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As the wheels turn toward secession, Crimea left in limbo Crimea becomes more Russian by the hour
(about 4 hours later)
SEVASTOPOL, Ukraine — Crimea’s vote to join Russia quickly set the wheels turning. The city council here has been renamed a “legislative assembly” in the Russian manner, and authorities said they would start paying pensions in Russian rubles by April 1. SEVASTOPOL, Ukraine — Crimea set about transforming itself into a corner of Russia on Monday in ways profound and mundane, formally petitioning to join the Russian Federation and deciding to adopt the ruble as its official currency and advance the clocks by two hours to be on Moscow time.
Establishment of a new central bank, allied with the one in Moscow and capitalized with funds from it, is reportedly in the works. Acting on the same day that Russian President Vladi­mir Putin signed an order recognizing Crimea as an independent state, Crimean authorities passed a flurry of laws to scrap Ukrainian influence and pave the way for annexation.
But none of that has dispelled the sense of limbo that remains around this breakaway province — from the uneasy standoff between Ukrainian troops stationed at Crimean bases and the Russian forces that in effect surround them, to the anxiety among the region’s minority Tatar population. Legislators in the renamed parliament, the State Council of the Republic of Crimea, nullified Ukrainian laws and nationalized all Ukrainian national property. On March 30, Crimea will switch time zones. And starting April 1, pensions will be paid in rubles, though the Ukrainian hryvnia won’t be phased out until January 2016.
The uncertainties are both profound and mundane. As of Monday, do you salute a new flag and sing a new national anthem? Where do you pay your insurance? Coming just one day after a referendum in which almost 97 percent of the electorate officially voted to break away from Ukraine, the rapid-fire changes left some Crimeans uneasy about what comes next.
“Some of my friends have already left. I’m going to wait and watch events and gather my courage,” said Dennis Matzola, 26, who was active in protests against the Sunday referendum and said he had found leaflets pasted to walls in his neighborhood, with his name and photograph, telling people to report him as a traitor. “All those people were out there waving flags in the streets last night, but the rest of us are just waiting for what, we don’t know,” said, Dimitry Kozimov, a cafe manager in the Crimean capital of Simferopol who is worried that his supplies of fresh meat from Kiev have stopped. He has more questions than answers. Will his liquor license cost more? Can he still commute between his home in Ukraine and his job in a new Russian territory? Will he be taxed twice? “The only thing I’m sure of is that this is going to be a very difficult time for us.”
An insurance company executive of ethnic Ukrainian origin said he was hastily arranging to transfer his offices to other cities in Ukraine, partly from concern about the bureaucratic difficulties he would encounter in switching to Russian rules, and partly from a deeper worry that the economic system would now fall into the hands of unscrupulous and aggressive Russians and their local allies. The whirlwind of activity by lawmakers failed to lift a pervasive sense of limbo — from Ukrainian troops stationed at Crimean bases to the region’s minority Tatar population. As the complicated unwinding began, many wondered whether they fit in.
“Everyone knows that criminals are coming to power now in Crimea, and soon they will start dividing everything up,” said the executive, who spoke on condition that he be identified only as Slavo. He said he had been told there would be a 30-day grace period for payment of insurance policies in Crimea, but that he had no confidence in the long-term integrity or viability of doing business under new Russian officials. “Ukraine has a civilized way of doing things, but now they are going to get much more aggressive,” he said. At a Ukrainian military base at Belbek, outside Sevastopol, troops said they would fight to the last man if ordered by their commanders in Kiev. But they may be offered a choice — to stay and serve in a reconfigured force under Russian control or head back to what’s left of Ukraine.
The United States and European Union announced the first sanctions against Russia, targeted at individuals who played central roles in the evolving Russian takeover of Crimea. Even as Crimean authorities voted to make the secession official and headed to Moscow to consult, Russia raised the slim possibility that passage of a new Ukrainian constitution, giving Crimea more autonomy, could keep the country intact. “Something is going to happen. But we don’t know what,” said a soldier at the base, where Russians control the airstrip and Ukrainians run the rest of the facility.
But on the ground, it seemed like a slow and complicated unwinding had begun, leaving many wondering what their next steps should be. Nearby, at base A2991, relations were warmer. Russian and Ukrainian troops swap food and hot water, and Russian soldiers stationed across the road charge cellphones from an extension cord run over to them by the Ukrainians.
