Imagine having a home and being unable to return there, and the same is true of the homeland, and the same is true of inherited belongings---no return of them. This is only a small part of what Lia's Crimean Tatar family endured under the Soviet Union before they all could come back home. But, as we all know, this return did not last long.
Lia's family comes from the cities of Saky, Feodosia, Bakhchysarai, and Kerch. Lia represents a generation that was finally born at home, in the Crimean Peninsula. But now, as many generations before her, she is waiting again for the time she can come back.
What I miss the most is our gatherings. All of us, my family and our relatives, frequently came together for holidays and celebrations. Depending on the occasion, there would be 20-30 of us. They were filled with dancing, delicious Crimean Tatar cuisine, and such an atmosphere...
Last time they had such a gathering was in 2014.
"In 2014, my mother, father, brother, and I became foreigners in Crimea and relocated to Kherson. We visited there only until 2016 to see my maternal grandparents.
After that, we stopped visiting due to the challenges we faced at the administrative border with Crimea. The Russians questioned why my mother didn't obtain a Russian passport for herself and her children, despite understanding perfectly well that we were from Crimea and identified as Crimeans. At the border, we endured prolonged delays, interrogations, and other difficulties. That was it."
Her ancestors have endured Russian repression multiple times throughout history, facts she gradually unfolds. There is scarcely a circle of hell known to their nation's history their family has not experienced.
Lia says her grandparents never shielded her from knowledge about those tragic events. On the contrary, she grew up understanding what could happen if she did not fight for who she is. This and her own experience led her to create a blog about her family and the history of Crimean Tatars in general.
"I continue to gather information about my roots piece by piece. It is challenging right now as I'm not in Crimea, while many of my relatives reside there. As a result, I have to reach out to them by phone. When we talk, terms like "Ukraine" are often masked or spoken in Crimean Tatar to avoid any consequences for them."
For many, leaving Crimea meant not simply letting go of their beloved homeland but also bidding farewell to a part of the family. Lia experienced this firsthand when she had to leave behind her dear grandparents, who are also her primary source of information regarding family connections.
"They told me the story about my great-great-grandmother Zayde.
She was pregnant with her fifth child when the 1944 deportation occurred. Among her four children was my great-grandmother, named Khalide, my grandfather's mother. She was around 6 to 8 years old at the time. Khalide's father served in the Red Army, battling against the Nazis while his family was forcibly relocated to the Urals."
Witnessing Crimean Tatars being sent to mass graves, enduring hunger, and simultaneously working tirelessly for her children took a toll on Zayde, leading to a miscarriage. Sadly, it also was not she who had a chance to see Crimea again. But Khalide made it.
"Khalide, who was just a little girl during the deportation, eventually returned to Crimea. Likewise, her son and his wife, who were born in Uzbekistan, made the journey back. My mother, too, was born in Uzbekistan, and she returned to Crimea as a teenager alongside her entire family. Although Crimeans returned in various years, it marked a significant mass movement overall."
But what did it mean to come back to Crimea after years of rooted life far away, having spent generations far from their homeland? Again, it meant leaving everything they built far away. But this time, it was their choice to do so.
Lia says her family always felt like strangers elsewhere except for Crimea. Having been stripped of all material possessions, Crimean Tatars collectively held onto a dream of returning home, as it was one of the few things they had at all.
"All Crimean Tatars cherished their heirlooms passed down through generations, such as the intricate belts worn by brides on their wedding day and their beautiful jewelry. However, when the Bolsheviks took over, my family, along with many others, lost these material links to their ancestry.
Back in the late 1800s and early 1900s, Ashime and Mustafa resided in our house in Bakhchysarai, close to the Khan's Palace.
When the communists seized power in Crimea, my great-grandmother Ashime was battling typhus, confined to her bed. In a desperate attempt to safeguard their most treasured jewels for future generations, her husband Mustafa hid them beneath her. They hoped that the Russians, fearing contagion, would refrain from searching her.
Unfortunately, their efforts were in vain as the Russians thoroughly searched Ashime and confiscated everything our family owned. Subsequently, we lost our house after the events of 1944."
As a child, Lia was lucky to see almost all of the Crimean Peninsula, collecting lots of cheerful childhood memories to enjoy as an adult. Those have now been overshadowed by the somber cloud of war that looms over them.
Everyone knows about occupation as a political term. But what it all does to people, their families separated, and their houses once built and never enjoyed even for a single lifetime, no words can cover.
Now, the Crimean Tatar people endure thanks to the resilience of those who survived genocide, and Lia is among their descendants. That is why it is so important that the words they say spread widely with the wind until they find the solace that is their home.
