Chapter Two
The Return Of The Tatars And The Resettlement of Crimea
During the decades of struggle, the Tatar movement exhibited
strong organizational abilities. But the rapid pace of events in the late 1980s and early 1990s caught leading Tatar activists off guard. "We never imagined that Soviet power would collapse that quickly," said Jemilev, the leader of the Tatar resettlement effort. "We were resigned that we would not live to see the day when our people could return to their homeland." So unprepared were Tatar leaders that the first bursts of resettlement occurred haphazardly, essentially beyond the control of any individual or organization. It was as if the Crimean Tatar community could not believe that the long-held dream was now realizable, so they rushed to fulfill it, fearful that the government might try once again to clamp down at any second. Many sold their homes in Central Asia or Siberia, loaded their possessions into cars or railroad containers, and headed for the Crimea, even though few had work or a place to live lined up.
Further complicating the return was the fact that the Crimea was unprepared to handle such a massive and swift migratory influx. The peninsula's infrastructure by the late 1980s was barely able to accommodate those already living there. The Tatars' return severely exacerbated existing shortages, especially the chronic lack of housing that continues to this day. Since all Tatar property in the Crimea had been confiscated and redistributed following their deportation in 1944, there was nothing for them to come home to. For the second time within a 50-year span, Tatars found themselves having to build whole new communities from scratch. Meanwhile, the ethnic Russian majority, apprehensive about the erosion of their status, hardly made the returning Tatars feel welcome. The effects of 50 years of anti-Tatar propaganda, heaped on top of centuries of mutual distrust, stirred the prejudices of the local Slavic population.
Tales abound in the Tatar community of Russian discrimination against returnees. Some recount incidents of showing up at factories to apply for job openings, only to be told that the positions had already been filled, then finding out that the jobs had later been given to Russians. One early arrival in Crimea, Snaver Khamedov, a 35-year-old driver who now lives in Simferopol, sounds a common theme when he claims that local Russians did everything in their power to frustrate Tatars from returning to their homeland.
After I first arrived [in 1987], I went several times to the local administration in order to officially register. But each time the authorities refused to give me a residency permit. It was the same story for work. I went to three collective farms and asked for a job. I was refused at each place. Why? Because of my Crimean Tatar nationality, I am sure of it. They did not like the idea of us coming back. It made me angry. I was a veteran of the Soviet army, and had served in Afghanistan. So I decided to write a complaint to the Committee of Afghan Veterans. Everything changed after that. They must have exerted pressure on the administration. . . . I got my residency permit and after that I found a job as a mechanic at a collective farm.
The biggest problem by far for the Crimean Tatars was finding a place to live. Given the hostility of the ethnic Russian population, Tatars were at first forced to live like squatters. As the Soviet Union was already well on its way towards collapse, local authorities were both unwilling and unable to assist returnees in finding suitable living space. As was the case just about everywhere in the former Soviet Union, there was a severe housing shortage on the Crimea, meaning there were hardly any vacant living quarters that could be occupied by newcomers. Groups of Tatars thus occupied unused state land on the fringes of cities and towns, mostly in the interior of the peninsula, and built ramshackle structures out of whatever materials that were available. Many lived in the very cargo containers that had brought their possessions to the Crimea. The building of these settlements often aroused the ire of local authorities. Frequently, officials would order the destruction of squatter communities, but after each instance in which Tatars had their houses razed, they immediately began to rebuild. Faced with such collective determination, officials eventually started to relent, and the shantytowns began what promises to be a lengthy process of development.
Conditions in settlements during the early years were squalid, lacking the most basic of amenities. Gradual improvements are occurring. Yet even today, years after the initial influx, Tatar settlements retain a Wild West frontier-like character. The prevailing conditions today prompt a foreign aid official in Simferopol to describe the Crimea as the "world's largest construction site."
One example is Bakhchisaray, the traditional Tatar capital. The khan's palace, located in a tranquil corner of this city of 80,000, has been tastefully restored, and currently serves as a museum of Crimean Tatar history. But other than the palace, there is little trace of Tatar influence from centuries past. In fact the blocks of ugly Soviet-era apartment buildings give Bakhchisaray the appearance of a typical Soviet provincial urban center. Many Crimean Tatars who now call Bakhchisaray home are concentrated in settlements on the outskirts of the city. One Tatar enclave, overlooking the road to Simferopol, is representative of the approximately 270 such settlements that are scattered across the peninsula. The roads, scarred by ruts, are unpaved and undulate, making driving on them seem like negotiating the moguls on a ski slope. In the summer they are mostly hard-baked, but rains can turn the streets into an impassable quagmire. Besides the poor street quality, there is no central sewage system, and few homes have running water. Those who are lucky can draw their water from wells. For others, obtaining potable water can be a time-consuming and physically demanding chore. On the positive side, more and more power lines are being built, meaning an increasing number of Tatars enjoy access to electricity.
