INSIDE opinion
Am I Kazakh If I Don't Speak Russian?
June 10, 2025
Yelara Ongalkhan is a student at Nazarbayev University and an ethnic Kazakh whose family moved from China, her birthplace, six years ago. In her opinion piece, she shares how difficult it can be for Kazakh immigrants unfamiliar with the Russian language to reclaim their identity upon returning to their ancestral homeland.
While the Editorial Board provides editing support to our authors, each opinion piece reflects the author’s personal lens and does not represent the Board’s views.
Yelara Ongalkhan is a student at Nazarbayev University and an ethnic Kazakh whose family moved from China, her birthplace, six years ago. In her opinion piece, she shares how difficult it can be for Kazakh immigrants unfamiliar with the Russian language to reclaim their identity upon returning to their ancestral homeland.
While the Editorial Board provides editing support to our authors, each opinion piece reflects the author’s personal lens and does not represent the Board’s views.
Am I Kazakh If I Don't Speak Russian?
My heart raced as I got into the taxi. It wasn’t until we stopped at a red light that I finally gathered the courage to ask the driver in Kazakh, “Uncle, what’s your Kaspi number [telephone number tied to a bank card]?” to make a money transfer for the ride.
The driver glanced at me and calmly replied in Russian: “702….” His voice was casual, like it was just another conversation.
I smiled awkwardly and handed him my phone so that he could type the number himself. For most people in Kazakhstan, asking a taxi driver for their Kaspi is a routine act. But for me, an ethnic Kazakh coming from China - a Qandas - it was different. I did not speak Russian, the language that is predominant in the lives of local Kazakhs.
It is hard to believe that it has been nearly six years since I moved to Kazakhstan. The reason was simple: my father believed Kazakhstan was our true homeland, a place where his children could thrive. Yet, I’ve always felt conflicted about my Kazakh identity.
While living in China, Mandarin completely dominated my daily life. Even though I had two other Kazakh classmates in a group of nearly 60, we would still choose to speak Mandarin with each other, both in and outside of class. For the most part, I did not have a strong sense of being Kazakh and felt no different from the people around me.
However, as soon as I walked through the door of my house, my father would ask me to speak only in the Kazakh language. It was part of our family dining conversations and the blessing speeches of the elders during holidays, which is how I preserved my linguistic uniqueness. Yet, it was not just my precious family environment that reminded me of my Kazakh identity — it was also the negative experience of occasionally being excluded. I remember being rejected from educational opportunities simply because I was not Han Chinese.
Growing up in these conflicting environments made me feel confused. I often asked myself: Who am I? Where do I truly belong?
I imagined moving to Kazakhstan would clear away all the confusion. Unfortunately, it kept overwhelming me. While my experience in China would teach me that being Kazakh is primarily about preserving my mother tongue, in a Russian-speaking Kazakhstani reality, I started thinking that not knowing it meant I was not “Kazakh enough.”
Russian was everywhere in my life. At school, upon realizing I did not understand them, my classmates would switch to Kazakh, but still slip Russian phrases like “kazhetsya” (“maybe”) in between the conversations. At the Center for Public Services, I would get overwhelmed by Russian terminology such as “zayavlenie,” “ECP,” and “udostoverenie”... Even the local movies I watched for fun were dubbed in Russian. As a result, it became a crucial part of my new understanding of “Kazakh” identity.
This constant exposure to Russian made me feel inferior, fearful, and ashamed. I did not expect to feel isolated even among Kazakhs, and continued to wonder where I truly belong.
My belief that the Russian language could give me a sense of belonging was completely overturned by my university experience. There, English was used as the medium of instruction as well as the language of everyday interaction with my peers. It gradually weakened the dominant role Russian had played in my life. I began to connect with more people who shared the same interests and became part of different communities. In the orchestra, we played traditional Kazakh music together, sharing a mutual love for it. Through stage plays of Kazakh myths, I deepened my understanding of national customs and history.
My heart raced as I got into the taxi. It wasn’t until we stopped at a red light that I finally gathered the courage to ask the driver in Kazakh, “Uncle, what’s your Kaspi number [telephone number tied to a bank card]?” to make a money transfer for the ride.
The driver glanced at me and calmly replied in Russian: “702….” His voice was casual, like it was just another conversation.
I smiled awkwardly and handed him my phone so that he could type the number himself. For most people in Kazakhstan, asking a taxi driver for their Kaspi is a routine act. But for me, an ethnic Kazakh coming from China - a Qandas - it was different. I did not speak Russian, the language that is predominant in the lives of local Kazakhs.
