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Women must rethink their views on men
Rezeda: Masguda Shamsutdinova has always tried to follow her own unbeaten path, which, you must agree, is quite bold for a Tatar woman composer. She not only writes original music, in which experts detect deeply folk motifs, but also seriously engages in science. She could have quietly taught at the conservatory, but over 20 years, she traveled the region on ethnographic expeditions. Her PhD defense is imminent. Our conversation, starting with a general review of the 20th century and predictions for the 21st, eventually turned to the women’s question, as is fitting for March 8.
Masguda: It was a golden age! If only because Nazib Zhiganov created a musical empire in Tatarstan—conservatory, opera theater, symphony orchestra, and Composers’ Union. Where have you seen one person achieve all that?! The end of the 20th century, I believe, will go down in history thanks to Shaimiev’s personality. I’m not exaggerating: how we move forward depends on the republic’s president. One thing is clear—there’s no going back. After all the turmoil and fuss, the feeling of peace and confidence in tomorrow is so precious. The 20th century gave Tatar culture Gabdulla Tukay, Hasan Tufan, Farid Yarullin, Salikh Saydashev... Tatars even broke into nuclear energy—brothers Nigmatullin, Rashid Sunyaev, Roald Sagdeev. Titans. Though this century was complicated by Soviet ideology, our nation proved that even with a small opportunity, it flourishes. As for the 21st century, I think the first 20 years will be unsettled, then things will calm down. The generation that lived through the transition will age, and a youth raised in different conditions will come. I’m amazed by Tatar youth—how beautiful and strong they are.
Rezeda: The era of the Kazan Khanate, which fell in the 16th century, is also considered golden. Many still mourn it today.
Masguda: Name me an empire that lasted millennia. Empires are born, grow, age, and die. It’s a natural process. I believe we’re lucky—despite historical upheavals, we preserved the spirit inherent to the Tatar nation. We didn’t perish; we slept. Like a sleeping beauty, we awoke centuries later. No wonder Tukay kept calling to his people: when will you wake up? The Kazan Khanate is often linked to luxury. But I’m certain: you can’t drown in luxury or in tranquility. Countries in geographically unfavorable places, like Scandinavia on its rocks, have a high quality of life. Here, we have paradise, rich nature. I was born in northern Bashkortostan. The forest’s wealth made people so lazy they got used to a carefree life. Why wouldn’t we be lazy when nature comes to your doorstep, saying “take,” when you can pick berries from your window or kill a moose with a shout?
Rezeda: An unusual perspective. Isn’t hard work a hallmark of Tatars?
Masguda:Yes, our people are hardworking. But often, they channel it wrongly. Now, I think, it’s time to earn not with hands but with minds. The 21st century will be the century of intellectual labor.
Rezeda: You’ve been doing ethnography for 20 years, visiting dozens of villages. Don’t you think true Tatar culture and language are better preserved in rural areas than in cities?
Masguda: No, that’s not true. They’re better preserved outside Tatarstan. It’s sad to admit, but we’ve lost much, and our folklore is more primitive now than, say, among Tatars in Orenburg or Chelyabinsk. In a different linguistic environment, national culture crystallizes and stays pure. Here, we’re too influenced by pop culture, which destroys that primal layer. It’s like folklore erosion.
Rezeda: Can this be countered somehow?
Masguda: I’m afraid not. In time, we’ll lose folklore. Only then will Tatars realize they’ve lost their soul and will search for it by candlelight, piecing together folk timbres, melisma variations, and vocal styles. Cultural ecology is disrupted. The elderly pass away, and the young are euphoric over colorful TVs and Brazilian films. Television, like a drug, gives temporary happiness, leaving deep depression afterward.
Rezeda:You said culture is better preserved outside Tatarstan. I’ve recently felt this applies not just to folklore.
