Growing anxiety in Crimea as locals face the war's harsh reality

Long, gray beard. Tired, baggy eyes. We meet Isa Akayev (real name Nariman Bilialov) in Warsaw. The "Crimea" battalion he commands has just returned for rotation from the front in the Kharkiv region.

- Earlier we were in Avdiivka, before that in Bakhmut, and even earlier in Kherson. The battalion is under military intelligence, so our task is reconnaissance, sabotage, and assault actions. They send us where the heaviest fights are ongoing and support for the infantry is needed – says Akayev.

Akayev will use his free time to meet with his family, who left for Turkey after the Russian invasion began. Hence, a stop in Warsaw.

- I had many reasons not to fight: age (59 years), illnesses (diabetes), children (eleven). Any of these alone would be enough to avoid mobilization. But one argument outweighed everything. The Russians made another generation of Crimean Tatars homeless. My grandparents were deported. I returned to Crimea, built a house, but my children are growing up in a foreign country. History has come full circle. It should end. With small steps, we will return to Crimea.

Tatiana Kolesnychenko, Wirtualna Polska: Russia shells Ukraine daily, killing civilians, but so far all of Ukraine's strikes on Crimea have not caused losses among the local population. Only at the end of June did rocket fragments fall on a beach in Sevastopol, killing five people and injuring 150. There was no air-raid siren, and even if there had been, there were no shelters nearby. What do people in Crimea say about this?

Isa Akayev: Let me clarify. It is already known that a Russian anti-aircraft missile fell on the beach. For some reason, instead of destroying our missile, it deviated from the trajectory and fell on the beach, killing civilians.

First of all, the people who were on the beach at that time were not locals. I lived in Crimea for 30 years, and believe me, in the season no one has time to sunbathe by the sea. These were vacationers, i.e., Russians who came for a holiday. They are convinced that the war is far away, in Ukraine, and it does not concern them.

So, it's no wonder they're angry now. They saw that the authorities don't care about their safety, and the weapons they often describe as "unique" are, like everything in their country, full of pomp with an empty middle.

I don't know if they realized what you're saying, but they certainly heard on TV that it was an American missile. Now they increasingly place military equipment in places crowded with tourists. This puts Ukraine in a dilemma: consider civilian casualties or give up attacks?

Not necessarily. The missiles we use to attack targets in Crimea and Russia are modern and precise. They have a GPS system that is constantly connected to a satellite, so we can correct their course at any time. As far as I know, the missile we launched that day hit its target.

But it is already quite obvious that the Russians do not value their own people. We spent the entire winter in Bakhmut. Behind the building we were defending, about twenty bodies of their soldiers lay. Not once in four months did they try to retrieve them.

Another common example on the front is shelling their own people. A battle is ongoing, the Russians cannot withstand the pressure, they begin to retreat, and then "their" artillery strikes. Between the trenches, 50-100 yards. They kill both ours and their own. It doesn't matter to them. The end justifies the means. So if they treat their own like that, how do they treat us? To them, we are nothing.

Let's return to the missile attack. You say they were vacationers, but what are the moods among the locals?

Those waiting for the liberation of Crimea say they are frying chebureks (a traditional dish, large fried dumplings stuffed with meat - ed.) whenever something explodes in Crimea. Others feel a bit in a clinch.

In the first years after the annexation, there were more tourists in Crimea, and local budgets were inflated with money. Some Crimean residents fell for it, and when they woke up, it was already too late. Under Ukraine, they could say what they wanted, and now they are even afraid to think. In Russia, they are hated because, as long as the money was going to Crimea, other regions were not receiving it at all. On the other hand, people are afraid of Ukraine because they already see that Russia is not necessarily able to protect them.

So, in the last two years, the euphoria has gradually turned into confusion, fear, and, in some cases, disappointment with Russia, as none of the great promises have been fulfilled. It was naive to expect anything at all. Crimea is a symbol of their imperialism for Russia. For centuries, they have erased the native peoples from its history. The deportation of the Crimean Tatars in 1944 was the last act.

Were you born in Uzbekistan? Who maintained the traditions in the family?

My grandmother, my mother's mother, told me the most. She was an educated woman; she studied in Turkey. She always said that we are Crimean Tatars and Muslims, and the Russians are our enemies. She chased me away when I befriended Russian children. Once, I came home from school, bursting with pride. I became a pioneer! I had a red tie. My grandmother got angry and said, "Take it off! You're not a dog to wear a collar."

At that time, I didn't understand; I was still a child. Now, looking back, I know that I didn't lose my roots only because of her.

What did she say about the deportation?

