Globalization and the Lost Identity of a Generation

“Modern wars will no longer be fought with weapons, but with ideas. The goal will be to distort the thinking of our youth.”
— Islam Karimov, First President of Uzbekistan

We live in an era where information travels across continents in seconds, where a cultural shift in one part of the world can influence the mindset of a young person thousands of kilometers away. This is the power—and the peril—of globalization. And in the heart of Central Asia, in countries like Uzbekistan, it’s not just progress that is arriving at our doorsteps, but also a silent crisis: the cultural and spiritual erosion of our youth.

The 21st century is marked by technological triumphs. Our lives have become more connected, more informed, and more digitized. Yet in this wave of innovation, young people in developing and post-Soviet countries find themselves torn between tradition and trend. They are learning, evolving, and adopting—but at what cost?

When Progress Threatens Identity

There is nothing inherently wrong with globalization. In fact, it offers invaluable opportunities for learning, innovation, and cross-cultural exchange. But each nation carries with it a unique soul—embedded in its history, traditions, and moral values. For Uzbekistan, this identity is rooted in the legacy of thinkers like Alisher Navoi, Ibn Sina, Al-Khwarizmi, and Al-Biruni—giants whose wisdom once shaped the course of human knowledge.

Yet today, many of our youth struggle to name these intellectual forefathers. Instead, they idolize imported pop culture, replicate global social media trends, and embrace superficial modernity that often contradicts local values. From imitating art forms born in foreign contexts to defacing historic buildings with graffiti in the name of “expression,” we are witnessing a cultural drift that can no longer be ignored.

This is not an argument against modernization or art. It is a call for balance. A plea for young people to know where they come from before deciding where they are going.

The Cultural Cost of Belonging Everywhere—and Nowhere

In an attempt to belong to a global narrative, many young people are losing touch with their own. Cultural pride is not nationalism; it is self-respect. And preserving heritage does not mean rejecting the world—it means entering it with dignity.

The future of our youth must not come at the cost of forgetting the past. The ancient cities of Samarkand, Bukhara, and Khiva are not just tourist destinations; they are breathing textbooks of our ancestors’ contributions to science, literature, and philosophy. When these landmarks are defaced, when traditions are mocked, it is not just stone that is broken—but memory, identity, and self-worth.

Moving Forward with Roots Intact

Technology is here to stay. Globalization will continue. The question is: Can we raise a generation that embraces the modern world without abandoning its own? Can we empower young people to be both connected to the globe and grounded in their culture?

We must. Because only when young people know who they are, will they know how to lead.

Dilobar Maxmarejabova Elbek qizi is a second-year student at the University of Journalism and Mass Communications, majoring in Philology and English Language Teaching. She is passionate about topics such as youth, spirituality, globalization, and cultural heritage. Through her writing, she seeks to draw attention to pressing social issues and contribute to meaningful discussions on identity and values in the modern world.

Code Magic

Life on the screen, not on paper,

Paint the hidden meaning in each bar.

Programmer-Dream Builder man,

It will be built by order with future codes.

Light flashes inside the outputs,

In mistakes, patience turns into a chariot.

A few words-if, another, for and time,

A whole file hidden in simple lines.

The screen also lights up at night,

A wonderful plan that fills the heart.

Dreams with adjacent numbers,

Future holes with a mouse click.

Programming-fan-she is a creative singer,

The power of the soul grows through mistakes.

Everyone who writes the code-master of dreams,

Creator, builder, epic of the future

The daughter of Muqimova Nazaro Nurillo, I was born on June 26, 2005 in the Bukhara region of the Republic of Uzbekistan. I am currently a 2nd year student of Navoi State University PT: Faculty of Exact Sciences of Information Systems Technology.

Throughout my student life, I was the leader of faculty volunteers. I also write articles, poems and stories on a variety of topics. I am actively engaged in creativity, technology, ecology and social sphere.

In general, I am interested in every field and I work as hard as I can on myself, putting all my efforts into different fields.

My country is in my heart…

When you die – my happiness is inevitable,
Memories are bright inside – your history.
I sing in your arms, my words are triumphant,
Say “oh” every time you take your medicine.

Your height is higher than I value,
The whole world is one world.
Be a light, my country, with my body –
Let’s say saffron to the poor.

If you are told to die with longing –
He is the figure of Babur. – “dodi” in the language.
With the “pen” that conquered the world,
Your prayers will never fade away.

Take care of yourself, shield your freedom,
The beasts are the prey of my sword.
A clot of blood swirled around his chest.
Don’t let it go like that – the sasi of ghanim.

Put a word in the heart – pain from clutching,
Stay intoxicated with freedom.
– Until I stay in your arms forever…
– May I find luck in your arms…

Mahzuna Habibova Aʼzam  kizi. She was born on October 10, 1998 in Jondor district, Bukhara region. Currently a student of Gulistan State University. In Uzbekistan, her first book, “Lines of Longing” was published.

