Crimea… What comes to mind when you hear about it?
Artek children’s center, Jamala, the Swallow’s Nest rising above the endless Black Sea? Mustafa Dzhemilev, the deportation of the Crimean Tatars, Russia’s “little green men”?
From time to time, world leaders speak about the (im)possibility of Crimea returning under Ukrainian control. This debate is too often framed around a piece of land rather than historical justice for the hundreds of thousands of representatives of the peninsula’s Indigenous peoples.
But do we, as Ukrainians, truly know—and, more importantly, understand—the history of this peninsula and its people? And what does Crimea mean to us today, after eleven years of Russian annexation?
Ezra Pastor is a 23-year-old Ukrainian artist, designer, and activist for the Indigenous peoples of Crimea. It is a pseudonym, though, as he himself says, it is also his future name—for he descends from a Karaite family. Ezra now lives with his family in Zakarpattia region, yet considers Crimea his true home, even though he only ever visited it during school holidays. What matters most is that he has consciously chosen his identity: to be a Ukrainian Karaite. Today, he actively promotes both Ukrainian and Karaite culture.
This article is about the past, present, and future of Ukrainian Crimea—so near, yet so distant.
Who Are the Karaites?
Under Ukraine’s Law on Indigenous Peoples (2021), an Indigenous people is defined as a community historically tied to a particular territory, forming a minority within its population, and lacking a state of its own.
Based on this definition, Ukraine officially recognizes three Indigenous peoples that emerged in Crimea: the Crimean Tatars, the Crimean Karaites, and the Krymchaks.
The Crimean Karaite population is very small—no more than about one thousand people worldwide. In occupied Crimea, several hundred live in Yevpatoria and Simferopol, with only around a hundred remaining in Feodosia. Beyond the peninsula, their presence is even smaller, concentrated mainly in Kharkiv, Kyiv, and Lutsk.
Despite their numbers, the Crimean Karaites have historically played an outsized role. They were once renowned traders who prospered in the tobacco industry, and later many served as officers in the Russian Imperial Army. Today, most Crimean Karaites follow Karaism, a religion similar to Judaism but often described, as Ukraїner notes, as more “liberal.” While they are not Jews, many have nevertheless relocated to Israel, frequently through its repatriation program.
The Crimean Karaites continue to maintain their distinct culture, traditions, and language—closely related to Crimean Tatar—along with their own flag.
A Family Secret: The Story of one Crimean Karaite Family
Ezra discovered his Crimean Karaite roots as a teenager. For a long time, his family’s past remained hidden, until his grandmother accidentally uncovered the truth.
Family stories tell that their Karaite ancestors lived in Crimea and came from a very wealthy family. During the revolution of 1917–21 the communists dispossessed them: their property was seized and most family members were killed. Only two underage sons survived. The elder, aged fourteen, was sent to a labor camp somewhere in northern Russia, while the younger, just eight, was thrown onto the first train heading to the east of Ukraine.
“That eight-year-old boy was my great-grandfather, Luka Ochan, Ezra says. The train took him to Horlivka in the Donetsk region. It is difficult to imagine what he felt, losing everything in a single day—his family, his home, his land. All he had left was his unusual name and the distinctive features of his face. The trauma marked him deeply: he never spoke about his heritage or about Crimea.”
Ezra Pastor
The man became a carpenter, fought in the Red Army during World War II, and later married a Ukrainian woman. They had six children, one of whom was Ezra’s grandmother. The family never spoke about their Crimean past, and it might have remained unknown if the children hadn’t once discovered letters he had written to his brother after a family gathering.
Thus, the hidden family story came to light. Yet it took another generation to embrace it. Ezra’s mother told him about his Crimean Karaite roots when he was a teenager.
“At that time, I didn’t see it as anything significant. I had school, hobbies, my own interests,” Ezra recalls.
For him, Crimea was associated mostly with summer camps at Artek, family vacations on the Black Sea coast, and a strange, unexplainable feeling of home.
“The sound of the sea, the cries of seagulls, and the ringing of the harbor bell will always remain in my memory. Behind me the sea roared, while the sharp summer morning breeze carried the scents of grasses and saltwater. In Crimea, I feel that I am truly on my own land. I have missed it deeply all these years”.
Ezra has not returned to Crimea since Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March 2014.
Life in Zakarpattia, Full-Scale War, and a Return to His Roots
Ezra was born in Kremenchuk, Poltava region, where he lived with his family until they moved to Zakarpattia in 2019.
“Even then, we wanted to move as far from Russia as possible,” he recalls, “because we understood that Crimea and Donbas wouldn’t be the end of it.”
He enrolled in a Slovak university to study English but never finished his degree. His final term coincided with the first half of 2022. Unable to obtain travel documents, he threw himself into volunteer work.
