Keywords

Introduction

Bazaars in Central Asia survived both Soviet socialism and the capitalist market economy. During the Soviet period, bazaars remained part of collective farm markets and, thus, were heavily regulated and controlled by the state (Castillo, 1997). During the transition period, bazaars mushroomed, becoming a central feature of the economy and culture of Central Asia (Alff, 2015; Karrar & Rudaz, 2022; Spector, 2017). They continue to thrive and provide employment to many families. For instance, in Tashkent alone approximately 33 000 officially recognised trading spots exist (UZStat, 2023). In the 1990s, most bazaars in Uzbekistan were reorganised as joint stock companies; despite numerous attempts to privatise them, between 51 and 99% of bazaars’ stocks are owned by the state (State Assets Management Agency, 2023). Operating at the intersection of formal regulations and unwritten rules, bazaars in Uzbekistan comprise around 90% of the retail sector (Otajonova, 2021). The predominantly informal nature of trade provides flexibility and opportunities, whilst also creating challenges associated with a lack of formal labour protections. As a result, precarity has become the everyday reality for bazaar workers.

Given that precarity is a gendered reality (Flores Garrido, 2020), so too are bazaars gendered spaces. Whilst in many Muslim-majority countries like Pakistan and Iran economic activities in public spaces including bazaars are restricted to men (Bahramitash, 2013; Gohar et al., 2022; Khan, 2020), Central Asian bazaars are occupied by both men and women despite a strict patriarchal culture prescribing women’s role to the home (Ismailbekova, 2014; Peshkova & Thibault, 2022; Turaeva, 2018). There was even a period immediately following the dissolution of the USSR when women outnumbered men at bazaars (Mukhina, 2014; Pavlovskaya, 2020; Spector, 2017). Women continue to outnumber men in bazaars in less profitable sectors, including agricultural and textile markets, compared with male-dominated sectors, such as the construction and technology sectors. Thus, gender inequality, well-established within formal employment (Muradova & Seitz, 2021) sectors, is reproduced within informal markets. This reinforces the fact that bazaars are gendered spaces, where socially proscribed gender roles and expectations remain reinforced and reproduced. There are even anecdotes widely circulated in Uzbek society reflecting the gendering of bazaars, including the following from the conservative and religious Fergana Valley:

One day, a man in the mahalla was carrying sacks of weekly produce from the bazaar. The other mahalla men saw him and started laughing. He then asked them, ‘Why are you laughing at me?’ They replied, ‘Don't you have a wife at home? If not, we can raise money for you and get you married.’ The man said that he already had a wife. Laughing, the men in the mahalla asked, ‘Then, why did you come from the bazaar carrying the bags if you have a wife? It is now fashionable for men to sit at home; the bazaar is only for women. A man who has a wife does not struggle going to the bazaar, carrying the heavy bags. We have wives, so let them work instead of us.’

This anecdote both reflects and contradicts the fluid gender norms and attitudes toward women and men. On the one hand, the anecdote reflects traditional gender roles and stereotypes, where men are expected to serve as the providers and women are expected to assume domestic-related responsibilities. The anecdote also highlights how societal expectations about what is considered ‘appropriate’ behaviour for men and women can lead to gender-based judgments and even ridicule. The men in the story find it amusing that the man is doing something typically associated with women (carrying bags), because it challenges their preconceived notions of gender-appropriate roles. On the other hand, the ending of the anecdote suggests a form of subversion or resistance to traditional gender roles. The men humorously suggest that men should remain at home whilst women enter the public space such as a bazaar, challenging the conventional power dynamics associated with gender. Thus, this anecdote raises questions about the division of labour and the assumptions society makes about what roles are ‘appropriate’ for men and women, implying that these norms should be challenged and re-evaluated. Consequently, the bazaar serves as an intriguing arena for understanding and studying this portrayal of gender norm contestation.

Despite the prevalence of women in traditionally ‘masculine’ bazaars, women’s experiences of working in bazaars have rarely received attention, whilst the precarious position of women there remains invisible, silenced, and unarticulated. Women working in bazaars face additional challenges, such as discrimination and harassment, and their voices are often unheard. In public discourses, such women are rarely given credit for their uneasy labour and their contribution to the economy remains unacknowledged. By focusing on women traders in bazaars, I do not disregard male traders’ experiences or homogenise experiences amongst women traders or male traders. Following the critique of gender researchers from and studying within the Central Asian region (Cleuziou & Direnberger, 2016; Peshkova & Thibault, 2022; Turaeva, 2018, 2022), I depart from simplistic and rigid gender binary categories of ‘woman’ and ‘man’ and, instead, focus on the diversity of experiences amongst traders in bazaars. I focus on women traders for two reasons. First, I attempt to address the paradox of how in patriarchal Uzbekistan women continue to occupy public spaces like bazaars. Second, in the vast literature on bazaars in the post-Soviet space, only a few have explicitly applied a gendered perspective to understanding informal practices that helped women navigate within the bazaar economy. The rare examples include studies focusing on phenomena such as the shuttle trade in the early transition period and its role in transitioning from the planned to a market economy (Cieślewska, 2013; Mukhina, 2014; Piart, 2013), on emotions and feelings behind trading (Eggart, 2023; Kamp, 2005), on the health implications of petty trade (Turaeva, 2010), on cultural values and social norms behind the feminisation of trade and small-scale entrepreneurial activities amongst women (Heyat, 2002), as well as the evolving role of bazaars as entrepreneurial hubs for women (Özcan, 2006).

Existing research recognises the critical role that women and bazaars have played in restructuring the economies of the post-Soviet region during the transition period. Such research also sheds light on the ways in which gender relations were renegotiated both in private and public spaces (Cleuziou & Direnberger, 2016). However, these studies often viewed bazaars and the precarious position of women as a liminal phase in the transition away from state socialism towards capitalism. Primarily, previous research concentrated on the early transition period, expecting bazaars to evolve into modern formal markets alongside economic development, whilst anticipating that bazaar traders would develop into entrepreneurs with sustainable businesses. My ethnographic fieldwork conducted in Tashkent bazaars revealed that these assumptions do not fully capture the complex and ongoing dynamics within such spaces. Bazaars continue to serve as public arenas, where not only goods and services are exchanged, but also where gender norms and roles are continually contested, negotiated, and redefined. This highlights the need for a deeper understanding of women’s roles in bazaars and their impact on Uzbekistan’s broader socioeconomic landscape beyond the initial transition period.

