Away from Russia: How Ukrainians made their choice a decade ago amidst the turmoil.
Ten years ago, I tossed my belongings into the trunk and left for Kyiv.
At that time, occupied Crimea felt like the center of a cyclone. On the mainland, events like the MH17 Boeing disaster, Ilovaisk, and the first Minsk agreements had already occurred. Meanwhile, the peninsula was enveloped in calm.
I wrote about Crimea from February to October 2014. My thirty years of living in a "remote seaside province" unexpectedly ceased to be a burden. By early 2014, the peninsula had transformed into a focal point on the planet, capturing everyone's attention. The well-known reserve of post-Soviet sentiments had turned into a fertile ground for journalism. Just stick a pole in the ground — and it would bloom.
By October, the initial shock of the flag change had subsided. The first tragedies had already unfolded. The first wave of emigration was settling on the mainland. However, mobile communication still remained interconnected, and trains continued to cross the border to the mainland reliably.
Even the visual changes were minimal. The monopoly of Ukrainian goods was gradually mixed with Russian products. Prices were still being converted to hryvnias out of habit. Those who remained divided into three groups. The first group was preparing to leave. The second was gearing up for internal emigration. And the third group finally shed its hypocrisy.
The last group waved new flags with desperation. They poured curses on social media. Soon, their voices would become the only ones echoing from the peninsula. The rest would either relocate or switch to anonymous accounts. They still occasionally liked posts and even more rarely commented, but they read everything.
The premonition of a global war gradually faded. Russia stopped talking about the "Russian Spring," replacing it with the "Crimean Spring." NATO soldiers never appeared. The land corridor to Crimea did not materialize either. The number of foreign journalists on the peninsula dwindled, while the Russian accent grew stronger.
Friends from the mainland called every day. Yet, the question, "How are things over there?" became less frequent. Instead, I found myself asking it more often. Social media became the primary source of information — and it was there that the echoes of battles that weekly shifted the front line in Donbas could be heard.
It's amusing to recall. Before the war, a top blogger was considered someone who had exhausted the five-thousand-friend limit on Facebook. But after the war began, a blogosphere suddenly emerged in Ukraine. Traditional media could not meet the information demand, and Zuckerberg's creation unexpectedly became the domestic CNN.
I packed my things and pondered how little I really knew about my country. My geographical understanding of the mainland was limited to Maidan, a bit of Kyiv, and even less of Lviv. At thirty, I had a poor grasp of Ukraine. The traditional Crimean isolation was evident. An island mentality. A Crimean identity.
And since February 2014, that identity had been melting away daily. The annexation forced everyone to define their own civic identity. To decide which flag they considered their own. To determine to which anthem they would rise.
Conversations with fellow countrymen increasingly resembled a minefield. Any rash move could lead to an explosion. The number of topics that divided us grew, while those that united us dwindled. Gradually, this minefield would transform into a real front line.
I had to leave.
I had no idea what awaited me. That year, planning was out of the question. The only thing that was clear was that my peers and I were living through history. A history we had been deprived of for all those previous years. And there was no sense in exchanging these doubloons for pennies.
I would return to Crimea two more times. First, at the end of 2014. The second time — in the summer of 2015. Then the FSB arrested my colleague, who remained in Crimea and wrote that the peninsula belonged to Ukraine. He was convicted for calls to violate the territorial integrity of the Russian Federation. After that, I only saw Crimea from the Arabat Spit.
I do not boast about my registration. The peninsula does not haunt my dreams at night, and I dislike it when people express sympathy. I view everything that has happened to me as an experience, not as a trauma.
And it is precisely this experience that helped me clarify my desires. In October 2014, I got behind the wheel with a clear understanding of what kind of future I did not want. And I am quite certain that I no longer intend to pack my things.
Once was enough.
The author expresses a personal opinion that may not align with the editorial stance. The responsibility for the published content in the "Opinions" section lies with the author.