The life of Mirjaqyp Dulatuly, one of the leaders of the Alash movement, whose remains were returned to his homeland more than half a century after his death, was marked by struggle and hardship. Living under the constraints of the tsarist regime, he urged Kazakhs to awaken to their cultural and political condition and later joined the movement’s leading thinkers, including Alikhan Bökeikhan and Akhmet Baitursynuly, becoming their trusted ally in the struggle for the future of the nation. But Dulatuly, who had already endured persecution under the empire, found no mercy under Soviet rule either. He was arrested, sentenced to execution, and ultimately died in captivity. And yet, the poet who had turned his pen into his greatest weapon remained steadfast in his ideals and convictions until the very end.
In an interview with Qalam, Mirjaqyp scholar and historian Marat Absemetov speaks about his life and legacy.
In Search of Mirjaqyp’s Grave
At the end of May 1990, I traveled to the Solovetsky Islands in northern Russia as a recipient of a scholarship from the Soviet Culture Foundation and as a researcher of Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s work and legacy. I attended a memorial ceremony for the victims of political repressions that took place between the 1920s and 1930s at the Solovetsky Museum. The event was presided over by academician Dmitry Likhachyov, the renowned literary scholar and philologist who had once served time there himself.
A large group of former prisoners, witnesses to that era, and researchers participated in the Solovetsky forum. And over the course of three days, we visited the main historical and architectural sites on Solovetsky, the suburban museum-reserve, and the settlements of Sekirnaya Gora, Savvatyevo, and Isakovo.
Shortly before the trip, Gulnar Mirjaqypovna, Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s daughter, asked me to visit the nearby districts of Kem or Sosnovets, rumored to be the places where her father had died, and speak with the local residents in the hope of uncovering traces of his final days.
In the evening, we arrived at Sosnovets Station, a very small settlement. Shortly, a Russian woman approached me and asked, ‘Are you Kazakh?’ When I answered that I was, she continued without hesitation, as if responding to my silent surprise: ‘We once had a Kazakh poet here. His name was Davlatov.’
Mirjaqyp Dulatuly / Wikimedia Commons
The next day, I went with the village council chairman to meet the residents of Sosnovets. We learned that the mother of one of the women at the meeting had left a final request before her death: ‘Bury me next to Mirjaqyp.’ It soon became clear that Dulatuly had been buried separately—not in the camp, but along with the civilian workers. When I heard this, I immediately said, ‘Let’s go take a look!’
When we arrived at the cemetery, we immediately saw Mirjaqyp’s grave enclosed by an iron fence. It was decorated with an Islamic crescent, but later, presumably due to someone’s objections, a star was added. The structure was striking: every part of it was assembled from different pieces of metal. Then the village council chairman turned to me and said quietly to me, ‘Who knows how long those gathered here and who remembered this place will live. Take a written statement confirming that this is indeed Mirjaqyp’s grave.’ When the document was passed around, all the witnesses signed it immediately.
When I returned home with this statement and a handful of earth from Mirjaqyp’s grave, his daughter Gulnar broke into bitter tears. Soon after that, I wrote an article for the newspaper Qazaq Ädebieti (Kazakh Literature) titled ‘Jūmsaq pa, jambasyña jatqan jerıñ?’ (‘Is Your Resting Place Soft?’).
A Long Journey Home
Later, Gulnar Mirjaqypovna asked me to go back to Sosnovets and examine the remains to be absolutely certain they belonged to her father. After his death, she had been sent his personal belongings, among them a dental prosthesis, and this time she asked that her son, Nurlan, accompany me.
When we opened the grave, I immediately saw that the bodies had been buried very tightly, almost pressed against one another. The earth was carefully cleared away, layer by layer, until the remains were exposed. The sight was so unsettling that I instinctively stepped back, unable to bring myself to look closely. Nurlan, however, knelt down, took out the prosthesis, and gently tried it—and it fit perfectly.
Some time later, Gulnar Mirjaqypovna said, ‘I want to bring my father’s remains home. The thought of him in another land won't give me peace.’ Soon after that, we went to what was then the Turgay region. We met with local officials, spoke at length with the regional leadership, and consulted everyone whose consent was required. Only after these meetings and negotiations did a final decision take shape: Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s remains would be returned to his homeland.
Document on the reburial of Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s remains / Kostanay Regional Museum of History and Local Lore
Gulnar could not join us on this special expedition due to her age and frail health. Yet when her father’s remains finally reached their homeland, she broke down in tears. I would not be wrong when I say that everyone present there also shed tears in that moment. People rejoiced openly and sincerely that the spirit of the Alash figure had at last been reunited with his native land after more than half a century. These were tears of joy—an overwhelming moment that touched everyone to the depths of their soul.
It is also noteworthy that when we collected Mirjaqyp’s remains at Sosnovets Station and were preparing to leave, the sky was perfectly clear. But as soon as we set off, a downpour began. The elderly Russian women gathered there shook their heads and said, ‘Nature itself is crying.’
When the inevitable question arose—‘Where should he be buried?’—opinions were divided. Some suggested Almaty, others the Turgay region, or even Turkestan. Some believed he should be laid to rest in his native village of Qyzbel. After much discussion, the decision was made to bury him at the Bidaiyq state farm, then a thriving and vibrant place. At the time, no one could have foreseen that the Turgay region itself would later be dissolved, lending the choice an unexpected poignancy.