Furthermore, the profile of traders has shifted from the accounts of the 1990s and 2000s when shuttle traders predominated. Former teachers, physicians, and other educated women are no longer the norm. The women I spoke with typically had only attended some or completed secondary education, with rarer individuals earning a university degree. The sociodemographic landscape of women navigating the bazaar environment has changed dramatically, yet the academic literature has not fully captured this transformation. Therefore, in this chapter, I aim to bridge this gap by situating my analysis beyond the ‘post-Soviet’ and ‘post-socialist’ framework, not merely discursively by abstaining from these terms, but analytically by acknowledging the informalisation of livelihoods as a survival strategy (Rasanayagam, 2011; Turaeva, 2022; Turaeva & Urinboyev, 2021). I also focus on the multitude of practices that constitute the lived reality of women working in bazaars in Tashkent. In addition, by centring women and their multifaceted practices that transcend the public–private divide, this study moves beyond the capitalocentric and androcentric perspectives often found in the academic literature on informal economies (Chen & Carré, 2020).

In what follows, I first provide a brief overview of my ethnographic fieldwork experience and positionality, followed by the theoretical framework underpinning this research. The next section provides an overview of the existing literature on bazaars and the role of women within them. Then, I present the findings of my research, focusing on three key themes: the notion of bazaars as gendered spaces, the complex role of headscarves in navigating gender norms within bazaars, and the double burden faced by women traders. I conclude this chapter by summarising my key findings and their implications.

Notes on Methods, Fieldwork, and Positionality

The empirical data presented in this chapter are based on ethnographic fieldwork I conducted between September 2022 and May 2023 in Tashkent. After spending two months visiting different bazaars in Tashkent, I selected two as my field sites, where I spent another five months carrying out participant observation and conducting in-depth informal interviews with women traders. I spent several hours each day with women at the Chorsu bazaar (the oldest bazaar in the old city) and the Mirobod dehqon bazaar (colloquially referred to as Gospitalka and located in the ‘European’ part of Tashkent), talking with women, trading with them, and having lunch together at their stalls. I approached most of the women directly by initiating informal conversations without gatekeepers. The ice-breaker question I usually used to begin conservations was, ‘When did you begin working in this bazaar?’ This question proved successful in signalling to the women that I was invested in talking with them. My interactions with my participants were reciprocal in the sense that the women whom I interviewed were also equally interested in my life.

Since women’s voices and lived experiences lie at the centre of my research, it was critical for me to remain reflexive (Hesse-Biber, 2013) at every stage of research by addressing issues of my positionality. First, I am a young Uzbek woman educated abroad, fluent in Russian, but only mastering conversational-level Uzbek. I am also a researcher affiliated with an Irish university working on her PhD studying women working in bazaars without ever working in a bazaar myself. Finally, as a researcher, I also have a family and caring responsibilities. All of these identities shaped the methods I employed and my fieldwork in general, and affected the relationships I established with my participants.

A traditional masculine understanding of ethnography implies a strict separation of the field and home, with an implicit assumption of an always-available researcher who spends 24/7/365 with the community they study. Internalising these rigid assumptions, I thought of my interruptive fieldwork experience as failed. I juggled between the roles of a researcher, mother, wife, daughter-in-law, and many others, blaming myself for lacking sufficient expertise to pursue an academic career, until I came across ‘A Manifesto for Patchwork Ethnography’ by Günel et al. (2020). That piece helped validate my embodied fieldwork and finally academically vocalise the methods I employed. The overarching approach of patchwork ethnography implies working ‘with rather than against the gaps, constraints, partial knowledge, and diverse commitments that characterize all knowledge production’ (Alava & Robertson 2023; Günel et al., 2020;). In other words, my fieldwork began at home with my family and children, and extended out toward patches of visits to bazaars, conferences, and attending to other intersecting commitments.

During visits to the bazaars, I used active participant observation, spending several hours together with my participants. Some of my interactions extended across many hours and were more frequent, whereas others were shorter and did not develop into long-lasting relationships. Some were joyful and transformative, whilst other cases proved painful. For instance, I faced harassment and verbal abuse from some male traders, resulting in my inability to return to one of the bazaars upon which I initially hoped to focus. All of this impacted the number and profile of the traders with whom I became acquainted and the bazaars I chose for my research since establishing trust and prioritising my own safety were equally crucial. Having in-depth conversations and building sustainable relationships were choices requiring patience, reciprocity, and time. Following repeated interactions, I built close relationships, although at a price. I could no longer record the interactions as they became natural, resulting in it feeling like a betrayal if I asked to record our conversations.

Nevertheless, I documented all of the interactions by taking fieldwork notes. Moreover, most of the initial interviews were recorded after acquiring consent from the traders. The findings in this chapter are based on a preliminary analysis of these notes and interviews using thick descriptions (Geertz, 2008) in Gibson–Graham’s (2014) reading, implying that attention in interpreting social reality is granted not only to material practices, but to the culturally situated and gendered nuances as well. In other words, I paid sustained attention to the ways in which difference, power, and privilege are organised through gender (Hesse-Biber, 2013) when completing a preliminary analysis of the evidence collected.

In this chapter, I do not attempt to represent either all bazaar culture in Uzbekistan or Tashkent’s urban bazaar culture nor to homogenise the experiences of all women working within all sectors of bazaars. Rather, here I attempt to make visible certain interconnections within the lives of bazaar dwellers who share the characteristics of gender and class and who participate in some form of small-scale commodity production. Moreover, herein bazaars are understood as physical spaces of traditional open-air markets referred to as dehqon bozori in Uzbekistan. In accordance with ethical considerations and to ensure the privacy and confidentiality of the individuals discussed in this study, I use pseudonyms throughout this article.

Theoretical Framework

As I show in the empirical section of this article, a prevailing opinion persists amongst individuals not involved in bazaar trade that the bazaar serves as an equalising force for men and women, driven by necessity. However, in-depth conversations with bazaar traders and spending a significant amount of time with traders unveiled various motives and experiences associated with bazaar trade. These variations were influenced by factors such as gender, age, and place of origin, which collectively shape an individual’s social status (Turaeva, 2022).

