It took me thirty-five years to recover from the autumn smells that haunt me — the smells I associate with cotton harvesting and Soviet cotton campaigns in Uzbekistan. I picked cotton as a student at one of Tashkent’s universities in 1979, 1980, and 1981, living for at least a month on wooden bunks in field barracks.
In the village of Gagarin, Jizzakh Region, I tried to meet the so-called “second picking” quota — students were sent out bent over, dragging aprons filled with heavy cotton bolls left after the machines.
The daily norm was no less than 50–70 kilograms per person — I rarely reached it. Only girls from the provinces, used to cotton work since school, could meet those targets. Those who failed the plan were reprimanded daily at the “headquarters,” and our teacher-supervisors (I still can’t find a better word) strictly monitored that we didn’t rest or sit down, except during lunch.
Of course, even in the times of “developed socialism,” there were clever fellows who managed to make deals with combine operators — buying cotton from them to hand in at the student collection point, or in some cases, turning in the same sack several times (I won’t even mention placing stones inside — nearly everyone did that).
Children of teachers studying at the same institutes had it easier — their kind parents often arranged them kitchen work instead.
We lived, of course, in harsh conditions for city dwellers unaccustomed to such life. In the barracks, boys and girls shared two-tier bunks and spread the bedding they brought from home. We had breakfast and dinner on the same bunks, by candlelight. The toilets were outside, and the bathhouse — once every ten days. I remember in 1979, as first-year students, we were sent to the fields in November, and from the 7th onward we worked in snow-covered fields until December.
I must admit that it was not easy for the teachers sent to “enforce” the plan either. My favorite word for the campaign participants was “cotton slaves” (“хлопкорабы”), which they asked me not to use, though the term quickly caught on among other students. One of the reasons I transferred to evening classes after three years of excellent study was cotton — I knew for sure I would never go again.
To be fair, some people did enjoy cotton trips, especially short, one-day ones. Look at the happy faces of the young men and women — one of them my mother — on the cotton fields of Uzbekistan in the mid-20th century.
Foreigners visiting Uzbek cotton plantations are amazed by what they see. While driving through the Tashkent Region, my husband Vladimir even stopped the car to admire the cotton “growing right on the bush” near Lake Yallama and Chinaz.
Today, Uzbekistan is fighting against the forced mobilization of pupils and students for cotton picking. Time will tell what comes of it.
Featured image: Students harvesting cotton in Uzbekistan in the 1950s. Far right – Lyudmila Kozlova
Have you ever taken part in cotton harvesting in Uzbekistan? When? Did you like it or not?
Wikipedia cited this material in its article Cotton production in Uzbekistan.