As for housing, the dire conditions of the early years-in Bakhchisaray and elsewhere-appear to have eased, but they remain far from ideal. Makeshift structures are giving way to homes made out of limestone building blocks. In one case, Ekrem Osmanov, a pensioner who came to Bakhchisaray from the Central Asian republic of Kyrgyzstan in 1990, shows a visitor the mostly plywood and plastic shelter in which he lived immediately after his arrival. He uses it now as a tool shed and storage area. He managed to build a relatively spacious, yet spartanly furnished one-story home. There is nothing opulent about his residence, and he says he has no current income, yet Mr. Osmanov still can be counted among the luckier Tatars. Though some managed to finish work on impressive two- and three-story dwellings, the majority of homes under construction are far from finished. It is not unusual to see entire families living in one hastily finished room-where they eat, sleep and try to relax-while construction on the rest of the home continues. Completion can be years away, typically because families have a difficult time affording building materials. And since many are building their homes with their own hands, even when there are no other logistical problems, construction mostly occurs during after-work hours and on weekends.
Along with a home, be it finished or not, most Tatars have a plot of land that invariably contains a garden and a pen for small animals, especially goats and sheep. For many, garden-produced food makes a vital difference in the struggle for survival. Without the home-grown vegetables and produce, some Tatars say they would face the prospect of going hungry. Larger plots of agricultural land can be leased from the regional government. But up to half of all Tatars are unable to afford the approximately $40 annual rental fee for such plots, according to mejlis member Nadir Bekirov.
With much energy and meager resources still concentrated on the construction of adequate housing, virtually all Tatar settlements lack many local services. For example, there is inadequate public transport. In addition, there are few shops and therefore a dearth of retail activity. More importantly, for the overwhelming majority of Tatar young people there is an acute shortage of schools within easy walking distance. Access to health care is limited by the fact that few clinics have been built in these new communities, and only a handful of mosques are in operation across the peninsula.
Perhaps the most alarming sight in Bakhchisaray, and in virtually every other Tatar settlement, is the high number of idle young men. During the day, it is not unusual to see clusters of able-bodied, out-of-work men just hanging out on the dusty streets. Depending on the source, estimates for the unemployment rate for Tatars range between 40 percent and 72 percent, at least double the rate for Crimea as a whole. Tatar young men say overcoming discrimination is just a small part in the struggle to find work. The bigger problem now, many say, is the lack of jobs themselves.
Even when there is work, few are able to match their qualifications to an appropriate job. For instance, according to United Nations' officials in Simferopol, there is a substantial number of professionals among Tatar settlers. Yet there is virtually no hope at the present time for a Tatar professional to find suitable work. Positions at existing schools, universities and hospitals are taken and new facilities are not being built. The employment prospects for Tatars in the manufacturing sector are better, but there is still fierce competition for even the most menial factory job. As a result, a sense of hopelessness is growing among young and unemployed Crimean Tatars. "It has been like this for months; no work," says Ilimdar Abdurashitov, a Belogorsk resident who arrived from Uzbekistan in 1989. "People need to feed their kids. . . . We are well educated and we are prepared to do anything. But there is absolutely no work here."
Lacking any long-term job prospects, many resort to selling produce or trading commodities at farmers' markets. Such activity, though, usually produces only enough income to maintain a subsistence lifestyle. Some Tatars also complain that it forces them into unwanted contact with organized criminal elements. Many farmers' markets are controlled by criminal gangs, who exact "protection money" from vendors.