“I didn’t want to leave the country at such a moment. I volunteered at Sovyne Hnizdo Humanitarian Aid Center, we unloaded humanitarian aid around the clock, sent off trains, drove people to the border, slept three or four hours a day.”
When the urgent need for helping hands subsided, Ezra decided to return to art.
“At first I couldn’t draw at all. Then I made a T-shirt — and it went viral on TikTok. That’s how I created my first handmade collection dedicated to the tragedy of Ukrainian artists. Later, I began collaborating with Ukrainian fashion brands.”
Ezra became known for his T-shirt collections honoring prominent Ukrainian artists, among them Ivasiuk, Symonenko, Kurbas, Malevych, and Gongadze.
“I’ve always wanted to design clothes,” Ezra says, “and now it’s not only something I do for the soul, but also a way to express my civic stance.”
Ezra studies both Crimean Tatar and Karaim languages, researches Crimean Karaite history, and keeps in touch with representatives of other Indigenous peoples of Crimea. One of his current goals, he says, is to tell more people about who the Crimean Karaites are and how they live. What follows are his own words.
The Crimean Karaites of Ukraine: Between Self-Identification and the Development of Their Own Representative Body
“I see a problem in the fact that the Crimean Karaite community doesn’t distinguish between religious and ethnic identity. It’s essentially a religious group that sometimes includes people of Crimean Karaite origin — so, technically, anyone who begins to practice Karaism can become a Karaite.
If Crimea were to return to Ukrainian control in the near future, he continues, there would begin a process of rebuilding state institutions and introducing policies to support Indigenous peoples.
At present, most representatives of Crimea’s Indigenous peoples favor a model of national-territorial autonomy within Ukraine. This would mean, for instance, that at least one-third of civil servants in any state institution would have to be representatives of Crimea’s Indigenous nations.
I think that’s great. It removes the risk of imbalance or discrimination right away. But the question is: how will those representatives be chosen? For Crimean Tatars, ethnicity is defined by blood. Most of them are Muslim, though religion isn’t the main factor. But when it comes to the Crimean Karaites, belonging to the community is determined only by religion. So theoretically, a German, Spaniard, Portuguese, or Russian could convert to Karaism and, under the law, be entitled to the same privileges as I am — even though my family once lived there and lost everything. Technically, such a person would fall under the same quota. But would they really defend the rights of Indigenous peoples? That’s a big question.
The Law on Indigenous Peoples, adopted in 2021, opens broad opportunities for these communities to exercise their rights, and with constructive cooperation between the authorities and their representatives, it can bring meaningful results.
Another issue is representation. The Crimean Tatars have the Mejlis — their official representative body. I wish the Crimean Karaites had something similar. There is an NGO called Karaite Community of Ukraine, but an NGO isn’t the right form. Yes, there are few of us, and we’re scattered across the world, so the issue of repatriation remains open.
I’ve spoken about this with Crimean Karaite representatives, including in Israel. We even had the idea of meeting on Zoom — but it still hasn’t happened.”
What about the Karaites in Crimea?
“Not all Crimean Karaites who remain under occupation are pro-Russian. In general, I promote the idea that Ukrainians on the mainland should be more understanding towards representatives of Indigenous peoples who remain under occupation in Crimea. Because we need them.
These people are almost our last remaining proof on the world stage that this land matters to us, and that its Indigenous peoples need it too. Because if, hypothetically, all the pro-Ukrainian representatives of the Indigenous nations were to leave Crimea, and only those shouting ‘Putin is the president of the world’ remained, the international community would say: ‘Look, the Indigenous peoples support Russia. They’re fine there. Why return Crimea?’ That would further legitimize Russia’s annexation of the peninsula.
I have enormous respect for those Indigenous people who remain in Crimea and do not support the occupation. I’ve spoken with some of them — and they have far more courage than any of us. These are people who, in a very literal sense, are working to bring Crimea back to Ukraine.
First and foremost, I’m talking about the Ateş [Eng. ‘fire’] resistance movement. Through its members, Ukrainian forces receive valuable information about troop movements, enemy weapons, and naval deployments. Ateş members have been sabotaging Russian military equipment both in Crimea and inside Russia itself.
I know Crimean Tatars who speak Ukrainian and continue learning it even under occupation. I know those who fight for liberation from Russian rule, and they do it with incredible bravery.
As for the Crimean Karaites — there aren’t many of us to begin with. And yes, I won’t deny that in 2014 many welcomed the ‘little green men’, joining car rallies with Russian tricolors. Personally, I haven’t seen examples of Crimean Karaites resisting the occupation or being imprisoned for it. That’s why there’s such a striking contrast with the Crimean Tatars. Take, for example, Nariman Dzhelyal. He spoke Ukrainian at the Crimean Platform, returned to Crimea, and was imprisoned by the Russian authorities. He’s now free again and preparing to serve as Ukraine’s Ambassador to Turkey.”