One specifically potent social marker was the role of kelin (a young daughter-in-law), highlighted in Turaeva’s (2017) research. In my interactions with women engaged in bazaar trade, a recurring theme emerged—the conceptualisation of bazaars as an exit strategy from domestic oppression. This concept draws upon the work of Hassani and Oren (2022), who analysed women’s grassroots efforts to combat gender-based violence in Uzbekistan. Hassani & Oren (2022) identified three common strategies of exit and voice women in Uzbekistan resort to when facing a crisis: self-immolation, seeking refuge in shelters, and participating in digital self-help groups. I posit that this list should be expanded to include engagement in bazaar trade as another widely utilised exit strategy and voice to fully capture the grassroots but atomised actions of women in the face of gender-based oppression.

From my perspective, the choice of entering the bazaar can be more comprehensively understood by bridging James C. Scott’s concept of infrapolitics (Scott, 1976, 1985, 2017) to Deniz Kandiyoti’s notion of the patriarchal bargain (Kandiyoti, 1988). I view women’s decisions to engage in bazaar trade as an act of everyday informal resistance, drawing upon Scott’s concept of infrapolitics. Despite public stigmatisation and the shame often associated with bazaar trade, women’s decisions to participate challenges traditional gender roles that prescribe women should remain confined to domesticity in service to the family. By occupying public spaces such as bazaars, women assert their agency.

The concept of infrapolitics also offers a lens via which to understand how women’s actions, such as leaving their homes to spend most of their day in the streets—a transgression, according to the patriarchal order—serves as resistance against patriarchal oppression. Whilst women engage in numerous smaller acts of defiance and subversion daily, these acts are often unrecognised as forms of resistance. However, whilst participation in bazaar trade is often primarily viewed as an economic act, such participation should not be overlooked as a form of political action.

Nevertheless, the concept of infrapolitics does not fully capture the ambivalent reality women must navigate in bazaars. By working in bazaars, women continue using all symbolic means at their disposal to highlight their subservient role as devout wives, mothers, and daughters-in-law. Although they work in a public space, they must also use any type of veil, thereby marking the distinction between an honest woman and a bad one—that is, yomon hotin in Uzbek (a bad woman in English). Although women work long hours in the bazaar, they still perform their assigned roles when they return home, thus taking on the double burden of both paid work and unpaid domestic labour (Hochschild & Machung, 2012). In addition, the place that women occupy within a bazaar is often subordinate to those places their male colleagues occupy. In other words, they complete any performative tasks to sustain the status quo of protective males and women as recipients of protection. Women continue treating male family members, at least discursively, as the household heads even in cases where they are the sole breadwinners or major contributors. Therefore, the concept of the patriarchal bargain coined by Kandiyoti (1988) is not merely helpful, but crucial to fully capture how bazaars empower women on the one hand, but do so ‘within the parameters of dominant gender ideologies’ (p. 274), on the other. Thus, while Scott’s infrapolitics helps make visible how entering the bazaar represents an act of resistance, Kandiyoti’s patriarchal bargain helps reveal the gendered aspects as well as the limits of such acts.

Setting the Scene: Contextualising and Gendering the Bazaars in Uzbekistan

Any mention of the word bazaar evokes sentiments of both the East and the past. Nevertheless, bazaars are not only reminiscent artefacts of history, but an existing and ongoing part of the present. The bazaar economy has long been a dominant economic system in the history of civilisations. However, it was only theoretically defined and presented as a field of research in 1963, after Clifford Geertz formulated and defined it as a juxtaposition from the Western firm-type economy.

Analysing the role and function of the bazaar in the post-socialist world moved this discussion beyond the formal and informal divide towards diverse economies scholarship (Gibson-Graham, 2006). This demonstrated that bazaar economies have their own worth as ‘alternative economic models that can also work to the advantage of the weak and the poor where profit becomes secondary to equality and justice’ (Polese, 2021, p. 9). Indeed, the more contemporary body of academic work concerning bazaars has questioned the conventional division between culture and economy which often characterises discussions about bazaars (Humphrey & Skvirskaja, 2021; Kaul, 2011). This literature has underscored the hybrid nature of bazaars, depicting them as domains that encompass not only commercial exchanges, but also narratives and theories about nation-state, capitalism, colonialism, globalisation, governance, activism, and technological advancement (Kaul, 2011, p. 32).

In the realm of post-socialist literature, discussions involving bazaars have evolved beyond dualistic perspectives, offering diverse narratives on their significance (Spector, 2017). Whilst many narratives base their analysis on the Soviet Union’s legacy, they differ in their interpretations of post-Soviet marketisation. Optimistic views see the transition to a market economy as empowering, with emerging traders as entrepreneurial agents. By contrast, a more pessimistic view considers bazaar trade a form of ‘violent dispossession’, resulting from swift neoliberal changes (Spector, 2017, p. 8). Bazaar trade is viewed as a survival strategy and an alternative to formal employment, especially following the decline in industrial production and job losses during independence (Turaeva & Adambussinova, 2022). Some scholars view early traders as victims forced into this survival strategy due to a lack of formal employment opportunities. However, this deterministic perspective limits our understanding of bazaar trade by overlooking traders’ agency over the last three decades.

Bazaars in Central Asia are not only sites of economic survival (Kamp, 2005; Spector, 2017), rent extraction (Karrar, 2020), or everyday politics (Spector, 2017), but also gendered spaces where socially proscribed gender roles and expectations are reinforced and reproduced. Deeply ingrained gender constructs determine who takes part in trading and in what manner (Heyat, 2002), dictate labour hierarchies (Shreeves, 2002), and determine the power distribution (Mandel & Humphrey, 2002). Whilst studies on bazaar trade in the Soviet successor states exist, few have explicitly applied a gender perspective and focused on women and their lived experiences. Exceptions include studies on gendered features of market trading in Azerbaijan (Heyat, 2002), Kazakhstan (Werner, 2003), Kyrgyzstan (Cieślewska, 2013; Kuehnast, 1998; Özcan, 2006), Russia (Eggart, 2023; Mukhina, 2014), and Uzbekistan (Turaeva, 2011). Viewing the bazaars through their accounts helps to capture the meanings of bazaars first from kolkhozs (collective farms) into livelihood spaces and then entrepreneurial hubs, where criminality and corruption thrived along with competition because of absent or limited regulatory frameworks.