While the vast majority of Crimean Tatars must scramble to overcome the effects of the economic collapse in the early 1990s, there exist some success stories. Osman Osmanov, who runs a restaurant in the coastal city of Sudak, is one Tatar entrepreneur who has managed to prosper in the Crimea. After arriving in 1989, he scouted locations and found an abandoned building not far from the beach. Only after protracted negotiations with local authorities, however, did Mr. Osmanov manage to obtain a five-year lease. Then, using his own money, he renovated the dilapidated building, turning it into an eatery specializing in traditional Tatar dishes. The place became an immediate success, Osmanov says, because he emphasized the need for efficient service and good food. Subsequently, he reached agreement with officials to purchase the land on which the restaurant sits, once the appropriate privatization legislation is enacted. Now he entertains grand plans for expansion. "The authorities see what I am doing and they begin to trust me," he says. "You can live well if the authorities don't give you any problems."
As Osmanov's story points out, it is the Byzantine local bureaucracy that is most often the largest obstacle to entrepreneurial activity. But Tatars must additionally overcome the paradox of their being newcomers in their ancestral homeland. Under current conditions in the former Soviet Union, good political connections are a prerequisite for successful entrepreneurial activity. Because so much of the infrastructure remains to be privatized, the state still plays an important role in the distribution of resources, including the renting of retail space. The Tatars' newcomer status generally puts them at a disadvantage when it comes to starting a new business. Entrepreneurs, such as Mr. Osmanov, say they must put significantly more time and resources into building the connections needed to ensure business success than do their more established ethnic Russian counterparts.
Everything may seem to be going right for Osmanov at the moment, but he nonetheless worries about the future, mostly because a confused legal situation means that conditions can change overnight. Laws that are vague or unenforced sustain an environment in which corruption is rampant. The legal vacuum also provides organized crime with vital room for maneuver. At the same time, he freely admits that it would be difficult for other Tatars to follow in his footsteps. The cost of obtaining the necessary permits, and then renovating and opening a business, is far higher now than when he was starting up in 1990. Also, the market, especially for restaurants, is reaching the saturation point, meaning fewer opportunities for new entrepreneurs. "Back then (in the early 1990s), Crimean Tatar dishes were considered exotic, and so it was easy to attract customers," Osmanov explains. "Now there are many restaurants, and competition is becoming fierce."
To a great extent-as Osman Osmanov's story underscores-the level of prosperity enjoyed by Tatar returnees closely corresponds to the time that they came back to the Crimea. In general, those who were in the vanguard of the migration currently enjoy the highest standards of living in the Tatar community. Those encountering the most difficulty tend to be Tatars who came to the Crimea both during and just after the hyperinflation of 1991-an event that traumatized millions of Soviet citizens by wiping out their savings virtually overnight. For those unlucky Tatars caught in the middle of a move, the hyperinflation meant that the cost of transport suddenly became barely affordable, leaving them nothing with which to begin a new life in the Crimea.
Before prices skyrocketed, the Crimean Tatars might have been considered among the more affluent ethnic groups in the Soviet Union, if one calculates purely in financial terms. Despite all the difficulties related to their deportation, many Crimean Tatars went on to prosper economically during their time in exile, building up a reputation as an industrious and hard-working people. Especially in Central Asia, Tatars were enjoying comparatively high living standards by the early 1980s, with a significant number of families amassing savings of 20,000 rubles or more. Such a sum was considered enormous at the time-enough to buy a home, automobile and luxury appliances.
By the end of 1991, the Tatars who had been slow to act were again encountering limitations on their ability to return to the Crimea. Only this time, the restrictions on their movement were due not to administrative edict, but to the economic chaos sweeping the former Soviet Union. Today there are an estimated 250,000 Crimean Tatars still living outside of the Crimea. A majority are believed to want to return to their homeland. However, few have savings upon which they can draw, and ways to raise funds for a move are limited. In areas where there are high concentrations of Tatars, in particular Uzbekistan, housing prices have plummeted because of the sudden glut created by the first wave of returnees. One prominent member of the Crimean Tatar mejlis, Reshat Chubarov, estimates that only about 10 percent-to-15 percent of Tatars still living in Central Asia and Siberia have sufficient assets to pay for their return to Crimea.
The very conditions that gave rise to the Crimean Tatar resettlement-namely the collapse of the Soviet Union-have created divisions within the community. In 1996, Tatars were split almost evenly in geographic distribution-with half of the 500,000-strong nation having returned to the Crimea and the rest living in sections of Central Asia and Siberia. Also, gaps were appearing among Tatars in the Crimea itself. Signs of stratification are plentiful in Tatar settlements, where hovels can stand next to opulent edifices. Vadim Petrov, deputy head of the Crimean State Committee on Nationality Affairs, said roughly 15 percent of Tatars in the Crimea are wealthy and live well and a further 20 percent can enjoy relatively comfortable lifestyles. On the other hand, 35 percent live on the edge, while another 30 percent exist in abject poverty.