Masguda: Kazan, which I love, feels like a huge cauldron where people rush from all corners of the republic. It’s a vortex that sucks everything in indiscriminately. On one hand, it’s hard to navigate; on the other, the struggle teaches you a lot. If someone is truly talented, they won’t “drown.” Do you know what Swedish Tatars said about our poets? That they spend two years drinking over one poem, and by then, the poet and his friends become alcoholics.
Rezeda: It’s still a mystery to me—why, for example, do Finnish Tatars know the Tatar language better than we do?
Masguda: I’m writing an article about this. The ancestors of Finnish Tatars left Nizhny Novgorod in the mid-19th century. Finland was part of Russia then. They weren’t peasants afraid to leave their village but peddlers, roaming the world with sacks on their backs. They had strong internal discipline. In Finland, they built their ethnic infrastructure—education, religious institutions, and so on. They always stuck together as a Tatar community to preserve their gene pool in a foreign linguistic environment. Here in Tatarstan, there are many of us, and we don’t protect our gene pool. We’re indifferent to a neighbor dying from alcoholism or kids loitering in alleys. I was shocked in a Swedish suburb to see an ordinary bellflower guarded by seven fences and “do not touch” signs. Imagine how they protect one flower! We trample our “bellflowers” because we have plenty.
Rezeda: You’re going to Sweden for the third time while our scholars lean toward Turkey or Arab countries. Why this love for Scandinavia?
Masguda: I’m a Goat by horoscope, always straying from the herd. So I thought, why not turn my interest elsewhere? I’m glad I’ve inspired young scholars: one studies the Volga-to-Scandinavia sea route, another Viking military culture. I’m interested in the similarities between Tatar and northern peoples’ cosmogonic beliefs. The herd is boring. Better to fall, push through trees, get kicks and slaps, but be a goat, not a sheep. I wondered why Ireland and Sweden feel almost native to me. Then I realized: it’s the call of ancestors. There are 7th–9th-century kurgan burials there, how ancient Turks and Huns buried their people. Our ancestors, trading, reached these lands. In Ireland, I found Fatima’s (or Fathma, as they call her) grave, deeply revered there. The Irish told me, “For us, Fathma is like Mother Mary.” I’m struck by this upper circle, catching ethnic and religious intersections almost by scent, savoring their taste. I believe the Tatar people won’t vanish—our gene pool is scattered worldwide.
Rezeda: Your successful career could be a model—a Tatar-style Cinderella story, an American dream. Was it hard for a simple village girl to break through?
Masguda: Once, a blind woman, whom I met at my folk expeditions in Uralsk Kazakhstan, told me, “What a blessing Allah made us Tatars.” This from someone who lost her homeland early, endured repressions, and never saw blue skies or green grass. Such an abstract, higher consciousness… Thanks to my parents’ upbringing, I overcame many hardships, believe me. We lived on the edge—beyond us was only taiga. Nature’s vastness, with trees touching the moon and Ural mountains gently sloping or leaping up, breeds proud people. I learned in childhood not to dwell on failures and to see the world more abstractly.
Rezeda: But a woman composer, especially a Tatar one, is rare. Were you never held back?
Masguda: There’s a parable I love. A tree stands. One person says, “What great firewood it’ll make.” Another, “I’ll strip its bark for a scrubber.” A third, “I’ll make a fine broom.” All thought of the tree, but the tree didn’t hear. It thought of itself. I teach my kids: there are billions people on Earth, and someone will always say you’re wrong. You must believe in yourself. I may not create anything material, but I’m sure my efforts add positive energy to the universe.
Rezeda: This is in defense of Tatar women, right?
Masguda: Yes and no. Marco Polo wrote that Tatar women are independent, trading, handling horses, and managing households. When I hear women complain, “My husband doesn’t bring money, doesn’t do this or that,” I think, why should my sons have to? When physical strength was needed, men carried everything—plowed, hunted mammoths, fought. Now, territories are won by cunning politics. No need to hunt mammoths. It’s the time of intellect, not strength. Our men’s main task is preserving a healthy gene pool. I believe the 21st century will be the century of matriarchy, and women must rethink their views on men.
Interview by Rezeda Dautova
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