Tirikchilik as a Survival Strategy: Transformations in Women’s Identities and Gender Dynamics in Uzbekistan’s Bazaars

More than 30 years have passed since Uzbekistan gained its independence, but bazaars continue to absorb the excess labour formal markets fail to employ (Karrar & Rudaz, 2022). As my fieldwork in Tashkent bazaars demonstrates, women continue to occupy bazaars, but their identities have transformed compared with findings from the early transition period (Kamp, 2005). Women working in bazaars no longer identify as shuttle traders, yet still do not recognise themselves as fully fledged entrepreneurs even though the literature on Uzbekistan claims shifting roles amongst women from workers to entrepreneurs (Turaeva, 2017). During my interactions with women working in bazaars, I noted how women recognised their economic activity in bazaars as laborious work, yet simultaneously devalued themselves whenever they talked about their work. The Uzbek word oddiy, meaning ordinary, was an ever-present prefix to whatever identity they attached to themselves. They were never just a worker or a farmer; they were oddiy ishchi (an ordinary worker) or oddiy dehqon (an ordinary farmer). They also attached their identity to the products they sold, like uzumchi if they sold grapes or zelenchi when selling fresh greens, thus placing everything but themselves at the forefront.

It was remarkable how age along with other systems of social differentiation, such as class and education, intersected with gender (Peshkova & Thibault, 2022) and determined the terms women used to identify their work in bazaars. Older women who experienced the Soviet Union used the term ishchi, which in Uzbek translates as ‘worker’, thus using the Soviet terminology of rabochiy or trujenik. Younger women as well as more educated women, however, were more inclined to use the term sotuvchi, meaning ‘seller’ in Uzbek, although their work was not restricted to selling alone. Nevertheless, whatever identities my fieldwork heroes ascribed to, they all chose the bazaar for tirikchilik—that is, for survival.

Tirikchilik is an Uzbek term commonly used by women in casual conversations and daily interactions. This colloquial term is context-bound and multifaceted, generally revealing various sources of income that support their livelihoods. In the context of bazaar traders whose precarious labour puts them in a vulnerable position, tirikchilik can be understood as a survival strategy, translated as ‘muddling through’. This dimension of the term has been extensively studied and conceptualised by Turaeva (2013, 2014, 2021) as a phenomenon that best describes economic activities and survival strategies which people resorted to in opposition to decaying protections offered by the state legal system. According to Turaeva (2013), tirikchilik also reflects and encompasses a shift in ordinary people’s employment preferences, away from state employment towards kinship-based forms of economic activities (p. 274). The evidence presented in this chapter examines tirikchilik as a survival strategy, shedding light on the gendered elements of this phenomenon. As my fieldwork demonstrated, tirikchilik acquires different meanings depending upon who engages in it. For men involved in bazaar trade, tirikchilik becomes an alternative to migration as a survival strategy. For women working at bazaars, tirikchilik is also a survival strategy, but survival from subjugation. Tirikchilik in the form of bazaar trade helps women break the chains of economic dependency and immobility, albeit at a price. This price can take the form of deteriorating health, a changed social status, and limited time spent with their children. For them, tirikchilik is both a blessing and a curse.

Despite the prevalence of women in ‘masculine’ public spaces such as bazaars, the precarious position of women working in bazaars remains invisible and silenced. If in the 1990s, the stigma women involved in trade had to deal with arose from a clash between the Soviet ideology of state socialism when profit-making and self-enrichment were socially proscribed (Eggart, 2023, p. 19), in the late 1990s and 2000s, ostracization shifted away from a moral to a social source. The clash between deeply ingrained moralities and the daily pressures, opportunities, and inequalities posed by market penetration continues, but the ingrained moralities have shifted (Mandel & Humphrey, 2002, p.1).

The stigma around traders in bazaars persists. During the last 30 years, however, its essence has shifted with the target becoming narrower. Women working in bazaars (unlike men) continue to face social stigma for being bozorchi ayol in Uzbek (that is, a bazaar woman), a label that colloquially carries a negative connotation, typically demarcating loud, stubborn, and demanding women with low levels of education and culture. In daily life, the term is normally used to insult women not involved in bazaar trade, but who actively and loudly engage in arguments and quarrels. In the social milieu, women employed in the bazaar frequently encounter stigmatisation, and are colloquially labelled shallaqi hotin/ayol (loud-mouthed, obstreperous, and hot-tempered) or dama kozer (from Russian, meaning a tramp queen). This latter label refers to a woman perceived as not subservient to her spouse and who, according to common parlance, exerts influence or pressure upon her husband. The existence of such colloquialisms encapsulates broader societal gender norms and expectations, shedding light on the complex dynamics underpinning such social perceptions and behaviours.

On the one hand, women are well represented in bazaars in Uzbekistan and, thus, visible, rather unusual for Muslim-majority countries (for example, see Khan, 2020; Lindvert et al., 2017; Al-Dajani & Marlow, 2010; Bahramitash, 2013). Thus, the emergence of specific colloquialisms to depict female workers specifically illustrates the critical role women play in bazaars. On the other hand, the negative connotations surrounding the colloquial phrase reflect traditional patriarchal structures ostracising women, which transgress patriarchal norms of submissive feminine women. Such colloquialisms aimed at shaming women working in bazaars can be viewed as an instrument of social control that marks behaviour considered appropriate for men, but sanctioned for women. In this case, bazaar women are blamed for demonstrating traits primarily considered masculine and, thus, uncharacteristic for women. When applied to men, these same characteristics are not only tolerated, but highly appreciated and even expected.

