Green, Ancient, Classical
Text by G. Pugachenkova
Photos by Ya. Bosin, 1959

Cities, like people, have their destinies: unpredictable, convoluted, complex; sometimes kind, more often cruel. Take  - for example -  Tashkent. Roughly 2,000 years old, it was invaded by Arabs in the 8th century and the Mongols in the 13th; then came Tamerlane in the 14th, annexation by the Khokand khanate at the beginning of the 19th, and capture by the Russians in 1865. In November 1917 the Soviets took over. Then the occasional earthquake, of which the most recent one in 1966 left some 300,000 people homeless. Needless to say, the damage was made good.

But that's quite a history never-theless, and quite a challenge to the Soviet architects and town planners whose job it was to bring the city into the 20th century while yet preserving its garden-like feel. They also had to maintain a sense of continuity between the old and the new. Moreover, like any other state, the Soviet Union had its own ideological agenda, and  - again, like any other state -  co-opted architecture in its service.

They managed to retain most of the greenery, and Tashkent has preserved much of its silvan appeal. Rows of poplar, elm, plane trees or acacia line most of the city streets, be it Pushkin Street, a main artery dating back to Russian imperial times, or Navoi Street, now another broad thoroughfare but formerly  - as Tash-Kuchi -  little more than an alley too narrow for one bullock-cart to pass another. They are everywhere, these trees, offering shade and cool in even the meanest suburban backstreets and alleyways.

The Soviet state brought industry, education and art. Huge enterprises were established here, mainly connected with cotton and agriculture. Although some canneries and construction materials plants were set up, the bulk of the new plant was devoted to the processing and production of cotton and textiles and agricultural equipment such as tractors. Education and science also flourished: there are now 16 universities in Tashkent, tens of colleges, and hundreds of schools of various types. In addition to the Republican Academy of Sciences, there are several prestigious research facilities. And art did well too: Tashkent is generously endowed with theatres, museums, and artists' and architects' ateliers.

These newer buildings had somehow to be accommodated in an ancient city characterised by imposing porticos, arcades and loggias, all of which were both  visually impressive and functional, since they maximized shade, a precious commodity in the Tashkent heat. Soviet architects accordingly adopted local materials  - most notably brick and stucco -  and practices, such as the elaborate carving of wood, plaster and stone. Motifs, of course, diversified: to the traditional floral themes and the geometrical designs associated with Islam, both in their way quite elaborate, were added designs based on cotton and the cotton industry. You can see examples of this melding of old and new in Navoi Street, on Besh-Agach Square and on the banks of the River Anhar. Particularly fine examples include Rodina cinema, Tashkent Oblispolkom (for those of you not fully conversant with Soviet acrospeak, that means Regional Executive Political Committee), the airport, and the Navoi State Opera and Ballet Theatre, the latter magnificent inside and out.

There is plenty of more stridently Soviet material as well, much of it typically grandiose in scale, enclosing squares and parks; or lining major boulevards. Examples include Lenin Square, with a statue of the revolutionary leader in front of Government House; Teatralnaya Square, with its hotels, the Navoi Theatre, the headquarters of United Publishing, and a fountain gushing from what appears to be an oversized bale of cotton; and Komsomolskaya Square, a Tashkent analogue of Paris's l'Etoile with so many prominent streets converging there, and another elaborate fountain oriented towards Hamza  Street.

Navoi Street and Amir Temur Square (formerly Revolution Square) probably epitomise Tashkent's blend of sylvan cool and striking architecture, Navoi Street with its classic (Soviet classic  -  for yes, such a thing exists) four-storey frontage, its ministries, and of course cinema; while Amir Temur Square, verdant to the point of lushness, boasts a statue to Navoi, a park and Lake Komsomolskoe, where pavilions, kiosks, bridges and trees in hazy silhouette and reflection in the lake, embellish the scene more than passably.

It's suffered a lot, Tashkent, like any ancient city, cruelty and kindness a little confused. But perhaps it's fared a little better than might have been expected.