Many Tatars were running out of patience. "We at the end of our rope, it's almost impossible to live because of the lack of work. And if you try to sell your extra produce at the market, the mafia steals most of your money," said Ekrem Osmanov, the Bakhchisaray resident. Increasingly, anger was being aimed not just at ethnic Russians, but also at more affluent Tatars. There was also discontent with the mejlis, which was perceived by some poorer Tatars as catering to the interests of the wealthy. Mejlis leaders in May 1996 said they were feeling the pressure, and insisted they were doing everything within their power to improve conditions. At the same time, they stressed that they lacked sufficient resources and could do very little. "A lot of poorer people don't understand that our ability to solve problems is limited," said Mr. Chubarov. "We can't solve all the problems."
Reality Sets in For Tatars
To a certain degree, discontent among Crimean Tatars can be traced to the wide gap between reality and expectations that existed during the early years of repatriation, suggests Mr. Petrov. Many Tatars, he continues, probably anticipated the return would go more smoothly than it has. The luster of returning to the Crimea has even worn off for some older Tatars, who were born in the Crimea, deported, and then spent years yearning for the opportunity to return. Ejup Ismailov, a 72-year-old Belogorsk pensioner, is one such Tatar whose memories are tinged with the lament of unfulfilled expectations. Before being deported, Ismailov's family lived in a large house in the center of Belogorsk, while now he lives with his second wife in a roughshod dwelling without running water in a settlement on the outskirts of town. But he also complained about the Crimea's climate. More than 50 years in Central Asia's arid heat left him unprepared to handle the wild weather swings of the Crimean steppe. Staying warm is a constant challenge during the dank and dreary Crimean winters, he says.
As the idyllic picture of life in the Crimea wears off for Tatars, it is being replaced by a steadily growing realization that efforts to overcome the current difficulties will take years, if not decades. That is producing a sense of frustration that is shared by those with and without steady work. Reshat Anafiev, for example, came in 1991 from the Uzbek capital of Tashkent. He managed to sell his home there just before the start of hyperinflation, but has struggled to erect a new family dwelling in the settlement of Kamenka, just outside Simferopol. He and his wife both have jobs, yet their salaries are only enough to keep the family fed and clothed, with a little left over to buy construction materials for their home. Her job is in another town and so the family is separated most of the time. Conditions have improved over the years, Reshat Anafiev says, but a sense of security remains elusive. "It's difficult for us in the older generations," Mr. Anafiev says. "We can only hope that the lives of our children will be better."
Despite the difficulties, the vast majority have no major regrets about returning, and the desire to restore the Tatar cultural imprint on the peninsula remains strong. A few younger Tatars, however, quietly say their decision to resettle may have been a mistake, reasoning that they could have enjoyed better living standards back in Central Asia. "If I had the chance, I think I would go back to Central Asia," said one 20-year-old Tatar woman, who requested anonymity. "I really didn't have a choice. I had to come to the Crimea. All my friends had left before me, and I didn't want to be alone."
Statistics suggest that Tatars are becoming more realistic about the prospects and possibilities of resettlement. After the initial immigration surge from 1989-92, the number of returnees has fallen consistently. In recent years, the migratory flow has been reduced to a trickle, with only about 5,000 Tatars arriving in both 1994 and 1995. Most of those returning now are relatives of Tatars already in the Crimea. Still, Tatar leaders predict a second wave of immigration will occur at some point soon. Chubarov insists that up to 70 percent of the 250,000 members of the Diaspora remain intent on moving to the Crimea as soon as financially possible.
Conditions For Ethnic Russians In The Crimea
Any discussion of the living standards of returning Tatars requires a look at the situation of other residents of the Crimea, especially ethnic Russians. The ethnic Russian community in the Crimea-roughly 1.7 million people-feels traumatized by the events of the past five years. Such feelings are understandable if one examines the conditions that ethnic Russians lived in during the Soviet era. Before 1989, Russians enjoyed a pre-eminent position in the Crimea, comprising more than 70 percent of the population. They dominated the political, social and economic life in the region. Also, the peninsula under the Soviet regime was relatively prosperous, awash in allocations to the military-industrial complex due to the Crimea's strategic importance as the home of the Black Sea Fleet. The Soviet emphasis of defense-related industry ensured full employment, and thus, a content local population. The Crimea was also the vacation playground of the Soviet elite, and as such, enjoyed the disproportionate attention of Soviet central planners.