According to the patriarchal order, women should occupy private spaces (Kamp, 2010), whereas bazaars are public spaces. Such a shift from the general stigma of all bazaar workers toward the selective stigmatisation of women only is worth attention. To understand such an ambivalent and ambiguous role of women in bazaars, it is important to examine how the dissolution of the Soviet Union affected women as a group by employing a feminist lens to grasp the differences not only between women and men, but also between different women. During the Soviet era, all able-bodied citizens were obliged to work in the social sector, in a state enterprise or cooperative integrated within the structures of central planning. Those who existed independently were positioned outside this vision and were officially termed parasites. For example, these included speculators who traded outside the official distribution networks or teachers who offered private lessons to children to pass entrance exams (Rasanayagam, 2011). Such discourse persisted even after the dissolution of the Soviet Union (Eggart, 2023; Mandel & Humphrey, 2002). The economic hardships of the post-Soviet period fell particularly harshly on women, leaving them with fewer economic opportunities than men. The transition from a planned to a market economy, with capitalism-driven values, a weak rule of law, and a collapsed welfare system, drove some women back to the home, whilst others entered bazaar trade (Kamp, 2005). Whereas some viewed entering the bazaar as a resumption and continuation of a tradition, others treated it as gender norms transgression (Kamp, 2005). Despite becoming sites of economic survival for women, bazaars remain hierarchical and gendered spaces with complex power dynamics not only between state actors and traders, but also between traders of a different gender, age, and other sociodemographic characteristics. In that context, bazaar traders had to survive, not only economically but also mentally. Stigmatisation and the low status of their activity, coupled with the decreasing role of women in society, render the act of women choosing bazaar trade as somewhat revolutionary.

Despite radically different economic systems operating in the past and present—namely, the planned economy and the capitalist market economy—domination and exploitation are ideologues of labour that is naturalised, socialised, and reproduced by traders in bazaars, particularly the labour of women. This is reflected in the way the media portrays stories involving bazaar vendors when cases of police harassment, the arbitrary confiscation of merchandise, demands for bribes, and, most frequently, physical abuse are covered. Amongst the stories that resonated the most during my fieldwork in the winter and spring of 2023, one incident occurred in Chorsu, the oldest bazaar in Tashkent, when one bazaar woman bit the ear of another woman because of competition for the buyers. Both women were punished: one received an administrative fine, whilst the other was sentenced to three years in prison (UZNews, 2023). Another incident took place in one Tashkent district when the women started a fight for a spot to trade around the bazaar, resulting in a woman self-immolating herself in protest (Radio Ozodlik, 2023). Such stories are not only ubiquitous, but also telling of the lived experiences of women working in bazaars. Portraying women in bazaars as either victims or savages, such accounts contribute to the further stigmatisation of women in bazaar trade, whilst partially depicting the complex reality women must navigate.

Shifting Attitudes of and towards Women in Bazaars

The bazaar confronts people in diverse contexts, experienced not as a purely economic phenomenon. The social meaning of the bazaar lies in a return to roots forcibly abandoned during the Soviet rule, but which regained power and now serves as a source of pride amongst some traders, despite bazaars never ceasing to function during the Soviet Union. Early in the Soviet period, private trade was replaced by a state-controlled, cooperative trading system. However, this paradigm underwent a transformation in the post-Soviet era due to the state’s incapacity to meet the demands of the growing population. Consequently, a shift occurred, culminating in the re-emergence of private trade as the state recognised its necessity. This transformation may represent a triumph for bazaar traders, who, even during the most challenging times, played a crucial role in ensuring the availability of goods in Uzbekistan.

Previous scholarly work on Uzbekistan revealed that working for the government (davlat ishi), as opposed to working for oneself, was believed to promote an unethical and immoral lifestyle (Trevisani, 2022). A similar discourse emerged during my encounters with women, although the relationship was more complex for them. Their husbands or other male family members viewed male-dominated state employment as unsafe for women. As one woman at the bazaar explained to me, bazaars are open public spaces, and everyone is under everyone’s gaze, whereas most government jobs are closed to outsiders, meaning it is more difficult for men to control their women. Moreover, state jobs do not provide a sufficient income, whilst requiring substantial resources—both social and financial—to access (Urinboyev et al., 2018). Last, but not least, to work for the government, they needed a university degree, which they often lacked.

I used to earn 2 200 000 UZS (around US$200) each month… I could hardly afford to cover childcare costs, clothing, and other expenses. I then decided to opt for the bazaar. I had a friend working there, and I knew what profits she was making. Therefore, my husband supported me in my decision and even provided me with the initial capital. (Halima, 27, Chorsu)

Applying economics jargon to Halima’s description, the opportunity cost of a woman working for the state is too high. A woman loses out not only on the potential income she could earn trading at the bazaar, but also her husband’s and her own tranquillity. Whilst at the bazaar women are not only under public scrutiny but also earn a more substantial income, their participation beyond the domestic sphere in such cases becomes more tolerable.

Although I do not live with my in-laws, my husband’s siblings still live with us. They have never ever helped me with the household chores, even when I worked for the state. However, when I started working in the bazaar, it turned out they can cook and clean! Even my husband started engaging more with the kids, picking them up from the nursery! (Halima, 27, Chorsu)

Interestingly, if in the past working in the bazaar was shrouded by stigma and ostracisation as Eggart (2023) described, the income-generating opportunities the bazaar provides have erased feelings of shame and allowed women a certain freedom without compromising their reputation. This is illustrated by their family members’ increased involvement in the domestic realm.

Another aspect of the diminished stigma attached to women involved in bazaar trade was succinctly captured by a 60-year-old guard formally employed by the bazaar administration:

These women [pointing to the bazaar hall on the ground floor while we were standing on the first floor looking at the traders from above] are doing what they can to earn a living, earn halal (in Islam, meaning ‘clean’) money. They did not migrate abroad to sell their bodies like many prostitutes these days. They are here, next to their children, their families, working hard. (Bahodir, 60s, Gispitalka)

Thus, a lenient, respectable attitude towards women working in the bazaar illustrates the shifting attitudes, revealing how their labour in the bazaar accompanies an altogether different set of meanings accruing social benefits for them. This was not necessarily the case in the past. In order to harness the advantages of these socially defined benefits, a woman needs to imbue her labour with cultural significance within the patriarchal bargain. I discuss this in what follows.