She remembered that day very well. It was early in the morning, around three o'clock. NKVD officers broke down the door and burst into the house. They gave them less than 10 minutes to dress and gather essential things. My mother was barely two years old. Then everyone was herded into cattle wagons. They travelled for three weeks, thousands of miles from home.

When they arrived in Uzbekistan, they had to walk 25 miles in the heat to reach the place of residence. It was a big barrack, something similar to the German death camps.

According to various estimates, 40 to 50 percent of Crimean Tatars died during transport and in the first years of exile.

My uncle told me that sometimes they stayed overnight in the cemetery. Hunger, diseases, and backbreaking work caused people to collapse. My uncle and others dug so many graves during the day that they had no strength to return home.

Those who survived sank into apathy. At first, when they were driven out of their homes, they thought they would all be shot. Then, for years, they believed they would be allowed to return to those homes. They adjusted to this temporariness. My grandfather was a realist. In the 1920s, he was de-kulaked and sent to forced labour. He knew they would face the same after deportation.

At first, it was very hard because for a day's work in the field, my grandfather and his two eldest sons received a flatbread made from sorghum (a grain, at that time used as animal feed - ed.). So they had three flatbreads a day for a family of nine. Then my grandfather secured a piece of land, built a house, planted an orchard and a garden. Others wondered why he was doing it, but he knew they wouldn't return home.

After Stalin's death, it became a bit easier. But until the 1970s, Crimean Tatars were not allowed to leave the areas of deportation. Many lived in barracks all that time.

Did your grandmother miss Crimea?

Very much. She spoke only Crimean Tatar. She talked about summer in Crimea. About how it smells of ripe pears and the sea. It sounds like cicadas. And the sand, when it heats up, becomes like powder that slips between your toes. She loved Crimea and missed it very much.

At that time, I couldn't even imagine that history would repeat itself, and I would be telling my children about Crimea in the same way. It seems that human nature makes you appreciate your homeland only when you lose it. For me, 2014 was a turning point. I really didn't want to leave Crimea and subject my children to what I experienced, but we had no choice. Then I realized how much I love our culture and tradition.

When did you first go to Crimea?

In 1979, when I was 14 years old. I went to Eupatoria, to the sanatorium "Young Lenin." That was the first time I saw the Crimean Khan's Palace in Bakhchysarai, Sevastopol, and the mosque in Eupatoria.

On the one hand, I was thrilled, but on the other, I felt ashamed of my origins for the first time. On one of the tours, the guide presented Crimean Tatars as savages, parasites who constantly plundered Russia, so it had no choice but to occupy Crimea. Not a word about deportation, starvation, repression, and the fact that Slavic populations appeared here whenever massacres diminished our numbers, the indigenous inhabitants.

They wanted to erase any trace of us. They changed 80 percent of the names from Tatar to Russian. Not a single cemetery was left. Throughout Crimea, only five architectural relics of the Crimean Tatars have survived. They destroyed everything. Practically, for those 70 years since the deportation, our language and culture did not develop. They were replaced with everything Russian.

Do you speak the Crimean Tatar language?

At a very basic level. Only as much as I remember from my grandmother. In childhood, I spoke only Crimean Tatar with her, and when it was time to go to school, I realized that I didn't speak Russian at all. I was assigned to an Uzbek class, and my mother broke down. She cried because she knew that without knowing Russian, I had no future. Eventually, her teacher friend took pity on me and practiced with me. Then my grandmother died, and gradually Russian replaced the Tatar language at home.

My parents didn't remember the deportation; they were too young, but they carried trauma and fear throughout their lives. Their way of life was to adapt and not stand out. My mother was terrified when I started participating in the Crimean Tatar nationalist movement.

That was in the 80s?

Yes, just after I returned from the military. As a representative of an unreliable nation, I wasn't sent to a combat unit but to so-called stroybat. It's a battalion that theoretically should engage in the construction of military facilities, fortifications. Instead, we built resorts for the communist elite.

At that time, in the Soviet Union, there was talk of glasnost, and among us – about returning home. My mother was terrified, begged me to stay away. She said: "They will never give us Crimea back; blood will be shed."

And what did you do?

In the 90s, I returned to Crimea. I had a romantic vision: I'll find a job, get a place in a hostel, as it was everywhere in the USSR. And then slowly, slowly, I'll save for a plot, build a house. I had finished building institute, so I had higher education and the highest qualifications as a high-altitude installer. I went to a building materials factory; they were happy, said they would hire me immediately...

But?