The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, however, saw the Russians' world in the Crimea turn upside down. For starters, the Crimea suddenly found itself part of an independent Ukraine, which has enjoyed a considerably lower standard of living than the Russian Federation. And the Crimea experienced an especially drastic collapse, due the overemphasis on military-related industries. The dissolution of the Soviet Union thus fueled anxiety among local Russians, as their relatively privileged existence gave way to uncertainty over the future. The return of the Crimean Tatars increased the sense of vulnerability among Russians, adding to their fears. The concept of an independent Ukraine is something that many Russians are still struggling to come to grips with. Particularly galling for Russians is the Crimea's inclusion in the independent Ukrainian state. In Russia proper, most in the political and cultural elite commonly refuse to accept the peninsula's 1954 transfer as permanent.
The same goes for ethnic Russians in the Crimea. After Ukraine's declaration of independence, the initial impulse of the Russian majority was to insulate the peninsula against Ukrainian rule. This tendency manifested itself in the separatist movement that gained momentum in the early 1990s. Even before the Soviet Union's break-up, the Crimean regional Communist Party organization-which was among the most conservative in the country-desperately sought ways to retain power. The first tactic involved the restoration of the Crimean Autonomous Republic, which had been abolished with the 1944 deportation of Tatars. A referendum in January 1991 overwhelmingly approved of autonomy for the Crimea. The Ukrainian leadership in Kiev, which was struggling to consolidate its own position, confirmed the Crimea's autonomy bid one month later. But unlike the previous autonomous era, Tatars did not figure prominently in the peninsula's political equation, and Tatar leaders had to struggle to be heard.
It is worth noting that the Ukrainian independence referendum of December 1991 was supported by 54 percent of Crimeans who cast ballots. But the relatively slim margin of victory, combined with a comparatively small turnout of 68 percent, may indicate that a majority of Crimean Russians opposed Ukrainian independence from the start. Whatever the case, after Ukraine gained independence, Russian separatist sentiment grew. In May 1992, the Crimean legislature went so far as to declare independence from Kiev, but this measure was rescinded when Ukrainian authorities delegated broad powers to the peninsula's leadership. Still, on several subsequent occasions relations became so tense that armed conflict seemed possible.
Fueling the hostility was the Russian nationalist movement, which swept into power during elections in 1994 by advancing an agenda advocating Crimean reunification with Russia. The separatist movement, however, crested soon after its leader, Yuri Meshkov, was elected to the newly created Crimean presidency. Although he succeeded in whipping up animosity, Meshkov and his team proved ineffective in solving the Crimea's economic problems, and unable to engineer reunification. After an unsuccessful power-grab, Meshkov lost his post when Ukrainian officials abolished the Crimean presidency in March 1995. Kiev also suspended the Soviet-era Crimean constitution and imposed direct rule until the ratification of a new basic law, which had not occurred as of August 1996. As Ukrainian leaders acted to restore control over the Crimea, Russia, which until now had supported the Crimean separatists, remained silent. No doubt Moscow's preoccupation with the protracted war in Chechnya was a major cause for its restraint vis-à-vis the Crimea.
The separatist movement may have peaked for now, but attitudes appear not to have changed much. One ethnic Russian observer, who monitors Crimean developments from Kiev, describes Crimean Russians as suffering from "post-empire syndrome," or the desire to retain primacy in the peninsula's political, economic and cultural life. A foreign relief organization official in Simferopol portrays Russians as governed by a "collective paranoia." Graffiti seen around town in Simferopol suggest that Russians remain defiant and frightened at the same time. "The Crimea will never become Ukrainian," "[Ukrainian President Leonid] Kuchma should be tried for his crimes," and "It is better to die standing, than to live on one's knees," are just some of the slogans painted on walls near Simferopol's main railway station.
A major factor in Russian resistance to a Ukrainian Crimea is the dreadful economic conditions. Most Russians, while not having to cope with the additional burdens of the resettlement process, nevertheless are struggling. Simferopol, for example, finds itself in a dilapidated state. And although plumbing and sewage systems operate in the city proper, running water is sporadic and hot water is considered a luxury item. When it comes to pocketbook issues, Russians also complain about high prices, a lack of services, and unemployment.