Bazaars as Gendered Spaces

During the last ten months, I have visited many bazaars, and have met many women and men trading in them. Although I do not want to begin presenting my findings with essentialist comments, it would be a glaring omission to exclude the economic consideration of my interactions in the bazaars. None of the women with whom I spoke have ever sought remuneration in return for interviews with them, in contrast to men who have consistently anticipated and explicitly stipulated either financial compensation or a personal engagement. This divergence suggests that women’s engagement in the bazaar might be driven by factors beyond mere economic incentives.

You sit here in a dress costing US$100 and want to learn about what it is like to work in the bazaar, what problems we face? You give me the 100 bucks first and I will tell you everything you want to know! (Bekzod, 50s, Chorsu)

These comments were from a man who sat not far away during an interview with one of my female interlocutors. He suddenly interrupted our discussion and nearly shouted at me. Luckily, my female interlocutor stopped him, telling him to mind his own business. Bekzod was trading gold and currency on the streets without having his own stall, but sitting at one of the entrances to the Chorsu bazaar. Buying gold and currency is an exclusively male endeavour, which is risky albeit profitable. When I explained to him that a woman has never demanded money from me, he said that they do not have as many wives as he does. It turned out that he had nine children and two wives. The breadwinner role he carries overwhelms him. As he explained, he is the main breadwinner whilst the women in bazaars ‘help their husbands, so their income is extra income’. On the one hand, he interrupted me to demand money. On the other, he overheard my standpoint that women struggle more when working in the bazaar and interfered to register his disagreement. He interrupted to make his struggling male voice heard. This encounter helped me to critically rethink not only my focus on women, but also my own positionality. For Bekzod, I looked like a foreigner in the bazaar, a well-off foreigner who is extracting knowledge from others for free.

Another man I attempted to interview worked in the construction materials sector of the Qo’yliq bazaar on the outskirts of Tashkent, a ‘bazaar that feeds the entirety of Uzbekistan’, as one feminist activist called it. Doniyor volunteered to help me when he saw I was lost between construction stalls. We began an informal conversation during which I explained what brought me to Qo’yliq. He shared that he has 20 years of experience working in the bazaar and knows many women working there. We went to a café situated not far from the bazaar, something women traders never did since they were reluctant to leave their stall unattended and miss potential customers. After a few minutes, I realised that Doniyor did not want to talk about bazaars. Instead, he started insulting women in and beyond bazaars. He victim-blamed women, stating ‘women themselves signal to men that they want to be approached’. Poor men just accept this signal and then the women turn out bad. He then began explaining that he understood and accepted ‘my signal’, offering to spend time together with me without telling my husband. In other words, he used speech patterns in Uzbek that are difficult to translate, but to a native speaker their message is clear: Doniyor was offering me the opportunity to become his mistress. At this point, I began fearing for my security, called for a taxi, and stated that I was ending the interview. Doniyor did not leave until the exact moment I sat in the taxi. I did not return to this bazaar, and from that moment decided to interview only women. I had many other negative encounters with men, but these two experiences perfectly encapsulated what I experienced and felt.

This evidence, although anecdotal, also indicates that traditionally defined gender roles transcend the realm of family and persist in the distribution of power within bazaars, fundamentally public spaces. Bazaars are gendered spaces reflecting and reinforcing traditional gender roles and expectations. Women are primarily responsible for domestic work and childcare, whilst men are expected to serve as breadwinners. These gender roles are reflected in the types of goods sold at bazaars, the ways in which vendors interact with customers, and the social norms that govern behaviour. Men can easily leave their stalls and roam around the bazaar, talk to friends, and be absent for long periods of time, whereas the same does not apply to women. Rarely do women leave their stalls; when they do, it is usually for a valid reason, including praying and visiting a toilet. In addition, with men occupying the position of the primary breadwinners and women being responsible for domestic duties, more profitable sectors of bazaars are occupied by men, whereas predominantly female sectors remain the least profitable and the most competitive sectors. More generally, smaller-scale trade is dominated by women and undervalued, whilst the more prestigious sphere of large-scale business characterised by crony capitalism is dominated by men (Heyat, 2002).

Navigating Gender Norms: The Complex Role of Headscarves and Ties in Bazaars

Another significant factor underscoring the gendered nature of bazaars is the influence of social norms and religious beliefs shaping and reinforcing specific gender roles and expectations. For instance, a notable observation during my conversations with women traders related to their attire, specifically the headscarves they wore. Many women adorned their headscarves, either in the Turkish hijab style (with the scarf tied under their chin) or the Uzbek style (with the scarf tied at the back of the head). Many women with whom I talked wear a headscarf, in either the Turkish hijab or in the Uzbek style. Their reasons for adopting this attire were multifaceted. Some women, particularly older women and/or widows, adhered to this practice given its cultural expectation, signifying modesty and respect. In addition, religious motivations played a role, since some women wore the hijab as an expression of their faith and as pious Muslims. A headscarf also served as a safeguard during or to limit interactions with unfamiliar individuals (serving as a safety mechanism) and as protection from the elements (shielding them from the sun in summer and the cold in winter). In this section, I delve into the intricate interplay between personal choice and societal pressures underlying the decision to wear a headscarf within bazaars. This practice, as I illustrate, serves as both a method to navigate their environment and as a form of resistance. Women who wear headscarves in this context make individual decisions influenced by both societal pressures and personal motivations. These choices, seemingly small when viewed from the outside, reflect a form of resistance that unites women and as a marker of solidarity within the patriarchal framework of Uzbekistan’s bazaars—in other words, infrapolitics within a patriarchal bargain.

