Interview with Nariman Dzhelyal

I spoke to my Crimean friend yesterday, who said the situation was terrible. People are not sure who they can trust. There are very few friends and families that you know will not harm you and will not report on you, so you communicate with them. I feel like people in their majority are scared there. There is mild resistance. Why is it like this? Because everyone who spoke out was arrested.

Sometimes, I jokingly told my wife that I would probably be arrested. But it was already a serious conversation last time [in 2021]. When I returned from Kyiv after the Crimean platform summit, I had one and a half or two weeks before the actual arrest. I realised then that this could happen. I was with my wife; we were drinking coffee, and the children were not around. I said: you must be ready; this time, I can be arrested. She turned out to be much stronger than I expected.

No. We have not spoken about leaving Crimea since 2014. Moreover, as soon as I went outside Crimea on business, I immediately wanted to return.

There is Chatyr-Dag Mountain in Crimea. It is very symbolic for me, it is like a heart for me. When you enter Crimea from the north, it is steppe, but in the daytime, you can see the outlines of Chatyr-Dag. It was all I needed. And, of course, to get home and hug the children. The last time I did it was in 2021. Then, I met the family here [in Kyiv in July 2024].

Pre-trial detention centre 1 is a very old building. So, it is impossible to talk about any quality living conditions. When a person comes to the pre-trial detention centre, he is quarantined for a certain period of time. During this time, supervisors and the administration look at who you are and your behaviour. These are separate cells where you are placed. In some cells, one person is detained, while in others, there may be two or, on the contrary, many people. The Simferopol pre-trial detention centre is a semi-basement premises. Humidity, sewage, smells. I wasn’t there, but my friends, Asan and Aziz Akhtemov [the Akhtemov brothers and Dzhelyal were suspects in the case of “sabotage” at the gas pipeline. The Russian court sentenced Asan Akhtemov to 15 years in prison and Aziz to 13 years] were kept there. Asan set a record – almost two months, although people are kept there for a week or two at most.

I was immediately locked up in a special unit, which is a separate corner. There were six cells with two people in each. A special unit is made for the most dangerous people, criminal bosses, to isolate them from other prisoners. I was there almost all the time. No one wants to go there because it is isolation. In common cells, there are more people; there is a TV, and communication is more open.

The pre-trial detention centre personnel were mixed. There were Crimeans, by the way, very few, and visitors from Russia. Their task was not to get close to the prisoners. Because today, he is communicating with you, and tomorrow, he will need to beat you. They don’t even say their names; it’s just “inspector.” We changed this situation, of course. We found out their names and addressed them by name. My first neighbour, Serhii Liulin, a Jehovah’s Witness, said, “Nariman, with our politeness, we will change their attitude toward us, and they will treat the prisoners better.” That was how we broke them. I am now talking about the ordinary pre-trial detention centre. I am not talking about places where both the body and soul of prisoners are ruined. There are such places.

I was in different situations, but I think I have somehow got out of them. Every person who gets there under such unfair circumstances finds themselves in an alien world. There is a side to the criminal world: it has its own laws and its concepts. And there is the police world. These two worlds interact somehow. And the political prisoner is in between them. You belong neither to these nor to those. You can, of course, join the criminal world and start using criminal jargon. I saw such things. But I told each young man brought in for political reasons: don’t do it. I tried not to use slang words and not to swear.

And the police… Everything depends on what task they have. There were situations when they wanted to make you a snitch. They offered certain privileges if you told them something. There were situations when you were restricted in something; you were not allowed to exercise your legal rights. And they watched what you would do. This time, you need to keep calm and learn how to act correctly. You have to learn certain laws of this world – both of one side and the other. And to understand what is most important to you when you are there.

My political struggle was outside. Inside, my task was to survive—to survive physically and psychologically and return home a normal, adequate, not broken, person.

I had the opportunity to get information quite promptly. There was a cell with a TV nearby. I was not permitted a TV. I asked, and the lawyers asked, too. They said he may not have it. But the neighbour, Pavlo, a good guy, had a TV. We asked him to watch the news daily and retell us in the evening. Every evening, around 9–10 p.m., he came to the cell door after all the checks and shouted so that we could all hear. When this information appeared in the news, we knew it immediately.

In addition, my lawyers – Mykola Polozov and Emine Avamilieva, and later my wife, who joined them as a public defender – came to see me in the detention centre at least twice a week. They also told me the news. Then I retold the news to the guys. Like me, there were also good guys in the special unit who wanted Ukraine to win this war. Maksym from Sevastopol was with me for some time. He was accused of holding explosives, but in reality, he just couldn’t stand it when this war started. He wrote on Vkontakte: “Away with Putin, get up, people, they attacked.” His mother lives in Nova Kakhovka. And, of course, when this invasion came, he was anxious and published this. After that, FSB employees came to him and planted explosives.

