Outrage in Uzbekistan as businesses prioritize Russian over state language

Viral post by popular blogger sparks nationwide debate on marginalization of Uzbek in shops and workplaces dominated by Russian.

TASHKENT, Uzbekistan (MNTV) – A viral video by a local blogger has triggered a fierce public debate over the use of Russian in service industries across Uzbekistan, with thousands of social media users rallying behind the call to prioritize Uzbek, the country’s official state language.

According to Kun.uz, the controversy began when Hojiakbar Nosirov—known online as “Activist”—shared a video on Instagram recounting his experience at a coffee shop in the capital. In the video, which has amassed over 210,000 likes and 22,000 comments, Nosirov described being addressed in Russian by Uzbek employees, despite clearly being an Uzbek customer himself.

“I went to get a cappuccino at Bon! and the girl behind the counter, an Uzbek, greeted me in Russian,” Nosirov said. “When I asked her why, she seemed embarrassed but couldn’t explain. Then another Uzbek woman brought me my order—again, in Russian. Why are we, in our own country, using a foreign language to speak to our own people?”

Nosirov stressed that his criticism was not anti-Russian but aimed at what he called the “erosion” of Uzbek in public life. “I’m not saying don’t speak Russian at all,” he said. “But your business isn’t based in Russia. It’s in Uzbekistan, where the vast majority of your customers are Uzbek. Why is fluency in Russian a requirement to get a job here?”

His concerns echo wider frustrations that have been building across Uzbekistan in recent years. Despite the country’s independence in 1991 and legal recognition of Uzbek as the state language, Russian remains dominant in many businesses, particularly in urban centers. Job postings often list Russian fluency as a must—even for roles that interact primarily with Uzbek-speaking customers.

Many online commentators applauded Nosirov’s stand, pointing out that in some cafés, shops, and offices, customers are routinely addressed in Russian regardless of their background. “This is how people lose their language,” one user wrote. “Little by little, it disappears from daily life until it’s gone.”

Others raised concerns about how Russian-language dominance affects employment. “There are thousands of young people in Uzbekistan who speak fluent Uzbek but can’t get jobs because they didn’t learn Russian,” said one commenter. “This is discrimination in our own homeland.”

Nosirov’s video sparked an outpouring of stories from users sharing similar experiences—many describing feelings of shame or alienation when they were unable to respond in Russian. Some even vowed to boycott businesses that refuse to serve customers in Uzbek.

In response to the backlash, the management of Bon! issued a public apology in the comments under the video. “We recognize Uzbek as the official state language and are committed to ensuring that our staff are trained accordingly,” the company said. “We will take steps to prevent such issues in the future.”

Still, for many, the apology does little to address what they see as a systemic issue. Linguistic nationalism is gaining traction among Uzbeks who see the everyday use of Russian—not just as a holdover from the Soviet era—but as an active barrier to national identity and self-determination.

While Russian remains an important language for diplomacy and regional trade, critics argue that it should not eclipse the everyday use of Uzbek in public spaces. They warn that if the trend continues, younger generations may grow up associating professional success and social prestige with Russian, relegating Uzbek to informal or rural settings.

The debate is unlikely to subside soon. With the video continuing to trend and calls for language reform growing louder, activists and ordinary citizens alike are demanding stronger government enforcement of language laws—and more respect for Uzbekistan’s linguistic heritage.