivization period, who made their way here from various corners of the Soviet Union.

The boundless Kazakh steppes, cut off from the mainland by hundreds of kilometers, became an ideal location for establishing Karlag—one of the largest islands in the infamous GULAG archipelago, where political prisoners were sent.

How did these people manage to preserve their unique multinational heritage, formed over decades of migrations and historical trials? I want to share the recipe of this experience:

  • A generous portion of mutual respect.

  • 2 liters of tolerance.

  • 1 cup of openness to dialogue.

  • 500g of shared historical heritage.

  • 1 liter of goodwill.

  • A handful of shared traditions.

  • A sweet spoonful of various peoples' holidays.

The last component is worth writing about in more detail, and here's why: the peoples living in this region celebrate not only their national holidays but also their neighbors' celebrations—be it Kurban Bayram, Christmas, Easter, Lunar New Year, Nauryz5, Sabantuy6, and many others. On these days, generous dastarkhans (traditional feast tables) become meeting places for relatives, friends, and neighbors, where, over cups of tea (or rather, liters of it) and heartfelt conversations, bonds of friendship strengthen, becoming the trademark of this region.

Only here do Kazakhs take cold water dips during Orthodox Epiphany alongside their Slavic friends, honoring their tradition, while Koreans serve Tatar chak-chak7, Russians prepare exquisite beshbarmak8, and you might hear Ukrainians exclaim the typically Kazakh "oy-bay" in surprise.

Only here do sunbeams, reflecting off the gilded domes of Orthodox churches, gently intertwine with the gleaming crescents atop the minarets of Muslim mosques, while the small but bright hall of the Barefoot Carmelites Monastery, converted from a former Soviet kindergarten, accommodates the Catholics wishing to pray in peace and solitude.

In the nineties, the wave of repatriation divided the fates of Karaganda's residents: some returned to their historical homeland (I still remember how, at seven years old, I bid farewell to my friend Sveta Nebert, who was leaving for Germany), while others stayed here forever— for many, Karaganda had already become their only home, with their former homeland existing only in the stories of the older generation.

Time moves on, and new generations of city residents, walking with baby strollers through the square near the newly built Orthodox church, where once lay the burial ground of political repression victims, no longer pay attention to the dark stone memorial in the center of this small, quiet park, which seems to have crashed like a meteorite into the steppe soil. Inscribed in Russian and Kazakh are the words: "This land is soaked with the blood of the innocently slain."

But the city remembers. It remembers in every old building, in every family story, in every name on the map, where the destinies of different peoples, like that colorful mosaic my grandfather patiently laid on the marble floor of the city Miners' Palace, have merged into a unique portrait of the city.

It is symbolic that the new cathedral bears the name of Saint Sebastian, who spent 7 years in Karlag's confines and chose to remain in Kazakhstan after his release. In those years, when religion was banned and churches were closed or destroyed, the elder would rise at three in the morning and walk with his disciples through the sleeping city streets to secretly serve the liturgy in the small adobe houses of local believers. Only in 1944 did Sebastian and several sisters manage to acquire a low-ceilinged house on Zapadnaya Street, where they established a secret monastery, parallel to Moskvina Street—where the blue roof of my grandparents' adobe house faithfully served as a haven for mischievous sparrows.

His words ring as relevant as ever: "I ask you all for one thing: live in peace. Peace and love are the most important things!"

References

1 Karagach is a resilient elm tree native to the Central Asian steppes, symbolizing strength and adaptability in harsh environments.
2 Karaganda is a major industrial city in central Kazakhstan, historically known for its coal mining, significant role in Soviet industrialization, and as a center of forced deportations and labor camps during the Stalin era, now representing a multicultural urban hub in the Kazakh steppes.
3 Sergey Esenin was a prominent Russian poet of the early 20th century, known for his lyrical, pastoral poetry that celebrated rural life and Russian peasant culture.
4 Tsoi Lives" (in Russian: "Цой жив") is a famous graffiti slogan referring to Viktor Tsoi, a legendary Soviet rock musician and lead singer of the band Kino, who died in a car accident in 1990 but remains an iconic cultural hero for multiple generations in the post-Soviet space, symbolizing youth rebellion, artistic freedom, and resistance to Soviet conformity.
5 Nauryz is the traditional celebration in Kazakhstan and other Central Asian countries, marking the spring equinox and symbolizing renewal, harmony with nature, and the beginning of agricultural cycles, typically celebrated with festive gatherings, traditional games, music, and a communal feast.
6 Sabantuy is a traditional Tatar and Bashkir spring festival celebrating the end of agricultural field work, featuring festive competitions, folk games, wrestling, horse racing, music, and traditional performances, symbolizing community unity, cultural heritage, and the joy of agricultural labor.
7 Chak-chak is a traditional Tatar sweet dessert made from deep-fried dough pieces (usually small balls or strips) that are then bound together with honey or sugar syrup.
8 Beshbarmak is a traditional Kazakh national dish consisting of boiled meat (typically lamb, horse meat, or beef) served over flat noodles, traditionally eaten by hand, and accompanied by a rich broth.