Re:Open Crimea. Opening Crimea for Ukrainians
“In fact, awareness about Crimea and its Indigenous peoples has grown immensely compared to 2014! What did the average Ukrainian know about Crimea back then? The sea, chebureks, maybe Jamala. Some might have heard about the deportation — and many were convinced that all Crimean Tatars were traitors or Nazi collaborators.
Now, far more Ukrainians clearly know that in 1944 there was a mass deportation of Crimean Tatars. Some can even recall the numbers — about 423,000 people were deported, and roughly 100,000 died during the sürgün, the deportation.
People have also become more aware of the three Indigenous peoples — the Crimean Tatars, the Crimean Karaites, and the Krymchaks. And honestly, the very fact that someone knows anything about the Crimean Karaites is already amazing!
Many stereotypes have been dismantled, like the idea that they were traitors during World War II, or that they’re some kind of ‘Muslim extremists’ who came to conquer new living space.
I talk about the Crimean Karaites on social media, and it’s always nice when people write to say they learned something new about Crimea from me, or that they already knew it. That means my work is done well. Raising awareness about the peninsula, its people, and its history takes steady, ongoing effort — in the media, in education, in cultural spaces. The key is to stay consistent, not aggressive.
For example, at Kyiv-Mohyla Academy there are now Crimean Studies programs, and the same goes for the Ukrainian Catholic University. They even teach the Crimean Tatar language there now! Once, that would’ve seemed impossible. An interesting observation, there might be one or two Crimean Tatars in a group, and the rest are usually Ukrainians. Their motivation is ‘I just want to know more about Crimea.’ That’s actually very important when people study a language and culture out of respect for a nation, it’s a real step toward building a new, multicultural society in the future.
Right now, I’m studying both Crimean Tatar and the Karaim languages, because I feel it’s my duty to reclaim our heritage and to imagine my future in Crimea.”
A Dream of Crimea. Or How to Order a Coffee in Crimean Tatar at Starbucks
“To live up to my vision of an ideal Crimea, I myself have to change. That’s the path I’m on — learning our history, language, and culture. I know people who once lived in Crimea, left after the annexation, and now say: ‘When we return, I know things won’t be the same, so I’m learning Crimean Tatar.’ I look optimistically at how awareness about Crimea is growing about the real Crimea, not what I call ‘Anapa 2.0.’
I’ll know we’ve won when I can walk into a Starbucks in Crimea with my Ukrainian passport and order a coffee in Crimean Tatar. You might ask, ‘Why Starbucks? especially since, at least in my opinion, their coffee is awful. But in my imagined reality, Starbucks is a symbol of the Western world, of its return to the Crimean land. Because Ukraine’s only future is with the West.
That is why the future Crimea is a part of a sovereign Ukrainian state, under peaceful skies and hopefully not too radioactive (smiles). The peninsula has a national-territorial autonomy with two official languages: Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar.
And, of course, with decolonized toponyms: Sevastopol is once again called Aqyar, Yevpatoria is Kezlev, and Crimea is Qirim.
I want to live in free Aqyar, and I want my children to live there knowing their Crimean Karaite heritage. I want them to study both native languages — Ukrainian and Crimean Tatar. I’ll name my son Bekir, after the Crimean Tatar poet Bekir Çobanzade, and my daughter Faya — short for Fathiya. Even if our generation can’t physically return to Crimea, we’ll do everything we can so that our children build their own ideal Crimea in their imagination — and one day, make that dream real.
Crimea is the only place where I truly feel at home. Even though I wasn’t born or raised there, I spent enough time there to feel that it is truly my home.
The last time I was in Crimea was during a summer trip to Artek in 2013. I still remember the wind, the sea breeze, the sound of the surf… and that feeling of belonging.
There’s a legend that on the Crimean shore one can find a shining stone—the heart of the sea—that gives strength to all Crimeans. Because the peninsula is our home, the source of our strength. And one day, we will return home.
Halyna Hychka, Varosh
Photos by Serhii Denysenko and Depositphotos
This material has been prepared within the framework of the Dutch-Slovak-Ukrainian project “Strengthening the Rule of Law at the Local/Regional Level in Ukraine: The Case of Zakarpattia Oblast,” supported by the Government of the Kingdom of the Netherlands under the MATRA program, a leading Dutch initiative for social transformation support.
The project is being implemented by the Institute for Central European Strategy (ICES) in collaboration with the Dutch organization Foundation of Justice, Integrity and Anti-Corruption (FJIAC) and Transparency International Slovensko (TI SK), in partnership with the Zakarpattia Regional State Administration and the Regional Council.
*** The content of this material does not reflect the official position or opinions of the project’s implementers or donors. The sole responsibility for the content of the publications lies with the editorial team of Varosh.
