During the past several years, however, our state language has changed from Azeri to Turkish and back to Azeri. We must remember that there is no “right” or “objective” choice in selecting our national language, as the enhonium and lingvonium choice of the historical fate of a people needs to not only reflect the opinion of the scientist-linguist, but also the conscious opinion of the people at that moment. It would thus be accurate to use the term entonim-endoetonim, and to call lingvonim- endolingvonim that which underlies the wish of the people—their consciousness.
The truth for me lies not in a formal answer; we have changed our language twice in the recent past. This make me very anxious, because it shows our inner disorder—an uncertainty in ourselves—and our need to make a concerted effort to balance our historical past with our real present identity as a nation.
Our current situation reminds me of the 1930s, when we changed our alphabet twice in the same short period; initially, we changed our alphabet from Arabic to Latin; later, from Latin to Cyrillic. And now, we are going to adapt the Latin alphabet again (at least in primary schools). All of this can not be accompanied without losses, because the consciousness of a single person, as well as the consciousness of a collective people, or nation, loses support, and becomes more and more unstable and ephemeral.
The idea of a “single-measure human” was discovered by philosophers in the 20th century, and notes that humans who lose their heart (profundity) are implanting their being. It seems to me that it was said about us; a people who used to live and obey somebody’s will; who used to know that alphabet can be changed several times. Can it now be said that it is possible to change the name of a language, nation, etc.? Is it possible to change these characteristics of a nation so painlessly?
I will not forget the absolute confusion of one young American scholar at a conference in Washington, DC, when a professor from Baku was unable to write his own address for her; misplacing his business card, the professor became confused over the languages to write in, from Cyrillic to Latin, to Russian, or in Azeri, and became completely entangled. But this is a grotesque and farcical situation, and we can at least hope that the young American did not make a general conclusion about the intelligence of all Azerbaijani citizens based on this singular incident. Yet, the anecdotes do not stop there; there is a more dramatic and tragic story from the days of my youth; I was a boy who loved books and reading, and became annoyed by my father’s Arabic-print books on Azeri history and literature. The point was not only that I didn’t understand them, but that they looked foreign, hostile. It was as if somebody had cut something out from all of us by forceps, and we became soul cripples. And now I realize that the introduction of foreign language printing in Azerbaijan was the creation of the Soviet Communism. And therefore, as citizens of a post-industrial community, we should expect such issues to arise. Of course, it is difficult to accept this activity given the current questions over national identity.
At the same conference in Washington, DC, I heard a respectable professor from Chicago discussing ethnic identity. He noted that the Azeri people, like other Soviet peoples, were formed in the Soviet time, and thus, the Soviet years were beneficial for us. This is a very important question; our future depends on how we interpret the Soviet years. We were brought up with a Soviet outlook on life—they are a part of ourselves, and if now, because of our own infantilism or political state of affairs, we again resort to use of “forceps” to reject our past, our single-measure and ephemeral outlook will become a chronic problem. Thus, we must understand the logic of the professor from Chicago (in one way or another the same views are shared in Azerbaijan), and decide if we agree or disagree.
During the Soviet era, there were a lot of books printed in the national
language (it does not matter if it was in Cyrillic). Similarly, performances,
films and institutions relied on the national language. It would be irrational
to simply give up this heritage, even though it was created under the guise
of totalitarian Communist ideology. Yet, at the same time, a new Azeri
identity and enthonim “Azeri” was created to coincide not only with the
linghvonim “Azerbaijan language,” but also to coincide with the tophonim
“Azerbaijan” and with the polythoponim “Azerbaijan Soviet Socialist Republic.”
Even before the Soviet era, we had real problems with our identity;
it was not just an accident that we managed to exist without enthonim and
linghvonim, resorting to the term “Muslims” to describe our ethnicity.
It showed the underdeveloped level of our ethnic consciousness. And because
of this, the birth of Soviet ideology was possible in Azerbaijan.
The Azerbaijan Democratic Republic, which lasted from 1918 to 1920, was overthrown by the Eleventh Red Army in April 1920. The predecessor proclaimed the unity of the Azeri people on three principles: Turkism , Islamism and modernism. But this itself was one more slogan, and it became apparent that the leaders served a completely different purpose. That it is very difficult to promote unity based on these principles is evident in the writings of Azeri Jalil Mamed-Kulizade (Mirza Jalil). His book, “Anamin Kitabi” (“The books of my mother” ) explains how three sons of one mother went to study in three different countries: Russia, Turkey and Iran. On their return, the mother discovered with horror that her sons spoke different languages, and they did not understand each other.
Mirza Jalil was not just the greatest Azeri writer of twentieth century, but was also among the top scholars on national Azeri consciousness; he was one of the most fearless people because he was not frightened to look into the dark abyss of our national soul. And because of his fearlessness, he was able to identify not only that which separates us, but also that which unites us; our pain, our confusion and our insult. Citing the words of American writer German Melvill, Jalil wrote that our national consciousness as a separate thread does not roll up into a whole rope. Jalil points this out, and understands that, if we do not overcome this stratification, these breaks, we will not meet them again. And again, we will be faced with a painful situation. More than anyone, Mirza Jalil understood the problems of our “identity.”
I can now say that it is not just an accident that enthonim, lingvonim, tophonim and polithonim blended into one word so easily; they give evidence to the fact that the identity of the Azeri people is the identity of the Azeri Soviet people, and they are a part of Soviet people. Soviet people have a conscious identification of who they are, because their identity is recognized by historians of pre- and post-October 1917 history. Because the Azeri Soviet people had a recognized, defined border in April 1920, an Azeri boy (myself) felt hostility towards the culture which was not Soviet in character. The fate of the mother in “Anamin Kitabi” was made surprisingly easy and simply under Soviet rule: the sons who studied in Turkey and Iran were sent to Siberia. And any books written in a strange alphabet would be burned; Turkism and Islamism, which were real at that time, had be destroyed. And what was the result? It seems to all of us living in the former Soviet State that people developed a new identity. Really, the Soviet people surprised the entire world with their self-perception of identity and unity. But then, everything suddenly crashed down so easily, that it was a surprise for even the most discerning Sovietologist.
So how do we define the new “Azeri” identity? Is it really possible to have a similar national identity if we divide our national consciousness into parts as the Samurai and Zen-Buddhism divided from Japanese, as the cowboy and the Christian divided from American? In my opinion, during the Soviet empire, we created a chimerical culture with false values and an ephemerical identity; even the first historical break revealed this to us, although many people still don’t realize why we are not able to sustain the Soviet achievements of the past. Yet, we must become free from the Soviet yoke, and must create anew feelings of our national psychology and consciousness. We have to build a lot again, in spite of our previous achievements. In addition, we should not ignore our difficult situation, and recognize the geopolitical issues that are dividing us.
We can see how the geopolitics of the region became global, and how
the bell in the region rings for us now all over the Earth. There
is nothing more productive, more pure or rewarding than truth. And there
is nothing better for our people than the words of Mirza Jalil; we are
already divided, falling into pieces and becoming strangers among each
other. We must remember “Anamin Kitabi” and realize the truth. Mirza Jalil
s book is our bell—a bell which has to keep us from our delusion and illusion
of who we are. And this is the first step towards the rebirth of our soul.