Posted on 04/29/2014 8:15:41 AM PDT by SeekAndFind
Kiev A black-and-white photocopy of Vladimir Putins face hangs on a dartboard in the meeting room of an old Soviet sanatorium a few miles west of Kiev. The building now serves as a temporary home for several Crimean refugee families, and a couple of young men residing there hand me darts and encourage me to aim well at Putins face, which is already speckled with holes.
Since Russia annexed Crimea, thousands of refugees have fled. Officials in Lviv region alone say theyre preparing for the influx of around 2,000 refugees. Meanwhile, in late March, Ukraines social-policy minister said that more than 3,600 Crimeans had already asked for help resettling elsewhere within the countrys borders.
Mihail Petrovych, an older man with gold teeth, a white mustache, and a fiery personality, is one of these refugees. He says he witnessed the Russian invasion of Sevastopol personally: I saw with my own eyes how they captured the bases and the ships. Theyd put the women and children in front of them, and theyd be behind.
Petrovych left, he says, because of his political convictions, packing only what he and his wife could carry, catching a train to Kiev, and leaving behind the village where he had lived for 43 years:
My kids, my grandchildren, grew up there. I founded the village. I gave the village its name. . . . [But] a lot of people [in Crimea] just dont see themselves a part of Russia. Its not a democracy. Its not a place where you can express your opinion. Im old, so Im not afraid of anything; if they would let me keep my Ukrainian passport, I would stay [in Crimea]. . . . [But] I see myself as a Ukrainian citizen. Im confident [of that], and I have no doubt.
The people who were on the train to Kiev for the most part didnt really know specifically where they were going, Petrovych says. Some were going to friends or relatives, but others just didnt know. When he and his wife arrived at the Kiev station, he followed instructions for refugees announced over loudspeakers and eventually found shelter at the sanatorium.
The scariest thing is that theres no certainty about whats going to happen, Petrovych says, adding that he doesnt think Ukraine has accepted the annexation of Crimea. I dont think [the interim government in Kiev] betrayed us. Its just that right now, there are a lot of immediate concerns, and they cant deal with it all. Theyre talking about Ukraine as united, and I believe that [they mean it].
I ask Petrovych what hed say to Putin if the Russian dictator were standing in front of him. Without missing a beat, he responds: Get the hell out.
Not all the refugees are so blunt. The next man I speak with, who identifies himself only as Sultan, is a Crimean Tatar, a Turkic ethnic minority thats largely Sunni Muslim. Sultan, who looks to be in his mid 20s, chooses his words carefully, and my translator tells me that the young man is repeatedly implying that hes concerned for his family members who remain in Crimea.
The Crimean Tatars have historic reason to be wary of Russia: Stalin oversaw the forced deportation of thousands of Crimean Tatars to Uzbekistan in 1944. It was only after the collapse of the Soviet Union that many were allowed to return home, Sultan notes. The people who still remember these events are very afraid that the same thing will happen, he says. They dont trust the Russians.
Sultan doesnt believe the Russian-media accounts that claim that more than 90 percent of Crimeans favored becoming part of Russia. There are nearly 400,000 Crimean Tatars making up nearly 15 percent of the regions population. Almost all of them, Sultan maintains, wanted to remain a part of Ukraine.
After 20 years of building our lives [in Ukraine], it is very painful to begin our lives again in Russia, he says. In the Russian Federation, for us, life was very uncomfortable. . . . We enjoyed full freedom of religion in Ukraine. We dont know how it will go [under Russia].
Even for Crimean natives who had moved elsewhere in Ukraine before Russia invaded, the annexation is causing a headache. Later that afternoon, I sit in a trendy café with Yegor Burkov, a 19-year-old from Sevastopol who is studying history at the National University of KyivMohyla Academy. His family still lives in Crimea, and its a very sticky situation, he says.
Burkovs father was part of the Ukrainian military, and their family home in Sevastopol, where theyve lived for 17 years, is owned by the Ukrainian navy. But now, hes worried theyll be forced out: Russians can come into the house and say: There are no Ukrainian military men in Russia. Get out. This is our house.
Burkov is also anxious about the bureaucratic snaggles plaguing the newly annexed region. Crimeas telephone service is in the process of switching over to Russian carriers, so using a Ukrainian mobile may be like roaming, but forever, he says. Ill call home, but like to another country, for a much bigger amount of money. Train service is also switching, and he may soon have to take a much longer route. He says he also worries about whether hell have to get a Russian visa to travel home to see his family.
Some of Burkovs Crimean classmates in Kiev have had it even worse. Ukrainian banks in Crimea were closed, and debit cards with Crimean region codes were locked down. Families had to wire money in and out of Crimea or send large sums of cash in person across the border. Meanwhile, everything from scholarships to pensions is being converted to rubles, which is as he puts it a nightmare.
The main concern, though, is one of citizenship. Russia has claimed that Crimeans who want to remain a part of Ukraine can obtain residency permits to keep their Ukrainian citizenship and remain at home, but the reality is quite different, according to Burkov.
Very huge amounts of people tried to get [Russian] immigration services to get [them] their permit, and it was impossible, he reports. But for those who want to become Russian, it was very easy. Most people [in Crimea] I know said: Never mind. I dont want to have a Russian passport, I dont want a resident permit: I want to stay in my city. The permitting window was only a month. The situation seems like after April 18, [my family and I] have different citizenship, he says. I dont know exactly how it is [going to work out]. I dont know.
Jillian Kay Melchior writes for National Review as a Thomas L. Rhodes Fellow for the Franklin Center. She is also a senior fellow at the Independent Womens Forum.
In 1930’s Germany the Jews could leave (at the start) but only if they paid next year’s taxes in advance and took nothing of value with them as they left. Sound familiar?
Stop reading the article before commenting.
You’re suposed to babble on about how evil Vlad is.
Been watching the news.
Havent seen any women among the Russian or Ukrainian forces.
How can either side hope to win — when they have only men wielding the weapons?
Good point!
Thanks SeekAndFind.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.