The Three Books That Awakened the Kazakh People
In a striking coincidence, in 1909, three works that would profoundly shape the spiritual life of the Kazakh people were published. That year, Abai Qunanbaiuly’s first book, Akhmet Baitursynuly’s collection Qyryq Mysal (Forty Fables), and Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s Oyan, Qazaq! (Wake Up, Kazakh!) saw their way into the hands of the public. Appearing almost simultaneously, these books sent a shock through Kazakh society, stirring reflection, debate, and a new sense of national self-awareness. Together, they marked a turning point—an awakening of Kazakh consciousness that would resonate far beyond their time.
Mirjaqyp Dulatuly. Oyan, Qazaq! 2003 / From open sources
Mirjaqyp had once said he wrote Oyan, Qazaq! because he saw his people trapped in an extremely difficult and desperate situation. He put it this way: ‘If you do not share the knowledge you have, if you do not awaken your people from their deep slumber, then what good are you?’
The impact of Mirjaqyp’s words was so profound that Koshke Kemengerov wrote: ‘The tsarist government was so afraid, fearing that the Kazakhs might awaken.’ He also noted that the Kazakhs memorized the book as if it were the Quran and read it constantly.
But the fact was that the Tsarist government was truly and deeply alarmed by the publication of Oyan, Qazaq!. A look into the gendarmerie archives in places like Moscow, St. Petersburg, Kazan, Orenburg, and even Semey reveals ample evidence of this. These archives are overflowing with materials related to Oyan, Qazaq! Every line—poetic or otherwise—was carefully underlined and meticulously annotated.
Mirjaqyp Dulatuly and Amangeldi Imanov
For many years, rumors circulated that Mirjaqyp had allegedly killed Amangeldii
The film Amangeldi, in which Mirjaqyp was portrayed as Madiyar, was followed by Makan Zhumagulov’s book Orly gibnut v vyshine (Eagles Die in the Heights). However, neither of these fictional portrayals was based on documented facts. While there were indeed disagreements and clashes of opinion between them, Mirjaqyp had absolutely no connection to Amangeldi’s death. He was a man of impeccable integrity, and his acquittal soon confirmed this. Nurkanov emphasized: ‘If there had been even the slightest hint of wrongdoing in that incident, he would have been executed immediately, no matter what. All of this is just the echo of politics.’
Abylkhan Kasteev. Amangeldy Imanov, 1950 / A. Kasteev State Museum of Arts of the Republic of Kazakhstan
I returned to Gulnar Mirjaqypqyzy and relayed everything I had heard from Ayap Nurkanov. Continuing the conversation, she noted that Amangeldi was not only a batyri
The article stated that a local baii
Äuezov, Dzhangildin, and the Poet’s Descendants
Mirjaqyp had three sons—Abylai, Nauryzbai, and Alibek—and two daughters. Of all his children, only Gulnar survived. She safeguarded the legacy of the Alash Movement and succeeded in carrying her father’s teachings forward to future generations of Kazakhs. Yet her own life was far from easy.
While studying at the medical institute in Tomsk, Russia, she was expelled for being the daughter of an ‘enemy of the people’. At the same time, Sholpan Baitursynova, Ahmet Baitursynuly's daughter, was living in Almaty and had also been dismissed from her job. After returning to Almaty, Gulnar often met with her, and one day, while they were sitting in a park sharing their sorrows, Mukhtar Auezovi
Iosif Budnevich. Mukhtar Auezov, 1958 / RIA Novosti
These were truly harsh times: the children of ‘enemies of the people’ were barred from employment and expelled from universities. Everyone lived in constant fear and uncertainty. After the incident with Auezov, Gulnar Mirjaqypqyzy and Sholpan Baitursynova were in despair, unsure where to turn for help. Eventually, they recalled Alibi Jangeldin, a high-ranking official, and decided to meet with him.
As they stood in the reception area, a loud voice called out from behind the door: ‘Who’s there?’ The secretary replied, ‘Dulatova and Baitursynova.’ Upon hearing these names, Jangeldin immediately came out, greeted them with profound respect, and offered his assistance.
Life in Prison and Death
While in the camp, Mirjaqyp worked tirelessly for those suffering with him. He even compiled a dictionary of criminal terminology to help the prisoners. Most of the investigators and camp staff spoke Russian, which many prisoners of different nationalities struggled to understand. Dulatuly worked on the dictionary in the camp library, aiming to make their lives easier. The prisoners copied it by hand and circulated it among fellow inmates. Thus, the freedom fighter who had urged his enslaved people to awaken continued to help others even while in captivity, striving to assist those imprisoned alongside him.
Yet this great figure, who loved his people selflessly, remained stranded in a foreign land and passed away in October 1935. I sometimes wonder: Did he die of a broken heart? When I met the Finn Albo Kuroti, he told me the following:
In 1934, following Kirov’si
The official documents confirm that he died of a heart condition. How else can one explain that just a month earlier, his wife, Gainzhamal, had visited him with their son Alibek and stayed for a whole month? Clearly, this permission was granted because Mirjaqyp was in good health and served as a doctor in the camp. Remarkably, the house where his family stayed during that visit still stands today.
Mirjaqyp Dulatuly’s Mausoleum / From open sources
This is only part of an interview with the well-known historian Marat Absemetov about the life and tragic fate of the Alash figure Mirjaqyp Dulatuly. You can watch the full version on our YouTube channel Qalam Tarih.