Long before the Soviets brought their scripts and their shame, the horse had already been here. Why Kazakhstan consumes its national symbol.
“Being Kazakh was a shame,” they say in unison. I am in the back of a car with Kanat and Zhanar, an ex-civil servant couple who had traded Astana for their own farm, Taldy farm, an hour outside Almaty. We are heading there now on the A3 highway, passing the rolling hills and Chinese construction sites, the radio murmuring in Russian.
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