A precious man

The nights and the days come and go without a smile

The days are so big without a smile

The nights are a waiting for a call or a message

It is so expensive this time away from your eyes.

You are my precious pearl..

A diamond hide in the mud..

Waiting the time to hug you and kiss you.

You are my treasure hidden from the sun

Waiting the day I meet you again..

Waiting your look..

Waiting your lips..

You are my precious pearl hidden in the oyster deep in the sea.

You are my precious man. 

….

You

My poem

You,

That the face I did not see for years

You

U are the most amazing being

But cannot touch

You,

The beauty is hiding in  small pieces in your body and mind

You,,

I can explain why

But i know my what

You

That one day u crossed my path

Forces of love or passion touched me

Without reason

I am looking the east

U are looking the west

Miracles happens every day

You

A passion I can live in a privately moment

Love I give

Love will never be understood

You…

In another space of galaxy

You

My ideal

My secret

Garden

You

The moments I never had

You

The distance between 2 countries

A bridge i will try to build to reach you

Good night poem

What a caterpillar maybe call the end

A butterfly call it the beginning of a beautiful journey…

The stars are so far but we can see the lights

And feel their heat

As i am thinking of you

Days and nights are together

No distance

Only sun

Only Moon

And for once they are together

In this beautiful sky

Thinking of you

The days

Think about you

My heart

My body

My soul

Wake up

And

Dance in a circle

Imagine u are here

Imagine u are close to me

Imagine our life starts

This is my wish

My prayer

As you are my hope

My inspiration

In those long years of loneliness…

Love poem

Your smile… 

I dream a future with you

I dream a blue sky

Sunset to a an island 

I dream a white house

And have a view to the sea 

I dream a future close to you.. 

And i get a bad dream

Sleeping alone

Feeling weak

But in my heart

i am not alone because i feel your heart beat

I feel your breath

My impression of George Orwell’s “Animal Farm”

 “The Animal Farm” is a satirical work in the fable genre, published in 1945 by the famous English writer George Orwell. The work is about how the animals on the farm drive away their owners and establish an animal dictatorship. In this, Orwell skillfully revealed the evolution of revolutionary principles. The famous French revolutionary Danton’s phrase “The revolution devours its children like the god of Saturn” is also reflected in the work. Orwell completed this work from November 1943 to February 1944.

 After reading George Orwell’s “Cattle Farm,” you can witness how he masterfully satirizes and sarcastically reveals the thirst for power, complex relationships, and social life based on lies. It creates the impression that these things are characteristics not only of humans but also of animals. But this is a very subtle metaphor that the author used to convey the problem to readers as clearly as possible, showing societies aimed at suppressing freedom of thought and speech through force and ideological mankurtization under the guise of “goodwill.” In this novel, the foundations of society are directly reflected in the lives of animals living on the farm. The human characteristics of these animals clearly show who is actually hidden behind the heroes.

 The plot is very unusual, it is distinguished not only by the development of events in the main characters – the animals and the livestock yard, but also by the relevance of the problems of society reflected by the author. The novel is about the relationship between the weak and the strong, the foolish and the clever. In fact, this is an allegorical demonstration of the dictatorial regimes that the author saw throughout his life.

 The internal political confrontation between humans and animals ends with the formation of a new ideal society based on the principles of equality. In the animal world, stratification occurs gradually, but its beginning manifests itself in the initial movements of pigs. Napoleon’s rise to power occurs naturally (the inhabitants of the farm have grown accustomed to his leadership) and by force (supported by the Nine Terrible Dogs). The political slogans being proclaimed (“Four legs are good, two are bad!”) were lies and propaganda, which were weapons for strengthening Napoleon’s position. The seven articles written on the warehouse wall are constantly changing and being adapted for managers. Everything that happens on the farm is changed in the opposite direction. In the minds of animals, it awakens a feeling of gratitude for the clarity of the sky and the peaceful coexistence, even if they live hungry. The story ends with the establishment of friendly relations with people and the complete assimilation of pigs, who first begin to walk on their feet, and then wear human clothing.

 The artistic images of the main characters have their own historical or generalized prototypes. The working horse named Boxer refers to the working class who see the only way to improve their lives through daily work. The more difficult the situation on the farm, the harder the horse works. The boxer trusts his comrade Napoleon.

 Old Donkey Benjamin – often remains silent, but occasionally tries to open the animals’ eyes to the government’s actions. It is this hero who understands the essence of what is happening in “The Animal Farm”: “They have never lived better or worse than this – hunger, excessive work, and deceived hopes, therefore, this is the unchanging law of life.”

