On both sides of the front lines, in both the old and new Crimean Tatar diasporas, a recurring refrain is a phrase that my colleague turned into a humorous meme, posting it under every Crimean Tatar social media post: “Ya milletimiznin aqibeti ne olacaq?” (roughly translated as “What will become of our homeland and of us?”)  The occupation of Crimea put the political process on hold — a process in which the main events were the elections for the Qurultai, the Mejlis, and hundreds of local Mejlis councils. The war has postponed these plans indefinitely. 

There is no longer a Crimean Tatar political agenda, but there is activism that replaces it just as “productively” as social media and bloggers have replaced professional journalism.

To survive in Crimea, to survive outside Crimea, to survive physically, to fight for national autonomy, to fight for the revival of place names, simply to fight for something or against someone, to participate in public life under the given circumstances, to instrumentalize Crimean Tatar identity, to integrate wherever one finds oneself; to assimilate; to fight against assimilation; to fight against intermarriage.

The list of initiatives and forms of activism could go on. One could even try to monetize activism through business, grants, and the remnants of politics. One could also try to find promising sectors in religion and the military. 

The problem is that there is no comprehensive understanding of what is happening to the Crimean Tatars. How quickly will this chaos destroy the last remaining pockets of the living Crimean Tatar language? How soon will a mental rift occur between Crimean Tatars, Ukrainians, and European Crimeans? Who will legitimize the ultimate irrelevance of language for the preservation of identity? When will the irreversible transition to the memorial stage of a people’s existence occur — or has it already happened?

The “memorial” stage does not mean instant disappearance. It simply means that from this point on, instead of being a Crimean Tatar, a person gradually becomes a Ukrainian (Russian, American) of Crimean Tatar descent, and from there, demographics, statistics, and psychology will take over: determining when and in which generation this long qualifier — “of Crimean Tatar descent” — will fall away.

What is the main battle raging within the Crimean Tatar community? Self-identification. If you want views, hate comments, and populism — just publicly debate the topic: Crimeans or Crimean Tatars. The key is to choose only one of the ethnonyms and dismiss arguments in favor of the other.

But the occupation and the war have provided several more topics that can tear the public to shreds. For example, whether to stay in Crimea or leave — choosing mainland Ukraine, Turkey, or any country far from the war. It’s fertile ground for mutual accusations and recriminations, which are artificially stoked from outside but find a natural resonance among a segment of the population.

And the third item on the agenda for internal pseudo-political conflicts is “miscellaneous”: hijabs, LGBT issues, and whether or not to celebrate Hıdırlez or Kalanda.

Sometimes one hears optimistic remarks that conflict within Crimean Tatar society is a sign of vitality, and therefore it is too early to speak of the end of the “Crimean Tatar project” or to scare people with alarmist scenarios. 

Of course, one can reassure oneself with such “vitamins,” but sometimes conflict is simply conflict and nothing more. There is a legend about a conflict between the last two Jews in Afghanistan over the right to run the synagogue. Both were evacuated before the Taliban’s final takeover of Kabul. But the 40-year conflict between the last two Afghan Jews became merely a curious footnote before the Jewish community’s ultimate disappearance.