But when I showed my documents, the charm vanished. The director frankly told me they were instructed not to hire returning Tatars. I had to get a registration first. The lady at the window said she wouldn't issue me a registration without documents from the local draft office. So I went to the recruitment office, and they said: we won't give documents without a work certificate. And the cycle closed.

We were all in the same situation then. A lot of educated people, because parents wore themselves out so that we would finish universities and have a better life. But in Crimea, there were no jobs for us. Everyone managed as they could. I knew a woman who taught English, German, and French at the university in Samarkand. When she returned to Crimea, she fried and sold chebureks at the bazaar.

I managed to get a job illegally at a quarry as a loader. And only thanks to the fact that the director of the quarry was a Crimean Greek who understood what we were going through.

Did you visit your grandparents' former estate?

Yes, my uncles took me there. It's near Simferopol; the village used to be called Mamashe, and now Orlovka. There used to be a big house, a couple of miles from the beach. After the deportation and confiscation of the property, a public library was set up in it. Then, when in the 90s talks about the return of estates began, someone demolished the building. But the orchard remained. Dozens of pear trees that my grandfather planted with his own hands, and about which my grandmother spoke with such desperate nostalgia. Now it is someone's private property.

Many Crimean Tatars still have property documents for estates that would now cost a fortune. But even long after the fall of the Soviet Union, when Crimea was already part of Ukraine, the new authorities didn't want to hear about the return of properties.

There was never Ukrainian power in Crimea. The peninsula's autonomy allowed local officials to live in Ukraine but consider themselves part of Russia. They and the new immigrant population, which was brought in place of the deported Crimean Tatars, always believed that joining Ukraine was a mistake that would be corrected someday. So, a negative message always flowed to Kyiv about us, and local authorities did everything their way.

Kyiv was also not keen on recognizing Crimean Tatars. I very well remember the 2000s and how TV was constantly full of reports showing Tatars as bandits who were making so-called "samozakhvat" (illegal land seizure) in Crimea.

At that time we called it "samovozvrat" (self-return), meaning the independent return of our lands. We always believed that we should only take the lands for which the authorities would not fight to the death. So, we waited until they harvested and then seized. Someone was always there, regardless of rain, snow, or heat. Then we divided the field into plots and started building. That's how entire settlements of Crimean Tatars were created.

I remember those times with great sentiment. The situation was extreme, and we were very united. Everyone helped each other; we lived one dream – to rebuild our nation.

But 2014 came, and some Crimean Tatars protested against annexation. Some were beaten, kidnapped, killed, but others started cooperating with the occupier?

People became too relaxed. I always said that we shouldn't become like the Russians. We will never be the same, and rejecting our roots, we will lose respect for ourselves. Once, every year on May 18 (the day of deportation) Simferopol emptied because everyone knew we were protesting in the city centre. People were somewhat afraid of our anger.

Then came a time when we built houses, started businesses, and our lives began to settle. And suddenly, it turned out that some Crimean Tatars once again succumbed to Russian imperialism. They imitated them, and some even started justifying the deportation. When we were already protesting, people looked at us as troublemakers who wanted something unknown. And history came full circle again. Our great-grandparents starved in the 1920s because of collectivization. Grandparents died in exile in Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, and my children and I had to flee from persecution. Every generation experienced harm from the Russians. But I believe this will end.

I dream that one day I will return to my three-room apartment in the centre of Simferopol and tell the FSB officers living there: you have 24 hours to leave.

Did they inform you that they were occupying your apartment?

No. We left in a hurry, at the last moment. I only managed to pack my wife, seven children, and a few things for the road into the car. All their toys, clothes, my library, which I collected all my life – everything stayed in the apartment.

In time, the Russians found out that I was fighting against them, and their law allows for full confiscation of property in such cases – apartment, house, business. So, after two years, they came in, took off the door, and installed a new one. They surrounded the whole neighbourhood with a wall and checkpoints because the Ukrainian Security Service office, which became an FSB office, was nearby.

Last year, before the Ukrainian counteroffensive, there were many optimistic forecasts of Crimea's liberation. Meanwhile, Ukrainian troops have not even breached the Russian lines of defence in Zaporizhzhia. Now the liberation of Crimea seems even more unrealistic.

Back then, many factors contributed to it. Primarily a lack of weapons, but also that the Russians were prepared for our attack. Now, assessing the situation soberly, I think we won't liberate Crimea earlier than two years from now.

What should happen in that time?

First and foremost, sanctions must be tightened, depriving Russia of the ability to buy components necessary for the production of missiles and other weapons. Second, aviation. We need to regain control of the sky; with fighter jets, we will also be able to strike Russian military infrastructure even more precisely. This is a war of attrition, and we must endure and weaken Russia.