Akhtem Seitablaev is a Ukrainian actor of theater and cinema, a director of Crimean Tatar descent, Honored Artist of the Autonomous Republic of Crimea, a public figure, and a serviceman.
In this interview, we discuss Akhtem's personal memories of the Crimean Tatar deportation, his acting career, the occupation of Crimea, his public projects, and military service.
Akhtem's parents were still children when they were deported from their native Crimea. Some of their memories became the foundation for the film Haytarma.
My mother's family was deported to the Mari ASSR, while my father's was sent to Central Asia. My parents met in the early 1950s when my mother was studying at a theater institute in Tashkent. Leaving the territory of deportation was punishable by up to 25 years in prison or even harsher penalties. If I'm not mistaken, my parents only gained the possibility to leave about a year after Stalin's death.
They told me how difficult it often was to work while in deportation. People were sent to labor in the forests—while the adults cut down large branches, children were made to trim the smaller ones. My mother was among them. Not working was not an option for children; they were forced to contribute. The Soviet authorities had declared that Crimean Tatars were traitors to the motherland. Yet, according to Soviet statistics, during World War II, the majority of Crimean Tatars fought within the ranks of the USSR's armed forces against the Nazis.
By the time I was born in 1972, thanks to my parents and to God, I had clothes to wear, food to eat, a place to live, and a chance to study. In Central Asia, during the deportation, people built dugouts close to each other. This made daily life easier and allowed them to support one another.
We lived in a kind of multinational community, scarred by Soviet rule. This place was a miniature reflection of the processes that were constantly unfolding within the Soviet empire.
My parents returned to Crimea in 1989. My father bought a house in Bakhchisarai. At the end of July, I enrolled in a cultural and educational college in Simferopol [originally called Aqmescit], where the first Crimean Tatar acting course was being formed. Later, I became part of the Crimean Tatar theater, which had a history of more than 300 years. The staff made every effort to revive it. After graduating from the acting faculty, I worked in the theater for about three more years.
I remember the day my uncle handed me train tickets and said, "You're going to Kyiv to apply to the directing faculty." At the time, I didn't understand why I needed this—my acting career was going well. However, disobeying my uncle was not an option, so I set off for the capital with my friends.
Despite the fact that educational institutions were Russian-speaking, Akhtem's family spoke Crimean Tatar at home.
Navrez, Khydyrlez (Hıdırlez), Derviza, and Ramadan (Ramazan). we have always observed these holidays, not to mention the everyday customs that are characteristic of every nation and emphasize belonging to a particular culture.
For example, when greeting elders, it is customary to kiss their hand and press it to your forehead. My friends are still surprised by this ritual of mine.
Almost Akhtem's entire family remains in Crimea even after the annexation, and the occupation authorities occasionally "remind them of their presence" due to the director's public and pro-Ukrainian stance.
I am deeply grateful to my relatives and fully understand how dangerous it is to have a close family member whose civic position does not fit into the occupiers' narratives in any way. Despite this danger, my loved ones continue to support me.
Beyond his creative work and military duties, Akhtem is also engaged in volunteer and advocacy activities.
We have a significant community of Crimean Tatars and people from Crimea who care about what is happening. We all believe that Crimea will return to Ukraine. Most likely, this will be an economic and diplomatic process, but, of course, military intervention will also be necessary.
Every day, we achieve miracles. However, I am fully aware that the Defense Forces alone will not have enough power to liberate Crimea purely by military means. That is why the support of our partners is crucial. But the key players in this are the Ukrainian people—those who were not conquered in "three days," who have not yet won but have certainly not lost.
Of course, we are discussing the liberation of the peninsula both from mainland Ukraine and with representatives inside Crimea. Not as openly as we would like, due to security concerns. But I constantly hear the dreams of those who live under temporary occupation and their recurring question: "When will Crimea finally be free?"
The Crimean Tatars have centuries of experience in understanding that Russia, in any form—whether as an empire or a federation—brings nothing good. I don't know of a single country in the world where the arrival of a Russian soldier has led to progress.
A few months ago, Akhtem Seitablaiev announced work on a new project—the creation of a Crimean Tatar homestead on the grounds of the National Museum of Folk Architecture and Life of Ukraine.
It all started with a dream to build a single architectural structure. According to the museum's charter, buildings on its territory must be authentic. So, the initial idea was to transport an authentic house from Crimea, but the Russian occupation made this plan impossible. Moreover, some objects lost their authenticity due to careless reconstruction. This Russian "renovation" is more akin to the deliberate erasure of any reminders of the enduring presence of Crimean Tatar culture. Given this grim reality, the museum made an exception to its usual rules to allow the project to move forward. I am deeply grateful to the museum's leadership for this decision.
As Akhtem describes it, stepping into this space will feel like taking a journey across the Crimean Peninsula. Visitors will start in the steppe region, with endemic plants, burial mound culture, architectural structures, and craft workshops. Then comes the Crimean foothills, followed by the mountainous region, the coastline, and, finally, a central square with a fountain. All of this will be enhanced by hidden sound sources that create an immersive atmosphere—the rustling steppe wind, the distant thunder of horse hooves, the murmur of a forest, and more.
Our architect, Ivan Kushnir, is designing the project based on historical records and drawings made by researchers of Crimean Tatar life and traditions in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. One unique element will be a dual-purpose underground structure---a traditional mountain dwelling that will also serve as a bomb shelter, where we will screen educational videos.
This will be the first open-air museum dedicated to Crimea and its shared history with Ukraine—a history that, sadly, for many years was written not by us, but by those who still seek to erase all Ukrainians. The Russians understand all too well the power of history and exactly where to shift the narrative to turn black into white.
On February 25, the second day of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Akhtem Seitablaiev signed a contract: "Honestly, I don't even remember what I was signing—I just really needed a rifle," the actor jokes.
A few days later, I became the press officer of the 206th Battalion. At first, I was stationed in Kyiv Oblast, then later in Mykolaiv Oblast, where I spent six months. After some time, I was transferred as a press officer to the 241st Brigade, and from there, by order of the commander, I was assigned to the communications department of the Territorial Defense Forces Command, where our unit, informally known as TRO Media, was created.
We produce documentary films that serve as an anthology of the Territorial Defense Forces. These are stories about battles and heroism, but first and foremost, they are human stories—complex, heartfelt, sometimes even humorous. I am incredibly proud to serve in the Territorial Defense Forces. Nowhere else would you see such a vast diversity of professionals—Oscar nominees, talented composers, and artists—all fighting side by side.
One of our latest projects involved filming in Kursk region. In this film, we explore, among other things, how our brothers and sisters-in-arms communicate with Russian civilians and even help them survive. This is what sets us apart from them [Russian soldiers]—we do not wage war against civilians.
Beyond that, the TRO Media team continuously expands a photo exhibition with images from the front lines and works on various volunteer projects, including the Veterans' Theater—the first festival of military documentary cinema.
In addition, together with friends from the Dyvys' Ukrainske association and with the support of the MHP Gromadi Charitable Foundation, we participated in nearly 3000 screenings of Ukrainian films and animation over the past year.
We are also helping equip military hospitals with Ukrainian-made cinemas. It means so much when a wounded soldier, unable to leave the hospital, can still watch a film with their loved ones in an environment nearly identical to a real movie theater.
This publication was compiled with the support of the International Renaissance Foundation. It's content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the International Renaissance Foundation.