Rano, a 40-year-old bazaar trader selling fresh greens in Chorsu, wears the hijab in the Turkish style when in the bazaar. Because religion is a sensitive topic in Uzbekistan (Komil-Burley, 2021), I did not ask religion-related questions unless a participant herself mentioned it. When Rano showed me a picture of herself at a wedding, without a headscarf and wearing bright make-up, I asked her about this apparent incongruity. She explained that she was not in a hijab, and that she wears the headscarf only when in the bazaar to protect herself from the sun as well as to endear herself to buyers. Moreover, she wanted to avoid attracting attention from other men since she is married. The women with whom I talked share the opinion that sellers who come to the bazaar wearing bright make-up are there to attract men, referring to such women as ersiraganlar (desiring a man, a husband). Rano was extremely critical of such women, explaining to me that these women come to the bazaar not to work but to seduce other women’s husbands. She even showed me one of the ersiragan woman who, according to Rano, had an eye on her husband. This ersiragan was a relatively young, good-looking woman who did not wear a headscarf and, indeed, wore make-up. However, to me, the make-up was relatively minimal, limited to mascara and lipstick. Rano told me that this woman was divorced and never missed the chance to chat with Rano’s husband. The hierarchy of the bazaar placed women who worked together with their husbands on a higher, more respectable level, whereas single or divorced women had worse reputations and attitudes towards them were more negative. The appearance of women could affect this hierarchy or was contingent upon it.

Rano works alongside her husband, a practice increasingly common in bazaars. Rano primarily interacts with customers and handles financial transactions, whilst her husband assists with physically demanding tasks such as moving bags, carrying water, and setting up sun or rain protection. During my time with Rano, her husband often stepped away from the stall, leaving her to manage the trading alone. By contrast, Rano rarely left the stall except when she needed to use the toilet or for prayer. Her husband always emphasised that people liked dealing with Rano, and, without her, business significantly slowed down. The example of Rano and her husband working together in the bazaar illustrates the importance of kinship ties in organising and doing trade. It is difficult to sustain a successful business in the bazaar alone. For instance, originally Rano’s mother-in-law began trading in the bazaar during the early years of independence, with her children subsequently following suit. Rano’s mother-in-law continues to trade in the bazaar to this day, albeit not as intensively or frequently as Rano. According to Rano, they secured their spot in the bazaar thanks to her mother-in-law’s connections. Finding a spot in a bazaar requires connections, and, without a decent location, success in trade remains challenging. Rano’s stall, located right in front of the metro station entrance, makes it attractive for customers since it is the first and last stall they see. Thus, Rano enjoys a continual flow of customers daily. Moreover, Rano can work at the bazaar every day since her mother and brother take care of her two children back in her village.

In addition to kinship ties, ethnic ties based on geographic belonging appeared crucial to gaining access to the bazaar and surviving there. Lola, like many other traders in the Chorsu bazaar, hails from the Qashqadaryo region in southeast Uzbekistan. She explained that she chose Chorsu among all the bazaars in Tashkent because she feels safer there given that most of the traders either originate from her village or have acquaintances there. Lola even humorously referred to Chorsu as a small piece of Qashqadaryo in Tashkent. Lola, a 28-year-old woman, specialises in selling various headscarves, including the hijab, wearing her own headscarf in the Uzbek style (tied in the back). She clarified that whilst she is not prepared to wear a full hijab, she still needs to gain the trust of her customers and demonstrate her knowledge of the latest trends in modest fashion. Using the concept of the patriarchal bargain (Kandiyoti, 1988), Lola’s decision to wear a headscarf appears to align with patriarchal norms to navigate and mitigate societal constraints and expectations.

Lola’s husband works in Russia as a migrant; previously, he was primarily responsible for conducting business in the bazaar. However, given his migration, the responsibility for bazaar trade now falls on Lola’s shoulders. Whilst she works alone, she relies on her ethnic connections for support in areas where her husband previously assisted her. Her days and evenings are spent in the bazaar, whilst her 4-year-old daughter and 7-month-old son remain at home with her parents-in-law. For Lola, covering her head is neither obligatory nor a religious observance; it is a complex personal choice within a diverse social fabric where women who wear the hijab receive preferential respect, particularly from men. It is also a matter of security for Lola and others who wear headscarves, since it conceals their beauty and helps them to avoid unnecessary attention from men in the bazaar. Despite Lola wearing a headscarf herself, she has mixed feelings towards the hijab and those who wear it. The increasing trend towards wearing the hijab worries her—she does not approve of it, yet she wears a headscarf herself when at work. She genuinely believes that a woman’s wellbeing and safety depend on her own behaviour and actions. She relates the fact that her husband does not impose any restrictions on her to her perception of being a ‘righteous’ woman. In her words:

In the past, we did not wear hijabs; we did not need them, it is only now that more and more women are starting to wear them. In the past, women dressed openly, they came to the bazaar, there was freedom here. For example, my husband allows me to work in the bazaar. There is no such thing as opposition or resistance to bazaars. If a woman works in a bazaar and does not engage in bad behaviour, but instead maintains proper relationships with everyone, then you succeed if you are a righteous woman. (Lola, 28, Chorsu)

The choice to cover one’s head when in the bazaar, whilst providing a sense of protection or adherence to cultural and religious values, can also perpetuate and reinforce gender inequalities by upholding traditional gender roles and reinforcing the authority of male-dominated norms. Wearing a headscarf, particularly in certain cultural or religious contexts, is often viewed as a means of conforming to societal expectations and norms of modesty, often dictated by patriarchal structures (Nasritdinov & Esenamanova 2017). However, I argue that the act of wearing a headscarf amongst women in the bazaar should be viewed as a complex negotiation between individual agency and patriarchal pressures, wherein women may feel compelled to conform to societal expectations as a way of navigating their social environment. As my interactions demonstrated, every woman who wore a headscarf only within the premises of the bazaar had her own social reasons for doing so, reasons which often conformed with patriarchal norms, namely, within the patriarchal bargain (Kandiyoti, 1988). Nonetheless, although their atomised decision to wear a headscarf might seem insignificant from the outside, in my view, it is an act of resistance, using the language of infrapolitics proposed by Scott (1985). This act unites women and serves as one of the markers of solidarity, thereby substantiating the ambivalent nature of women’s agency in patriarchal settings.

Double Burden: An Ambivalent Struggle for Survival and Freedom

In my conversations with men, a common sentiment emerged: the challenges faced in the bazaar are formidable for all, regardless of gender. This perspective suggests that the bazaar functions as an equalising force, levelling the playing field in the collective endeavour to earn a livelihood. Certainly, bazaar trade serves as a survival strategy for everyone involved. However, daily interactions with traders have unveiled gender-specific dimensions intersecting with age and offering deeper insight into the motivations propelling individuals towards bazaar trade.

