This summer, Gulnara Abdulayeva released her book “History of Crimea: A Brief Narrative of a Great Journey.” She is a Crimean Tatar historian, editor, and TV presenter who has made significant contributions to historical research, focusing on Crimean Tatar history and the impact of their deportation in 1944. After the occupation of the peninsula in 2014, she relocated to Kyiv. Gulnara has authored several books, including “Battles from the History of the Crimean Khanate,” “Crimean Tatars: From Ethnogenesis to Statehood,” “25 Notable Crimean Tatars,” and now “History of Crimea: A Brief Narrative of a Great Journey.”
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In the 19th century, attempts were made to cure many diseases with gentle treatments; the sea and cypresses were seen as a universal remedy to soothe and heal afflicted bodies. Doctors like Oleksandr Konyskyi, a writer and educator, supported this concept. In October 1895, during a train journey from Kyiv to Crimea, Konysky pondered not only his own health but also the deeper implications of Taras Shevchenko’s poem “P. S.,” particularly the metaphor of the “piece of rotten sausage.” This sausage symbolised the lure of imperialism, which led people away from their roots, their “uncultured” ancestors.
Konyskyi observed firsthand the cultural impact of Russian influence in Crimea since 1783, which he viewed as coercive Russification that obliterated local resistance.
As Konyskyi described it, the Crimean Peninsula had long been a melting pot where diverse ethnicities interacted and coexisted, fostering a unique ethnogenesis and a profound tolerance that directly countered Russian assimilationist policies.
From this perspective, Crimean historian Gulnara Abdulayeva crafted her work “History of Crimea: A Brief Narrative of a Great Journey.” Instead of focusing on specific peoples, Abdulayeva focused on Crimea itself, which she metaphorically describes as a “melting pot.” Here, mighty empires rose and dissolved amidst the sea, mountain gardens, and steppes. These empires initially perceived themselves as cauldrons of power but ultimately melted into the fabric of history. The list is extensive: ancient city-states, the Late Scythian and Bosporan Kingdoms, partially the Khazar Khanate, the Principality of Theodoro, Italian trading posts, the Golden Horde, the Crimean Khanate, and later the Russian Empire and the USSR.
Gulnara Abdulayeva’s historical scope spans from ancient times to the present day, offering a wide-ranging narrative. She begins with transforming what was once a freshwater lake, now known as the Black Sea, into a saltwater sea. This transformation, which was speculated to have occurred during the Neolithic period, was driven by the melting glaciers that poured water into the Sea of Marmara, ultimately altering the ecosystem. The introduction of Mediterranean salt caused the extinction of all freshwater flora and fauna, forming rich hydrogen sulfide deposits on the sea floor. This process gave the newborn sea its unique colour, name, and lifeless depths, where only the hardiest bacteria could survive.
Recent history, particularly the tumultuous 20th century, reveals notable events. During the Second World War, Soviet forces implemented the harsh tactic of “scorched earth” as they retreated. They also hastily consumed Massandra and Magarach wines and brandies from Crimea, resources not intended for the invading German soldiers. Conversely, during the German evacuation of Crimea, valuable artefacts and the last remaining ship, the Leriss, were bombed and sunk, almost as if the Crimean shores resisted the departure of those who had plundered them. While these events did not alter the sea’s chemistry like the influx of Mediterranean waters, they enriched Crimea’s historical narrative with depth and complexity.
This narrative density is reflected in the book’s surprisingly concise 214 pages, akin to a Crimean veranda draped with grapevines.
Here, the hostess serves coffee alongside Crimean Tatar chopped sugar ‘kesek şeker’, speaking deliberately to engage her guests without overwhelming them. The historical landscape of Crimea unfolds distinctly: from its earliest Taurian vineyards and Greek amphorae to Scythian burial mounds, Polovtsian babas (stone statues), Venetian and Genoese trading houses, the Crimean Tatar Khan’s mint in the Karaim fortress of Qırq Yer, and the quarters of Crimean Jews. Each chapter delves into a specific ethnicity and its profound impact on the peninsula’s evolving tapestry.
Crimea, 1920s. Photo from the ethnographic expedition of Usein Bodaninsky.
Amidst the movement of large human masses, individual stories remain compelling. For instance, the chapter on the revival of Crimean Tatar national culture in the 19th century focuses on the remarkable figure of Ismail Gasprinsky — a public and political figure, educator, and creator of the renowned Crimean Tatar newspaper, Tercüman. His impact on Crimean Tatar history is profound. One poignant example is Mustafa Cemilev, a politician and dissident whose family endured forced deportation by Soviet authorities to Uzbekistan. In an interview with historian Gulnara Bekirova, Cemilev recalled how Tercüman held such significance that it was kept beside the Quran in their home. As a young boy, he quietly extracted an issue from the bound volumes of the Tashkent public library, allowing his homesick father to touch and share it with acquaintances. This cherished possession remained with the family, displaced from their homeland, for several months before Jemilev discreetly returned it to its place in the library’s bindings.
Gulnara Abdulayeva’s work also explores descriptions of sub-ethnic groups among the Crimean Tatars and briefly glimpses into their distinct ways of life. The author examines the varying lifestyles of mountain dwellers (Orta Yolak), steppe nomads (Nogais), and residents of the southern coast (Yali Boylu). For instance, Abdulayeva highlights the most cherished jams in the mountains (spoiler: walnut and rose), explains why Nogais built the tallest fences around their homes, and details where shipbuilders from Yali Boylu constructed their vessels. These insights are particularly valuable because, as noted by the author, contemporary discussions have shifted away from the purity of lineage and traditions within specific groups. Before the Soviet deportations, marriages were arranged within distinct communities, but after 1944, efforts focused on preserving the collective identity, resulting in a blending of Orta Yolak, Nogais, and Yalı Boylu cultures.
Furthermore, Crimea, depicted as a cultural ‘melting pot’, is not envisioned here as an isolated meteorite in cosmic isolation but is rather naturally integrated into Ukraine’s broader historical tapestry.
This includes exploring military and political alliances between mainland Ukrainians and Crimean residents and analysing prevalent prejudices. Therefore, in addition to dispelling external historical myths (often propagated by Russia), a significant objective of this non-fiction work is to confront internal myths, especially sensitive issues such as the slave trade. For quite some time, there was a belief that Crimeans dominated the slave markets on the peninsula, whereas in reality, this profitable ‘business’ in the Crimean Khanate was largely controlled by Genoese merchants.
These stories drive home the book’s main message: people from mainland Ukraine and Crimea need to pay closer attention to each other and never trust the tales they hear from the ‘friendly’ Russian neighbours. Gulnara Abdulayeva suggests that the best we can do is learn from past mistakes and avoid making them again. So, she provides a detailed look at the facts and offers thoughtful insights. Her “History of Crimea” is important in many ways: it’s a popular science book that brings people together, especially those fighting for a common cause.