It was difficult to go through all this. Especially when I was already in pre-trial detention centre 2. It is an awful place. It is new. However, the detention of people was terrible. We were just brought there, the doors of the police car opened, and immediately swearing and yelling started. This is done on purpose. We lived in a cell just above the place where new prisoners were received, and we heard this performance often. You run in, they scream at you, order you to squat. I am physically unable to squat with my feet on the ground completely. My heels go up when I squat. That is me. I got a blow on my head even for that.

You may not raise your head or look at his face. We identified the supervisors by their footwear. Today, these shoes look after us; tomorrow, the other. You put your hands very high behind your back, bend over, and run like this around the pre-trial detention centre. We were almost not permitted to walk. The cell is opened, and you run out for a walk without stopping in a half-bent position. But the most difficult thing was that you could not sit on the bed.

You get up at 6 a.m., you make your bed. You must fold your mattress to prevent you from sitting on the bed. The mattress was also removed from the upper bed so no one could sit below. You could sit on a small bench. Whether you sit on it or walk around the cell, you have seven steps forward and seven steps back. Because of this, many people and I started to have swollen feet. But the real violence against a person was the fact that everyone was forced to learn the anthem of the Russian Federation.

They [pre-trial detention centre and prison employees] have their own work. They constantly do some kind of provocations. They are watching what you would say and do. And they act depending on this. Among the latest events, I wrote an application to see the family. This was already in the last prison [the Minusinsk prison of Krasnoyarsky Krai of the Russian Federation] where I was detained. I filed an application; it seemed like everything was fine; they decided on the days when it would happen. I told my wife about it. I told her to get ready to come. And then the answer was “no” and “no” repeatedly. I told my wife: cancel everything, do not come. They are expecting something from me. I was not going to get down on my knees in front of them begging them.

I was sewing mittens, towels, prison uniforms, and workwear.

Every prisoner must work under the law. Many refuse to do that. I, on the contrary, agreed. Because it allows spending your “Groundhog day” in a different way. To somehow diversify my life, I went to work. Time goes by faster.

Being at work gives you some other little bonuses. Usually, you can call your relatives once a month if you are not in trouble. If you work, you can call twice a month. But the main thing is that you leave the cell with people that you spend time 24/7. You are with other guys at work: 90% of them are also political prisoners.

Just before my release, Osman Arifmemetov, whom I knew before imprisonment, arrived at this prison. A social journalist from Crimea who used to write about courts, persecution, and political prisoners. And then he, too, found himself behind bars. I told him: go to work. Even if you do not work afterward, go for a week or two. But we will meet this way. This is really important because the person has just arrived. Very bad stories were spread about the Minusinsk prison, as well as they do now. Being beaten up is not the worst thing that can happen to you there. There is bullying of a different kind, let us say so. What saved me from bad circumstances was the fact that well-known politicians, presidents of countries – both ours and the Republic of Turkey, journalists, and human rights defenders were able to draw some attention to me.

I felt it for sure. I never doubted for a moment that my friends, people I know and don’t know who defend political prisoners, and I personally won’t stop. I was not even thinking that someone would stop.

The biggest happiness for a person is when he sees the results of his work. This is how it was when I worked in Crimea. Small victories gave me great satisfaction and healed my soul. I also want to spend some time with the family. Shortly, we will probably disappear for some time to be together. But we will be in Ukraine. After that, I will go into the work completely. Because I feel responsible for those who are still there.

And I also have my job, the Mejlis of the Crimean Tatar people. The situation is difficult with both, Crimea and the Crimean Tatar people. We have to work, so we must deal with this matter if we want to get Crimea back.

I think it will be a combined way. With its actions, Russia does not allow us to speak diplomatically only. Therefore, we should not deceive ourselves. This will be a military way to this or that extent. Ukrainian troops will and must enter Crimea. This is a matter of a certain moment of time, which way they will enter, with what forces this will happen, and with what losses it will be among the military and civilians. But it is merely impossible without military support.

It is a double feeling. In prison, you get used to not belonging to yourself. You are closed down, deprived of your freedom and the ability to decide and do something. You are told: go there, sit here. I take everything happening as it is, and you are just moving. But this is painful for me that I cannot be in Crimea. My house and friends in the village matter much more to me than Kyiv and any European city. Whether this is the Crimean steppe, mountains, or a river, I love all this! But I have learned to accept circumstances as they are, and I see a task that needs to be done.

Of course. It is returning of Crimea and coming back to Crimea.