For younger women who find themselves in the transitional phase known as kelin (Turaeva, 2017)—a term used to describe daughters-in-law who typically reside with their husband’s parents—these individuals occupy the lowest rung within the familial hierarchy. Their responsibilities predominantly revolve around domestic and servile duties. Thus, engaging in bazaar activities introduces an added dimension of liberation from their domestic confines. Their motivation for participating in bazaar work is not solely driven by the pursuit of financial independence; rather, it is rooted in the desire to escape the perpetual cycle of household chores and the associated constraints of kelin obligations.

I felt so depressed at home. I had to ask my husband for money for even a tiny thing. He would always give it to me, but so reluctantly. It is so different when you have your own money. You spend it with such joy! (Halima, 29, Chorsu)

However, it is important to note that bazaars do not entirely emancipate women from their obligations. Even after enduring a taxing day at the bazaar, these women continue to shoulder a second shift of unpaid domestic labour (Hochschild & Machung, 2012), comprising cooking, washing, cleaning, and care-giving. As in the case of Rano, although she works together with her husband, after working in the bazaar, she cooks dinner and cleans her home whilst her husband rests. Similarly, after a long working day typically exceeding 12 hours, Lola returns home and takes care of her children, puts them to bed, and serves her parents-in-law in gratitude for taking care of her children, their grandchildren. Nevertheless, the women I interviewed knowingly choose to bear this dual burden, since it offers them a reprieve from the confines and oppression of domestic life. This oppression can originate from various sources, including their husbands, their in-laws, the ceaseless demands of household chores, and economic dependency.

Working in the bazaar is far from easy; but for me, it is more difficult to stay at home. Since my husband left for Russia, I took over the bazaar trade. My in-laws now understand that I am earning money for the family. My mother-in-law started cooking, and my father-in-law started taking my daughter to and from nursery school. They do household chores now. Although I still perform my kelin duties, it is for 2–3 hours a day only. (Lola, 27, Chorsu)

Unfortunately, for younger female traders, such freedom comes at the cost of less time with their children at crucial times during their development. However, in their eyes, this is a painful trade-off which, in the long term, will produce better outcomes for their children. As one woman eloquently explained, she works in the bazaar so that her children never work there. Notably, the women with whom I talked frequently refrained from bringing their children to the bazaar in an effort to shield them from potential negative influences. From their perspective, the bazaar environment can foster an unhealthy fixation on material gains. Instead, they aspire to provide their children with a sound education, genuine professional prospects, and meaningful employment opportunities they themselves lacked. Paradoxically, despite these concerns, these same women acknowledge that the bazaar offers a unique advantage, enabling them to reconcile work and motherhood. The flexibility offered by bazaar trade and the absence of red tape stand in contrast to the rigid schedules often associated with formal employment.

During the Soviet period, I used to work at the sausage factory. But, during the 1990s, I lost my job. I left for Kazakhstan to work, but then returned. And, since then, I have worked in every bazaar in Tashkent… I raised my kids, they all work now, and are independent. (Matluba, 56, Chorsu)

In a comparable manner, the bazaar offers livelihood prospects for younger men who have families. However, their perspectives on the bazaar are characterised with less optimism. They perceive it as a secondary option, representing a step between migration and not working at all—a choice that remains elusive due to the prevailing patriarchal expectation placed on them to fulfil their role of the primary provider. Their perception of the bazaar is distinct from seeking liberation from domestic constraints; instead, it serves as a means to uphold their status as the family’s primary breadwinner.

Thus, the bazaar emerges as a multifaceted arena where individuals, particularly younger women and men, navigate gendered webs of economic survival, cultural expectations, and aspirations for personal agency. Whilst bazaar trade serves as a dual-edged response for younger women—an avenue for economic autonomy and an opportunity to break free from domestic shackles, albeit with the accompanying burden of juggling multiple responsibilities—younger men, driven by societal pressures and gender roles, view the bazaar as a pragmatic choice that upholds their role as breadwinners, albeit within the constraints of patriarchal norms.

Conclusions

To conclude, this study has undertaken an in-depth exploration of the contemporary transformations observed in women’s identities and the evolving gender dynamics within the context of Uzbekistan’s bazaars. Whilst prior research primarily focused on the institutional roles and functions of post-Soviet bazaars, recent scholarship has shifted its focus to the lived experiences of bazaar dwellers. Regrettably, the voices of women have often remained marginalised in these accounts. Grounded in the insights garnered through ethnographic fieldwork, my research addressed this oversight by shedding light on the lived experiences of women engaged in bazaar trading, illustrating how they navigate the ambivalent environment of bazaars.

My study commenced with an examination of the shifting attitudes towards women traders, revealing a dynamic landscape where traditional perceptions are undergoing adaptations to accommodate the evolving roles and agency of women within bazaars. Subsequently, I undertook a meticulous analysis of bazaars as gendered spaces, based on both anecdotal evidence and my personal experiences as a young woman navigating these vibrant marketplaces. A particularly intriguing facet of this study pertained to the intricate role of headscarves in negotiating and navigating prevailing gender norms within bazaars. Through a nuanced exploration, the multifaceted significance of this attire emerged, serving not only as a symbol of tradition, but also as a means through which women assert their identity and agency in these dynamic settings. Finally, my research examined the dual burden faced by women traders as they endeavour to secure both their economic survival and personal autonomy within the confines of the bazaars. This dual struggle underscores the resilience and determination exhibited by these women as they navigate the challenging terrain of economic sustenance and personal emancipation.

Bridging Scott’s concept of infrapolitics and Kandiyoti’s patriarchal bargain proved useful in understanding how women challenge, renegotiate, and reconstruct prevailing patriarchal norms and gender roles within bazaars and beyond. Specifically, employing James C. Scott’s concept of infrapolitics (Scott, 1976, 1985, 2017) helped to elucidate how entering bazaars is not merely a transactional act, but also an act of resistance, whereas Deniz Kandiyoti’s (1988) notion of the patriarchal bargain helped to uncover the nuanced gendered dimensions and limitations of these acts. Thus, the bazaar, as I argued herein, indeed serves as a locus of gender norm contestation and norm building. Through a rich tapestry of narratives and experiences, I demonstrated how bazaars act as catalysts for broader social change in Uzbekistan.