The Current State Of Inter-Ethnic Relations
Inter-ethnic relations between Russians and Tatars in Crimea appear marked by deeply entrenched feelings of distrust, based in part on myths and misperceptions. Although Ukrainians comprise about 20 percent of the Crimea's population, their presence is hardly felt. What Ukrainian influence there is on Crimean developments emanates from Kiev. The return of the Crimean Tatars, meanwhile, has weakened Russian demographic dominance. It also has prompted worries about a large-scale restitution-compensation drive to recover property taken over by Russians after 1944. Thus, amidst economic stagnation, the great fear of Russians now is that the decline in their population advantage will lead to an irreversible and steady erosion of their influence in the Crimea.
Serving as the foundation for this fear is a widely believed myth in the Russian community about skyrocketing Tatar birth rates. A significant segment of the Russian community believes that a Tatar population explosion, combined with the return of the rest of the diaspora, will result in the Tatars comprising a majority on the peninsula within a few decades. But according to all available evidence, the possibility in the coming decades of Tatars replacing Russians as the most populous ethnic group is virtually nil. As Jemilev points out, even if all Tatars now living outside the Crimea returned, the Tatar share of the peninsula's population would rise to only about 17 percent. Claims about a skyrocketing Tatar birth rate, meanwhile, appear to lack credibility. Although demographers do not have concrete numbers, they estimate that the Tatar population is essentially steady, with births barely outnumbering deaths. Some even estimate that the Tatar population may soon start to emulate the Russian community in experiencing negative population growth, a phenomenon produced by the economic crisis.
Another problem, according to independent experts and Ukrainian officials in Kiev, is the Russian leadership's domination of the Crimea's mass media, which can facilitate the spread of inaccuracies. Without wide access to varying points of view, it is easy for distortion to germinate and then take root in the popular conscience.
As for Tatars, many seem to be having difficulty in putting their conditions in proper context. While it is true that many have faced discrimination in obtaining residency permits, getting land and finding jobs, some are perhaps too quick to assign responsibility for their plight on Russian prejudice. No one would argue that the conditions are difficult for the vast majority. But they are not the only ones in the former Soviet Union to have experienced a precipitous drop in living standards over the past five years. The economic collapse brought hardship for 90 percent of the population. Indeed, for all the Tatars' difficulties, it can be argued that their current situation is nonetheless better than that of large numbers of former Soviet citizens. For example, many living in the Kuzbas region of Russia-in the heart of Siberia-endure more appalling conditions, living through winters in decaying wooden barracks with large holes in the roof, while lacking good-quality land on which to grow vegetables in the summer. Many Tatars do not see things that way, suggests Petrov of the Crimean Committee on Nationalities. Tatar perceptions of their predicament tends to be based not on how others are living, but on how Tatars' themselves used to live during their years in Central Asia.
Turning to Ukrainian-Tatar relations, at least on the rhetorical level a spirit of friendship exists. From the viewpoint of Ukrainian nationalists, Tatars are natural allies in the effort to cement the Crimea within the Ukrainian state. Both have a common nemesis when it comes to the Crimea: Russia. "I think the Crimean Tatars and Ukrainians understand each others' problems," said Vyacheslav Koval, a member of the executive committee of Rukh, the mainstream Ukrainian nationalist movement. "This fact has increased mutual trust and brought the [Tatar and Rukh] movements together." Tatar leaders echo such sentiments, and the mejlis has sent clear signals that it is a firm supporter of Ukrainian independence. So far, however, there has been little action to reinforce the expressions of mutual admiration.
Hindering greater cooperation is the fact that Ukrainians are far from homogeneous, making it difficult for Kiev to formulate official policy on inter-ethnic matters. Essentially, Ukraine is a divided country. Nationalist sentiment holds sway over only half the country, with the other half at best merely acquiescent of independence. Rukh has a power base in western Ukraine, where the population is staunchly pro-independence, and which was annexed by the Soviet Union only after World War II. The Rukh movement's influence is negligible in eastern Ukraine, which has a heavy concentration of ethnic Russians. Most importantly, Ukrainian nationalists do not have a strong presence in the government. The conservative political forces that now dominate the decision-making process take a cautious stand on the expansion of ethnic minority rights and therefore are slow in addressing Tatar complaints. Mejlis leaders say they are frustrated by Kiev's stance. "We have the impression that the Ukrainian government does not understand us," Jemilev says. Government officials, on the other hand, feel many Tatars could do more to integrate and contribute to the building of Ukrainian statehood. "The Crimean Tatars have the opportunity to learn the Ukrainian language, but not that many express the desire," said Viktor Andrienko, a top official at the Ukrainian Ministry of Nationalities and Migration.
