Every year, as Kazakhstan marks Republic Day on Oct. 25, we return to a moment in our history that is easy to describe in legal terms but harder to appreciate in its broader meaning. On Oct. 25, 1990, the Declaration of State Sovereignty of the Kazakh Soviet Socialist Republic laid the foundations for the country’s future statehood, establishing principles of territorial integrity, political self-determination and national identity that would become central to independent Kazakhstan.
The cover of the Declaration on the State Sovereignty of the Kazakh SSR. Yet this date’s significance extends beyond the document itself. It invites us to consider what it means to be a republic, not simply as a form of government, but as a country whose future cannot be separated from the people who inhabit it.
In June 2022, at the first meeting of the National Kurultai in Ulytau, President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev proposed restoring its status as a national holiday. Parliament passed the relevant amendments on Sept. 29, 2022, and the country celebrated Republic Day again that October.
For much of Kazakhstan’s post-independence history, the story of the state was closely tied to the figure of its first president. This made sense in a country undergoing profound political and economic transformation, where building new institutions and seeking stability became defining priorities.
But a state is larger than any individual’s political career, however consequential that career may be. Leaders come and go, political narratives change, and the durability of a country ultimately depends on its institutions, shared values and the strength of its civic life.
Seen in this light, the return of Republic Day means more than restoring a holiday. It brings the idea of the republic itself back into focus: the country as a shared political space, rather than an extension of any one person’s legacy. Perhaps Tokayev was guided by precisely this understanding when he proposed restoring the holiday, recognizing that the idea of statehood must ultimately rest on something greater than the legacy of an individual leader.
A republic derives its strength not from any one political figure’s permanence, but from the people who sustain it, the institutions they build and their commitment to a common future. This also carries deeper historical resonance. The steppe that shaped Kazakh society was vast, and survival across it required more than individual strength.
Communities depended on agreements, customary law, mutual obligations and an understanding that disputes had to be resolved within a shared social order. These traditions should not be romanticized as a history without conflict or inequality, but they do remind us that collective life has always required rules, negotiation and an ability to find common ground.
Modern Kazakhstan is, of course, a very different society. Its citizens live in cities and villages, work in a highly connected economy, participate in institutions and increasingly engage with the world beyond their borders. Yet the underlying question remains familiar: what holds a community together, and what makes its members feel that the place they inhabit is genuinely theirs?
Patriotism is often expressed through symbols, ceremonies and declarations of loyalty, but its more meaningful test lies in everyday choices. It is reflected in whether we respect the law when doing otherwise would be easier, whether we demand accountability from public institutions, whether we treat public property as something we share rather than something that belongs to nobody, and whether we contribute to the communities in which we live.