Surreal moment, in a gigantic muddy field where an electricity pylon has been blown up by saboteurs, as two mud-covered jeeps arrive with a load of large scary men in camouflage from volunteer paramilitary groups, knives in belts, an automatic rifle in the back seat – and one of them stares at me very hard and I’m looking back nervously and he says: ‘Are you Lily Hyde? I’ve read your wonderful book.”
I can write funny little stories of strange meetings in muddy fields in south Ukraine with fans of my book, Dream Land. But the people that book is about, the Crimean Tatars and their national struggle to live in their homeland – that is the real, big story; that is happening now; not funny at all.
The man who said “I’ve read your wonderful book” had to leave Crimea with his family last year, when Crimea was annexed by Russia and he was detained by ‘Crimean self-defence militias’ (and what’s the difference between them and ‘Ukrainian voluntary battalions’ like the ones in that field…?) This was long before this man had anything to do with any paramilitary groups shouting either “Velikaya Rossiya” or “Slava Ukrainy”. At the time, he worked for non-government organisations on euro-integration.
Another man I met near that muddy field, driving from Crimea to mainland Ukraine, could not stop talking: “I know I’m being a bit mad,” he said, “but it’s the freedom of being here, it’s like being able to breath again.” He had come to support the blockade of Crimea by Crimean Tatars and Ukrainian voluntary battalions, and he wouldn’t tell me his name – not for my newspaper report anyway, this man who belongs to one of the most outspoken nations I know. Today, while he is in mainland Ukraine, breathing freely, his home back in Crimea is being searched by Russian security services.
This is not in fact a story; it’s not in a book. No punchline, no neat ending, no marketing strategy and author signings. It is losses and mixed allegiances and stranger alliances, shattered glass electricity conductors in a vast sea of mud, the horizon lost in freezing fog, one lonely tent flying the Crimean Tatar flag.