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  Crimean Power Struggle: Russia and Ukraine Jockey in the Black Sea

Crimean Power Struggle Russia and Ukraine Jockey in the Black Sea

By Walter Mayr

Part 2: The Russian Flag for the Crimea?

"War is war, and an officer must execute the commands he is given," says Kalugin -- even when his men are marching against a former sister nation, as in the case of Georgia. "We didn't even know where we were going when we received our orders to deploy" says Kalugin. "We tried to keep up with the events by watching the news on television. But there was poor reception on the water. Even our commander knew nothing."

Would Kalugin be as obedient a soldier if he were fighting Russia's Ukrainian neighbors? He prefers not to think about it. He has served in the navy since the latter days of the Soviet era, and he has gone to wherever he was sent. He still drinks vodka with former colleagues who are now serving with the Ukrainian Black Sea fleet, but they never discuss politics. Kalugin, a high-ranking naval officer, has a fervent wish, which he keeps to himself on those evenings spent with the Ukrainians: That the Russian flag will soon fly "over, not just Sevastopol, but the entire Crimea."

In Sevastopol, just as in many once-closed cities of the vast former Soviet Union, some things have remained unchanged. Dubbed the "last bastion" while under Soviet control, and so strictly shielded that it was off-limits to foreigners until 1996, Sevastopol is a place where paranoia and xenophobic propaganda flourish like seedlings in a greenhouse. The toxic seeds planted by both sides since the 2004 Ukrainian revolution and Kiev's change of course have finally borne fruit.

Nightly Vigils

The port city's newspapers, with names like Last Bastion and Legendary Sevastopol, are increasingly filled with alarming reports of a near-collision between the missile cruiser Moskva and a Ukrainian naval vessel in Sevastopol Bay, Russian activists protesting at one of the city's breakwaters, clashes with the police, the destruction of a plaque commemorating the first warship to sail under the Ukrainian flag, protests by Ukrainians against a new memorial to Czarina Catherine II on Lenin Street and subsequent nightly vigils by Russian volunteers at the site.

After 1991, centuries of common history were shattered and the wreckage reassembled. The image that resulted on the one side is dominated by primarily Ukrainian-speaking freedom fighters, military commanders and poets. But there is mounting anger on the other side, among the once-dominant Russians: over issues like the removal of Russian stations from the cable TV lineup, university lectures in Ukrainian and schoolbooks in which, more recently, Russian literature is subsumed into "world literature."

The center of Russian resistance is in a building on Nakhimov Square, where the Russian writer Leo Tolstoy once lived. The building, known as the "Moscow House," is the hub of a network designed to help local Russians feel at home in Sevastopol, with projects such as a school featuring a Russian lesson plan, a branch of Moscow's Lomonosov University and the construction of 2,000 comfortable apartments for officers.

The money for the projects comes from the budget of Moscow Mayor Luzhkov, who has been barred from entering Ukraine since May because of his inflammatory rhetoric. But for the Russians in Sevastopol, Luzhkov is a hero. Not only is he responsible for providing them with schools, lecture halls and apartments, but he also makes it unmistakably clear that the Ukrainians should not expect a Russian withdrawal, be it in "2017 or 3017," as Luzhkov says derisively.

A 'Single Nation'

Similar views are held in the Sevastopol city parliament, which is dominated by the supporters of former Ukrainian Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovich, communists and radicals from the "Russian bloc." The national chairman of the "bloc," Alexander Svistunov, happens to be visiting Sevastopol, and made himself available to answer questions.

As he sits there, evoking a peaceful future for the Crimea while at the same time explaining why things will probably turn out differently, Svistunov is the prototypical troublemaker feigning innocence. Unfortunately -- yes, unfortunately -- he says, the mood among the people in Sevastopol is similar to that of the Abkhazians and South Ossetians before war erupted in Georgia. The "tragic historical mistake" of awarding all of the Crimea to Ukraine threatens to come back to haunt the city, he says. Naturally, he adds, this is no reason for him and his people to unleash a war, but Sevastopol can certainly expect a "hot autumn."

Is he saying that there is no peaceful solution? Oh, of course there is, says Svistunov, explaining that Russia's Ukrainian and Belarusian brothers should simply come to terms with Moscow so that they can be brought back into the Russian fold. "Why risk yet another historic tragedy when the real issue is that we all belong to one single nation?"

Svistunov, along with almost 90 percent of the parliament of the Autonomous Republic of Crimea, recently voted for a resolution calling upon the pro-Western Ukrainian government to recognize the separatist republics of Abkhazia and South Ossetia -- a proposal with no prospect of succeeding. But it was yet another pinprick designed to generate headlines. Another was the threat, disguised as a call for help, by the deputy speaker of the Crimean parliament, who said: "We note with concern that we now face times no less dramatic than during the Crimean War, a century-and-a-half ago." Once again Europe, the deputy speaker added, has "gone to war with Russia."

Language of Power

"And," Miroslav Mamchak asks, smiling, "what was the outcome of that war? Russia lost, and Sevastopol fell. All enemies that have ever come here have captured the city -- that is the bitter truth about this city of heroes."

A retired sea captain in the Black Sea fleet, Mamchak was one of the first to swear an oath of allegiance to the Ukrainian flag, in 1992. Today he is one of the few who fearlessly expresses something that ought to be legally indisputable: that the port city is an inalienable part of Ukrainian territory and that the presence of the Russian fleet is contractually limited until 2017.

Mamchak, who is also the chairman of the "Ukrainian Society" and general manager of "Briz," a military radio station, has come under heavy fire from Russians in the city. He is caricatured on posters as an SS officer and fascist with a Hitler moustache, and, as he says, the words "Get out of Sevastopol" were scrawled onto the walls of his house. But Mamchak insists that he will not be forced to his knees by "criminals" and "mentally ill" warmongers.

The sorely afflicted city of heroes, says Mamchak, urgently needs a civilian concept for the future. "We currently have 100 meters (328 feet) of quay for warships, but only 90 meters (295 feet) for cruise ships. That has to change," he says. Mamchak's vision of a Sevastopol of the future includes tourists instead of torpedoes in the city's harbors, and "Ukrainian culture" instead of post-Soviet hero worship.

And how is this to be achieved against Moscow's wishes? Quite simply, says Mamchak: "Ukraine desperately needs to become part of NATO. Or re-obtain nuclear weapons. There is only one thing Russians understand: the language of power."

Translated from the German by Christopher Sultan