 Thus, the political elite of animals gradually becomes inseparable from the elite of humans. And here is a transparent reminder of what role an ordinary member of society plays in the system. The novel “Cattle Farm” remains relevant today.

 This satirical work depicts the path to the creation of a totalitarian state. The author shows that even with the most vivid and correct idea, you can create a cruel and terrible truth. A story about how society turns into a herd. This applies to each of us. Everything is described in such a simple language that everyone can see it clearly. But if someone doesn’t want to see what’s happening outside their comfortable place, they won’t see it. Gradually, as the story progresses, everyone becomes equal, but some become more equal than others. Equal to the rest…

 Through the joint efforts of the animals, the man was driven out of the farm, and they plowed the field together. Although everyone was considered equal, the pigs were clearly separated from the start, but the other animals were stupid and blind, and he followed their instructions, believing that everyone became equal. Soon the pigs became their masters. The rest of the animals lifted the pigs onto the throne with their own hands and whipped them. We all know that this work is actually not about animals, but about people, about a herd of people.

Otabayeva Khusniya was born in 2004 in the Khanka district of the Khorezm region into an intellectual family. Currently, she is a 4th-year student in the Primary Education program at Urgench State Pedagogical Institute. She is a participant in several anthologies and almanacs, the author of more than 30 articles and 3 books, and a recipient of the state scholarship “Navoi.” She is a winner of several republican and international competitions, as well as an official member of international organizations, and holder of an international diploma, certificate, and medal. Her articles are regularly published in prestigious journals and newspapers of such countries as Germany, Italy, Poland, Turkey, Great Britain, and Argentina.

HOPE IS THE THING WITH PETALS

Nothing blossoms here except these sunflowers.
Not the hibiscus our mother planted by the orchard,
or these lilies we buried with a prayer.
Only these golden heads, standing with outstretched arms
embracing sunlight.

I plucked one yesterday,
rubbed its velvet against my cheek,
and wondered if yellow can teach me something
about staying alive.
I plucked another before your voice broke out.
When it cracked open, you sounded like
a drum calling back its own silence.
We both turned our faces to the window
and hoped answers would someday fall in with the light.

Today, at dawn,
we laughed like oiled doors on rusted hinges,
swinging open and shut stories of childhood foolishness.
We swore we would sink our fears beneath Agbami—
that river where frogs sang falsetto
as boys drowned things without dying.

At noon, the sun’s heat made you bow to the sand
where you dragged a stick & spelled nothing,
etching lines like someone trying to draw
an escape route without a map.

At dusk, you smeared olive oil on your wrists again,
said it keeps the ghosts from tightening their ropes at midnight.
You looked like a man holding himself by a thread—
fear had teeth, and you were offering your neck.

I didn’t ask questions.
But I’m still here, plucking petals again,
asking if you still believe.

Peace Ogunjemilua is a writer whose works explore nature and narratives rooted in cultural depth. He has contributed articles to magazines and was featured in the Nigerian Student Poetry Prize. He is a Sprinng Writing Alumnus, and he also interns as an architectural writer at Rethinking the Future (RTF). Peace runs a blog called ThinkGreen, focused on sustainable design, and with a background in architecture, he brings a unique perspective to his writing. Aside from reading, he loves graphic art and music.

Morning is war

We’re burning like matches

But who sets us on fire every time?

Our meat hurts as if someone is trying to eat our flesh

But what does the word “we” mean?

Seven marble

Seven marble suns have died in the last week

Seven tin gods have burst in the last week

Seven donkeys with gifts from the Magi have been torn apart in the last week

Seven sulfur streams have soared into the air in the last week

Seven days have passed in the last week

Seven people have disappeared in the last week

Seven babies were born in the last week

A state of emergency has been declared seven times in the last week

In the last week seven numbers have become uncountable

No one has been resurrected in the last week

Singles

The sandcastles of human rights are falling into my eyes

My cat buries his shit in the folds of my skin

Not a single spit of time can wash away the sand from a person

As luck would have it, there is not a single footprint of your foot on this sand

I teach water to build silence

I am learning from the sand to remain silent in agreement

Belly is home

We don’t fuck in basements:

We live in them

Thirst

salt smeared on lips

sugar dissolved in the veins

lips in an eternal search for sperm

in order to quench the thirst

for love

Facts and lives

mantrap in my left torn off leg

pretends I’m not there

The bird

The bird tries to break into the room without realizing that the window is transparent

In the end in despair the unfortunate creature disappears into the nightleaving feathers as a souvenir

A feather that comes off is no longer part of the bird

I burst into the night shooting at my cast iron temple

A ghostly bird breaks out of its body cage and runs into the garden through the glass

A dead body ceases to be part of the life that goes on around

Silence everywhere

Silence everywhere

The stone drinks the silence of the sand

Sand castles

The river plays with the sound of the tide