The Interconnection of Family and Society in Uzbekistan

Abu Rayhan Beruni

Urgench State University Faculty of Socio-Economic Sciences

Field of Study: Jurisprudence

Abstract: This article analyzes the essence of the close interconnection between family and society in Uzbekistan, as well as its social, spiritual, and legal foundations. The family is the fundamental unit of society and a sacred institution. The Constitution of the Republic of Uzbekistan emphasizes that the family is under state protection. The stability of society, the upbringing of a morally mature generation, and the preservation of national values are directly linked to the strength of the family institution.

Conclusion: The role of the family in society is invaluable. Strong, harmonious, and value-based families ensure social stability and sustainable development.

UNDER CONSTRUCTION

Toast the brand new year—but watch your step.

You’re entering a hard-hat area.

The future is under construction.

Last year was a train wreck.

Government jumped the tracks,

lay on its side, wheels spinning.

No connections. No direction.

Checks and balances dismantled—

like the White House itself.

No change in sight for 2026.

Supreme Court stooges run amok.

Senators kowtow and kiss the ring.

Laws apply to subjects, not to kings.

Clueless, photogenic figureheads—

folks you wouldn’t trust to water plants—

manage massive budgets, oversee

DOJ, defense, health, education…

Offices are rubber-stamped by suits

playing quid-pro-quo games.

Brushfires flare up—a new blaze daily.

The government shuts down.

No wages paid week after week.

No failures fixed. Forecast: more flames to come.

A vintage jukebox wails out country woes—

but “cheatin’ hearts” give way to urban blues:

tariffs, health care, price of food and gas…

A vinyl record hits a snag, and stutters

Epstein files, Epstein files, Eps…

Distractions needed.

ICE rounds up brown faces,

lynches brown dreams.

Jaws drop as evening news shows secret orders—

Our country bombs Iran,

bombs ships at sea, and all who cling to wreckage.

Are we at war?

Only the war on immigrants—

a short-sighted war. If we win, we lose.

Allies back away from us, cut ties.

Putin pens our foreign policy.

Gifts are now the norm.

Contracts, kickbacks. Jumbo jets. Gold crowns.

Psst! Hey kid, want some candy? Follow me…

The old year’s all used up.

It’s time to buy a ticket to tomorrow.

But wait—the future’s closed for repairs.

So grab a jack-hammer

and blast through gilded lies.

There are no hands to build anew

but ours.

AFFORDABILITY

Scrambled eggs for family brunch

@ 3 eggs per person = Scrooge’s Christmas goose.

Supermarket shelves have upped each sign.

Economy is this—our daily bread.Our rent, gas, spending cash.

Our shoes and socks.

Tariffs wear masks, stand with pistols drawn.

Stagecoach– robbed before it hits Dodge City. 

You say it’s not a heist?

It’s just a hoax? 

Some billionaire keeps making millions daily?

Dude—he’s the desperado holding guns!

And someone’s turning all that gold bullion

into wall decor to make the White House

Into tacky chic—Motel Versailles.

Building a ballroom.

Using our healthcare to gild the ego of a grumpy man.

Landlords, bankers, butchers get bad raps

trying to make a living, to scrape by…

They’re but the flags, economy’s red alert.

Stock market’s up—but you know who that helps.The 1%. 

Not me, my friend.

Nor you.

Rice and beans and pasta—all imported.

Price hikes—our new diet.

Get a job,but now commuting’s pricey—and we’re lucky.

So many out of work.

No food. No home. 

We measure fitness by the price of eggs. 

STRUGGLE FOR SURVIVAL AND THE INSTINCT FOR ‘GIVE AWAY’

When from a liquid, a drop is formed, it is trapped into the struggle for survival. Its shape depends on how much the  winds press its sides, and how much the light sucks its vitality. The moment it is formed, the eternal countdown begins, and then, as the day passes, a part of it is lived out. Finally, a moment arrives, when winds suck it back.

The sun and the night, the moon and the stars, the oceans and the mountains – they saw it form, flourish, and then finish. When we see this bubble, this drop, this human being, he is in the throes of a struggle, the wise call the struggle for survival.  

When man is born, he too resembles a drop of life, and it is not difficult to see how this struggle for survival has started in the womb itself. Parents try to soften the pangs of this struggle in the initial years, but as soon as a child grows up, his march to adulthood is marked with pitfalls and boobytraps, and this struggle continues through the adult years, right up to the time he reaches the ventilator, the launch pad from where, hollow-copters  fly on a journey into the unknown. 

All through this life, the man was trying to stay alive and he did not mind this struggle which left him alive although so many lost their lives. The first and foremost thing for man is to preserve his life. Once he is secure in his body, mind and soul, he starts thinking of embellishments which make  life beautiful. Art steps in, music steps in. Love steps in. It is now a paradigm of passions.

Just think of a journey in a plane. When the plane runs on the runway, and takes the dive up, our hearts sink. That is the initial shock we experience. But as it gains its speed, and becomes stable, we forget we are on a mission of do or die. The hostesses make you oblivious of the perils of the journey with their offer of drinks, food etc. In a few moments, the feeling of danger passes, and we start thinking of our life, some open their laps tops. Some go to sleep. The feeling of struggle will return when the plane lands, because, that too is a moment fraught with danger. 

The idea is the struggle for survival is the basic instinct of man, and it remains with him all through. The question in the struggle for survival is when the idea of ‘how’ steps in. To keep alive is the first instinct, and this is animal instinct, the minimal, and the basest. We begin with this instinct. No doubt, throughout life, we have to keep alive till we reach the launch-pad, are we in the survival mode all through?

