Sürgünlik. The Stories of Tamila Tasheva and Alim Aliev on the Anniversary of the Deportation of the Crimean Tatar People
According to various official estimates, between 20% and 25% of all Crimean Tatars died in the special settlement areas. However, according to a self-conducted census by the Crimean Tatar National Movement, this number reached 46%.
Unlike most other deported peoples, who were allowed to return to their homelands in the late 1950s, Crimean Tatars were denied this right for nearly half a century — until 1989.
The deportation of the Crimean Tatar people is currently recognised as an act of genocide by only seven countries — Ukraine, Canada, Poland, the Czech Republic, and the Baltic states.
Tamila Tasheva, Member of Parliament and the USPS 2021 alumni, and Alim Aliev, Deputy Director General of the Ukrainian Institute and a current participant of the School, share stories about Sürgünlik — the term Crimean Tatars use to describe this tragic chapter of their history. To remember this crime and to pursue justice is not only our duty, but also a part of our shared struggle to restore historical truth. Because Crimea is Ukraine.
The memory of the deportation-genocide of the Crimean Tatar people is not just a part of our national history. It is a deeply personal experience for every Crimean Tatar family. It is a part of our identity.
We call these horrific events Sürgünlik.
The genocide committed by the Soviet authorities in 1944 has left a scar for generations to come. Tens of thousands of people were forcibly removed from their native Crimea. Thousands died in train wagons from thirst or disease; countless others perished later or were left deeply traumatised. There isn’t a single Crimean Tatar family without stories of that harrowing time — and mine is no exception.
I was born in Samarkand, Uzbekistan, in Samarkand — that’s where my family eventually settled after many hardships following the deportation. I first heard about Crimea when I was five years old from my parents. They were preparing us to return, and to me it all sounded like a fairy tale: the Crimean mountains, the blue sea, the warm sun. My great-grandmother Sabie told me about it. She painted a picture of our homeland before my eyes — a place that seemed almost unreal, almost magical.
When we flew to Simferopol in 1991, I was still a child. I remember that day very well: great-grandmother Sabie, stepping off the plane, couldn’t hold back her tears. We had come home… But the return was difficult for all Crimean Tatars.
Our new home was a small two-room house made of shell rock, without windows or doors. We left a comfortable life in Uzbekistan for these harsh conditions? I didn’t understand why. But then my mother told me something very important: “My child, happiness must be fought for”. Those words stayed with me for life. I realised that living in your native land is a great happiness, even if it demands sacrifices and hardships.
My great-grandmother Sabie often spoke of returning home as the greatest dream. I remember when we went together to the village of Foti-Sala, from which her family was expelled during the deportation. Today, the village is called “Golubinka” — a symbol of how Russians try to erase the memory of Crimea’s history. We reached the house where her family lived before 1944, but we weren’t even allowed to enter the yard. It was a painful moment that showed how deeply rooted the idea of return is within us.
For Crimean Tatars, Crimea is not just a territory — it’s a part of our soul. There is a saying: “Qırımda yaşa” — “Live in Crimea”. This is not merely about a place to live; it’s about holding on to our native home despite all challenges. That is why many Crimean Tatars remain on the occupied peninsula despite the risks and repression. Living on native land is a struggle that continues from generation to generation.
We have made many achievements in raising awareness about this history and in helping all Ukrainians understand the Crimean Tatars. But unfortunately, it’s still not enough. For example, in school textbooks, the Crimean Khanate is not presented as part of Ukrainian statehood but rather as “something else”. We still have work to do on this.
I remember hearing the word sürgünlik at home from my parents, grandmothers, and grandfathers during my childhood. As I grew older, I learned more about the deportation — the story of why I was born in Uzbekistan, where my grandparents were deported from Bakhchisaray and the Bakhchisaray district.
I know the story of my grandmother Niyar quite precisely. How soldiers came two days before the deportation, writing down the names of those living in each house. Then, those same soldiers deported the people, transporting them in train cars to Uzbekistan over three weeks. How people died along the way and during the first years of exile.
This story was known to all of us — in my family and in many other Crimean Tatar families. Unfortunately, almost no physical relics from the deportation remain — everything was destroyed, lost, or traded for bread just to survive.
At one point, I launched a digital museum called “Tamırlar”. This project collected oral histories from those who survived the deportation. We launched it on a large scale and gathered over 100 different personal stories through surveys to preserve this historical memory. The farther we get from those events, the fewer survivors remain alive. People age and pass away, so we are trying to make this site a webpage that accumulates information about the deportation. Today, this work is extremely important.
Currently, in Crimea, the occupiers do not allow the Crimean Tatars to hold rallies that they have traditionally organised since their return to their homeland, especially around the May 18 anniversary. But today, Crimean Tatars hold dua (prayers) in Crimea, and the same prayers are said here in Kyiv as a way to remember and honour those events.
In Ukraine’s public space, it is necessary to speak openly about sürgünlik and recognise it as the genocide of the Crimean Tatar people. This was an utterly imperial policy of colonisation — first by the Russian Empire in the 18th and 19th centuries, then by the USSR in the 20th century, and now by the Russian Federation in the 21st century. That is why I hope Ukrainians and Ukrainian society as a whole will accept the deportation as part of their own history — the history of Ukraine.
I have always said that Crimea can be reclaimed through culture. Culture is a soft power that unites people and showcases our uniqueness and resilience. Therefore, I always recommend learning more about Crimean Tatar culture. Read Crimean Fig, visit the Crimean Tatar Cultural Centre “Birlik”, the Office of the Crimean Platform, and the Crimean House. Also, watch Akhtem Seitablayev’s film Haytarma and the film Homeward.
It is worth reading Gulnara Bekirova’s book Half a Century of Resistance. Crimean Tatars from Exile to Return (1941–1991). A Political History Outline, the films Haytarma and Stranger’s Prayer by Akhtem Seitablayev, Fatima Osman’s documentary 1944. Crimea. Deportation and the book about Mustafa Dzhemilev titled The Unbreakable, which speaks extensively about his deportation experience and life in exile — a story that mirrors that of the entire nation. Also, listen to Jamala’s album Quirim — Crimean Tatar folk songs performed by a symphony orchestra.