The Role Of The Tatar Mejlis
Given Tatar frustrations, Russian fears, the overall political and economic uncertainty, as well as inter-ethnic antipathy, it might seem miraculous that the peninsula has managed to avoid a full-scale explosion. Perhaps the most important factor in conflict prevention since 1991 has been the restraint exhibited by the Tatar mejlis, the 33-member executive board of the kurultai. The leadership council has not hesitated to organize mass demonstrations to promote Tatar interests. But for the most part its activity has been non-violent. And on the two occasions when pent-up tensions almost detonated-in October 1992, when protesting Tatars stormed and temporarily occupied the Crimean parliament building; and in June 1995, when Tatars rioted in response to official apathy to impoverished conditions and mafia extortion practices-it was the mejlis that brought the situation back from the brink, demonstrating disciplined and sober-minded leadership.
The Tatar community is extremely fortunate to have had leaders who possessed a realistic view of possibilities, a strategic vision, keen political instincts, discipline and unanimity. The mejlis is a highly effective lobbying organization. And the key so far has been the council's ability to maintain a united front, mainly by appealing to the general concern in the Tatar community about further discrimination. Unity ensures that Tatars' concerns receive attention from Russian leaders. But for all its positive qualities, the mejlis, and its leaders, still have flaws. And even though Tatars would now doubtless be in a far worse position if not for the mejlis' hard work, some have started to grumble, claiming the council has not improved living standards rapidly enough. The level of dissatisfaction was sufficiently high that mejlis leaders in mid-1996 were warning about the threat of radicalization of the Crimean Tatar community.
From its inception in June 1991, the mejlis has served as the primary Tatar organization advocating the community's interests. Although the mejlis is structured to be a pan-Tatar body, ideally reflecting the diverse opinion that exists within the nation, in reality the council has been dominated by one movement-the Organization of the Crimean Tatar National Movement, or OKND by its Russian acronym. The OKND, which maintains a tough line in relations with Crimean Russian officialdom, is by far the largest Tatar political movement, but it is not the only one. The National Movement of the Crimean Tatars, or NDKT, is the other major Tatar movement, differing from the OKND in that it is generally far more conciliatory vis-a-vis Russian authority. Although the NDKT is the oldest Crimean Tatar advocacy organization, with its origins extending back to 1967, at present it does not enjoy a wide following, with the active support of only about 5 percent of the community. There also exists an ultra-nationalist Tatar political current, but so far an organized radical movement remains embryonic.
Many present and former leaders of the OKND have served in the highest echelons of the mejlis, including Reshat Chubarov and Mustafa Jemilev. Imbued with great moral authority because of his dissident activity and imprisonment, Jemilev's leadership has been a key factor in the mejlis' effectiveness. "He enjoys an immense amount of respect within the Crimean Tatar population," said Server Ebubekirov, chief of the History Department at the Museum of Crimean Tatar History and Culture in Bakhchisaray. "Jemilev's personality has played a huge role. Things would have been a lot different had there been no Jemilev."
In person, Jemilev is a slightly built man who projects a soft-spoken charisma. He is the first to say there is no other realistic alternative for Tatars other than restraint. For example, although the sense of injustice remains strong, the mejlis has not agitated for compensation or restitution of Tatars' confiscated property. To do so would surely provoke a strong response from the Russian community-something more likely to damage, rather than promote, long-term Tatar goals. Besides, as mejlis members point out, since Tatars comprise only 9 percent of the population, they lack the numbers, not to mention the resources, to pursue a more confrontational agenda.