Can this instinct describe man in his entirety? I think, No. As soon as man acquires a sense of stability, he starts thinking of values, and the quality of his conduct in life. The focus shifts from the body to the mind and we are confronted with higher truths of life.

Existence is the essential truth  but adding value to it is no less.  I met a childhood friend who had retired from civil services. He held one grouse and it was against himself. He earned money, had a great going in his life, but what he has left behind? We, who believe in struggle for survival, also believe in the idea of a ‘take away’ from this struggle.

But, a time comes when we start thinking, was there any ‘give away’ also? 

Dr. Jernail Singh Anand, with an opus of 180 plus books, is Laureate of the Seneca, Charter of Morava, Franz Kafka and Maxim Gorky awards.  His name adorns the Poets’ Rock in Serbia. Anand’s work  embodies a rare fusion of creativity, intellect, and moral vision.

NEW YEAR’S RESILIENCE

In the garden of grit, where shadows stretch,

Weary vines climbed through thorns of the past,  

Each task a tempest, each moment a wave,  

But beneath the storms, the roots clenched tighter.    

Wounds like constellations, pain etched in stardust,  

I tread softly on the stars of my battles,  

With a heart forged from fire, I rise,  

A phoenix unfurling wings against the horizon.    

I glance towards the edges of humanity,  

Where houses tremble like leaves in a gale,  

And children cradle hunger like a secret,  

While hope drips like honey from the skies.   

For I carry an ember, a spark of tomorrow,  

In the crucible of compassion, I harden my resolve,  

With the sun as my compass, I stride into dawn,  

Determined to dismantle the darkness with each step.    

Amidst the chaos, I gather the broken shards,  

Crafting a mosaic of dreams yet to bloom,  

The country of compassion calls me forth,  

And I answer with the drumbeat of courage in my chest.    

So let the New Year be a canvas unwritten,  

With colors of resilience, where challenges weave,  

An artist of hope, I paint my destiny,  

Knowing the dawn is only a heartbeat away.   

***

THESE DAYS OF CELEBRATION

I saw many of these festive days at the end of the year.

I saw bags weighing down hands,  

Decorations and lights that sparkled,  

And I saw the city like a bride adorned.  

I saw the sun and the moon descending to Earth,

Eyes and hearts of people igniting a rainbow,  

I saw embraces and kisses full of longing,  

Endless wishes that cannot be counted.  

I also saw the beggar’s hands like a cancer metastasis,

His statue frozen by the roadside of a noisy city,   

Eyes that remained a mist of rain of sadness,  

And his look of pain – a frost that freezes you.  

I hope that the coming New Year will see it,

And change the statue for a more beautiful one,  

To see also the indifferent, cold soul of people, 

And I wish to grant them a warmer heart.

THE TURNING OF THE PAGE

The year now fades, a closing book,

Of rushing streams and quiet corners.

We turn our heads to look behind,

At all the moments, sharp and kind.

So gather up the laughter’s chime,

The silent tears, the borrowed time.

Each thread is woven, dark and bright,

Into the fabric of the light.

We stand upon the threshold’s gleam,

And step into the newborn dream.

With lessons held and spirit worn,

We greet the coming, hopeful morn.

Post Accident

Bloodstained hair peels back

glass shards at this velocity.

Wind of a

stranger’s comic bubbles

float towards me

as the boxcar finally stops.

I am jet lagged, metal in my mouth,

vertigo knocks on

the noggin and

blue, purple, and pink bruises

make a home for themself

on my charred skin.

Glass paper cuts on hands

sting me as I’m trapped in.

I am still in awe of the number

of patrons that stopped in

for a well being check

as they tow the remnants

under the overpass

and fish me out of the

driver’s seat

as I bob up for air

again.

Eva Petropoulou Lianou

Water, Air, Pollution everywhere

We breathe the plastic

People are swimming among the garbage into the Ocean

We expect to have a clean atmosphere and be happy

But people are bombing citizens and countries with

Poison

We are taking for environmental health

But we humans

We pollute

We don’t respect our selves

We don’t respect nature

We play God

We create earthquakes

We create rain

We create typhoon

One day Earth

Will say enough

And human will be rejected

For his bad behaviour

Review By poet

Kujtim Hadjari

This poem is a powerful and direct critique of human environmental destruction and self-destructive behavior. It’s not subtle—it’s a cry of anger and warning.The poet argues that our interference is not wise or divine; it’s a dangerous, arrogant disruption of natural systems. The poet, after explaining the danger we have created for our Earth, ends with a prophetic warning. It personifies the Earth as a living entity that will one day reach a breaking point: ”enough.”/”Human will be rejected” – This is the final, devastating consequence. Not just punished, but ”rejected,” like an organ rejects a foreign body or a host rejects a parasite. The implication is that the Earth will cleanse itself of humanity to survive.The poem is an ”eco-apocalyptic warning.” It argues that humanity’s pollution, violence, and arrogant manipulation of nature are not separate issues—they are all symptoms of the same disease: ”a fundamental lack of respect for the living system that sustains us.”The poet believes this path is suicidal. If we continue to act as a destructive, parasitic force, the Earth (through climate catastrophe, ecosystem collapse, or our own poisoned environment) will ultimately make the planet uninhabitable for us. It’s a call to recognize our interconnectedness with nature before it’s too late.In short, we are poisoning our own nest, and if we don’t stop, we will be evicted.The poem is a call for all inhabitants to change their behaviour for our living system.