It is hard to believe that it has been nearly six years since I moved to Kazakhstan. The reason was simple: my father believed Kazakhstan was our true homeland, a place where his children could thrive. Yet, I’ve always felt conflicted about my Kazakh identity.
While living in China, Mandarin completely dominated my daily life. Even though I had two other Kazakh classmates in a group of nearly 60, we would still choose to speak Mandarin with each other, both in and outside of class. For the most part, I did not have a strong sense of being Kazakh and felt no different from the people around me.
However, as soon as I walked through the door of my house, my father would ask me to speak only in the Kazakh language. It was part of our family dining conversations and the blessing speeches of the elders during holidays, which is how I preserved my linguistic uniqueness. Yet, it was not just my precious family environment that reminded me of my Kazakh identity — it was also the negative experience of occasionally being excluded. I remember being rejected from educational opportunities simply because I was not Han Chinese.
Growing up in these conflicting environments made me feel confused. I often asked myself: Who am I? Where do I truly belong?
I imagined moving to Kazakhstan would clear away all the confusion. Unfortunately, it kept overwhelming me. While my experience in China would teach me that being Kazakh is primarily about preserving my mother tongue, in a Russian-speaking Kazakhstani reality, I started thinking that not knowing it meant I was not “Kazakh enough.”
Russian was everywhere in my life. At school, upon realizing I did not understand them, my classmates would switch to Kazakh, but still slip Russian phrases like “kazhetsya” (“maybe”) in between the conversations. At the Center for Public Services, I would get overwhelmed by Russian terminology such as “zayavlenie,” “ECP,” and “udostoverenie”... Even the local movies I watched for fun were dubbed in Russian. As a result, it became a crucial part of my new understanding of “Kazakh” identity.
This constant exposure to Russian made me feel inferior, fearful, and ashamed. I did not expect to feel isolated even among Kazakhs, and continued to wonder where I truly belong.
My belief that the Russian language could give me a sense of belonging was completely overturned by my university experience. There, English was used as the medium of instruction as well as the language of everyday interaction with my peers. It gradually weakened the dominant role Russian had played in my life. I began to connect with more people who shared the same interests and became part of different communities. In the orchestra, we played traditional Kazakh music together, sharing a mutual love for it. Through stage plays of Kazakh myths, I deepened my understanding of national customs and history.
Me in a national Kazakh costume
As I reflect on my university experience, I understand that I am lucky. It helped me realize that identity is not defined only by language and that the sense of belonging can be found in many other ways. But what about other Qandas? Young people who did not even grow up speaking Kazakh, or the older generations who can not simply integrate through education? How are they supposed to navigate an identity crisis and adapt to a new life here?
I appreciate the Government’s efforts to provide land and job opportunities for Qandas. However, facilitating the adaptation process also means implementing measures to ease the fear of exclusion for Qandas not speaking Russian. According to the Law of the Republic of Kazakhstan on Migration, “Local executive bodies of districts, cities of regional significance shall create conditions for Qandas to learn Kazakh and, if they wish, Russian.” Yet in reality, moving to Astana (a city of republican significance), my family was never made aware of this policy and had to pay for my Russian language classes.
I appreciate the Government’s efforts to provide land and job opportunities for Qandas. However, facilitating the adaptation process also means implementing measures to ease the fear of exclusion for Qandas not speaking Russian. According to the Law of the Republic of Kazakhstan on Migration, “Local executive bodies of districts, cities of regional significance shall create conditions for Qandas to learn Kazakh and, if they wish, Russian.” Yet in reality, moving to Astana (a city of republican significance), my family was never made aware of this policy and had to pay for my Russian language classes.
1 - My study materials for Russian classes; 2 - Some of the Kazakh books in töte jazu
Moreover, most of the Qandas from China grew up using the Arabic-based script to learn Kazakh - “töte jazu.” Upon arrival, reading and writing in Cyrillic become a major obstacle, which makes the provision of accessible learning materials for the Cyrillic alphabet absolutely necessary. Equally important is that Chinese Qandas struggle to access essential resources due to the limited use of the Kazakh language in public services, especially in technical and legal contexts. These challenges to social integration seem to be either neglected or overlooked.
And while for me, speaking a certain language was not the sole key to reclaiming my Kazakh identity, for other Qandas, it remains an important precondition. That is why it is about time for the Government to realize inclusive policies that genuinely support our journey returning home.