Tatars have so far unswervingly followed their leadership. But Jemilev and others worry about an erosion of popular support for the mejlis. "The more that the economic situation becomes difficult, the more they [Tatars] lose respect for all organs of authority," said Chubarov. Another mejlis member, Nadir Bekirov, said the leadership felt a sense of urgency. "There may come a point when people don't listen to us anymore," he said. "We must have some progress [on resolving long-standing Tatar complaints] . . . otherwise people may lose patience." Already in 1996, the mejlis was struggling to stay in the vanguard of popular opinion. "There are some elements that have armed themselves and formed self-defense units, and they are strong," Jemilev said. "This worries the mejlis greatly. We wish they would focus their energy in other directions."
The summer of 1996 was a particularly sensitive time for the mejlis. The Kurultai, or all-Tatar assembly, held in late June perhaps raised more questions about the Tatar community's future course than it resolved. The primary responsibility of the Kurultai was electing a new mejlis. Two-thirds of the mejlis ended up changing, creating a great deal of uncertainty about the future course of the body. The core leadership remains in place, meaning moderate policies are likely to continue in the near term, Jemilev said. It is unclear, however, how the established leaders will interact with new members, including two representatives from Central Asia. In any event the mejlis' ability to coordinate policy will be somewhat more difficult than it was in the past. Over the longer term, it is difficult to predict how the new mejlis members will influence policy.
The large-scale changes in the mejlis' composition come at a time when the leadership is trying to lay the groundwork for the post-Jemilev era. The paramount leader of the Tatar movement may be ready to step aside, and transfer most leadership responsibilities to the younger generation. The debilitating years of prison life, including long hunger strikes, have sapped Jemilev's energy. "He is tired and wants to leave from the day-to-day scene," said Ebubekirov, the Tatar historian. The fear was that his semi-retirement could weaken the mejlis' cohesion, as no one among the younger Tatar leaders commands the same level of respect as does Jemilev. By all appearances, steps have been taken to ensure a smooth transition of power, with Chubarov taking on an increasingly high profile. "Chubarov seems to be accepted by the others," Ebubekirov said. Nevertheless, the possibility remains that unforeseen circumstances could prompt a challenge to Chubarov's leadership.
If there is an erosion of the leadership's authority, it would not be entirely attributable to stagnant economic conditions, which essentially are beyond the council's control. Some Tatars were disenchanted with the mejlis' leadership style. A significant number of poorer Tatars have been critical of the mejlis, saying it has been secretive and unconcerned about day-to-day problems in the settlements. "We don't see the authorities-including the mejlis-doing anything to improve our conditions," says Ilimdar Abdurashitov, who is unemployed in Belogorsk.
One of the mejlis' harshest critics within the Tatar community has been Eksender Umerov, a former dissident who now lives in Kamenka. He alleged that many mejlis members are prone to retrograde thinking on administrative methods. The main problem, he added, is that many mejlis members have not been able to break completely of the totalitarian mold that shaped their way of thinking when growing up in the Soviet system. "They are Sovietized in that they do not tolerate other points of view," he alleged. "The mejlis serves only those who supports it. They like 'yes-men'." Umerov argued that the single most important factor in decision-making for the mejlis was the retention of its own authority, not the desire to raise living standards of poorer Tatars. He and others criticized the mejlis' methods of distributing the meager amounts of aid, provided by the Ukrainian government and international relief organizations. Most of the assistance, Umerov said, go to those who need it least-wealthier Tatars, who, in turn, are more likely to contribute to the council's coffers. "There is no accountability, thus the system of aid distribution is unjust. It does not benefit the entire community," Umerov said.
Mejlis members were firm in their espousal of democratic principles, and denied accusations of favoritism. And those who shared Umerov's vitriolic opposition to the current leadership appear few in number. Instead, many were passive when questioned whether or not they would like to see leadership changes. There was near unanimity that the mejlis was an institution of vital importance to the Tatar cause. And the bulk also seemed tolerant of foibles, real or imagined, reasoning that changes would not guarantee improvements in conditions. Thus, as of early August 1996, Tatars appeared to be in a reactive, rather than proactive mood regarding their elected leadership. Few expressed a desire to overhaul the mejlis. Yet, there would not necessarily be a significant outcry if radicals replaced moderates as the dominant force in the mejlis.
Independent observers suggested that mejlis warnings about the danger of radicalization might have been exaggerated in order to strengthen the position of moderates during the 1996 kurultai. Nevertheless, the threat to stability posed by radicalization should not be dismissed entirely. Lubow Horich, the coordinator of the United Nations' Crimea Integration and Development Program, said; "Whenever you have large numbers of highly educated young males who are unemployed, you are asking for trouble."