At a Ukrainian military base at Belbek, outside Sevastopol, troops said they would fight to the last man if ordered by their commanders in Kiev. But there is also talk of a choice in the works — stay and serve in a reconfigured force under Russian control, or head back to what’s left of Ukraine. “This is friendship between Slavic people,” shouted a soldier plugging in his phone to the makeshift power supply. He gave his name as Pavel and said he is from central Russia.
Russia took control of the base airstrip two weeks ago, but Ukrainians still run the rest of the facility. Dmitri Kozackovich, the Ukrainian deputy commander at the base, shrugged.
A truce is in effect until Friday. “They’ve been camping out there for three weeks,” he said of the Russians.
“Something is going to happen. But we don’t know what,” said a soldier outside the gate, where a sign taped to the wall declared that “the army is outside politics.” At another base in the area, A2355, marooned officers said there is no sign of promised reinforcements, and hinted at their sense of abandonment.
Nearby, at base A2991, relations were warmer as troops traded supplies and Russian soldiers charged cellphones from an extension cord run over to them by Ukrainians. “Don’t forget we exist,” said a major who gave only his first name, Yuri.
“This is friendship between Slavic people,” shouted a soldier, who gave his name as Pavel and says he is from central Russia. “They’ve given us hot water, and we’ve given them food. Maybe they’ll give us some of those meals that (President) Barack Obama said he’s going to send over. I’d like to try them.” Among the more anxious groups are the 300,000 Crimean Tatars, many of whose leaders boycotted the referendum and challenged its honesty.
Dmitri Kozackovich, the Ukrainian deputy commander at the base, just shrugged. “There is just no way these figures are right,” said Mustafa Abliazov, a member of the Simferopol council for Crimean Tatars. “It was clear they decided way ahead of time that everything would be falsified. For Tatars, this is a big threat. We are an unarmed and law-abiding people, but how can we tolerate something like this?”
“They’ve been camping out there for three weeks,” he said of the Russians. “They’re cold.” Simferopol streets that had been filled with celebratory throngs Sunday night were quiet Monday. Some pondered their next steps.
In downtown Sevastopol, small groups huddled against an icy wind shouted the name of Russian President Vladi­mir Putin and sang the Russian national anthem — or at least what they know of it so far. “Some of my friends have already left. I’m going to wait and watch events and gather my courage,” said Dennis Matzola, 26, who protested against the referendum and said he had found leaflets pasted on neighborhood walls with his name and photograph, telling people to report him as a traitor.
Nadezjda Muhina, 60, said she was fed up being part of a country so stingy with its services that she has to bring her own bed linens, gauze and even light bulbs when checking into a hospital. When her grandson was old enough to attend school, she said, families were asked to buy the desks. Yet many Crimeans remained jubilant at the referendum’s result.
“I woke up with tears in my eyes this morning” after the vote, she said, waving a Russian flag onto which she had taped letters spelling Russia and Sevastopol. In downtown Sevastopol, small groups huddled against an icy wind and shouted the name of Russian President Vladi­mir Putin and sang the Russian national anthem — or at least what they know of it so far.
Avis Ispatilor, 66, said the 23 years of Ukrainian rule brought only deterioration to the city’s trolley system for which he works. The 300 cars they had during Soviet times are now half that many, and the more than 2,000 employees slashed to 700.
“I’ve lived here for 45 years, and for 23 of them, life has been deteriorating,” he said.
Valentina Slavchenko, 58, said she woke up Monday at 6 a.m. in a joyous mood. She works at a hospital, where all the official paperwork and all the medications are written in Ukrainian, which she does not speak. She said she spent years doing her job with the help of a Russian-Ukrainian dictionary and translation pages on the Internet.Valentina Slavchenko, 58, said she woke up Monday at 6 a.m. in a joyous mood. She works at a hospital, where all the official paperwork and all the medications are written in Ukrainian, which she does not speak. She said she spent years doing her job with the help of a Russian-Ukrainian dictionary and translation pages on the Internet.
“We are all so happy now,” she said. “They should have made Ukraine a country with two official languages. If they had shown us more respect, we could have lived in Ukraine. Now I’m sure they regret it.”“We are all so happy now,” she said. “They should have made Ukraine a country with two official languages. If they had shown us more respect, we could have lived in Ukraine. Now I’m sure they regret it.”
In the Crimean capital of Simferopol, streets that had been filled with celebratory throngs Sunday night were quiet Monday. Squads of riot police in camouflage uniforms guarded empty sidewalks near government buildings, and loudspeakers in Lenin Square had switched from patriotic Russian anthems to Russian and U.S. rock music.
Among the most anxious groups here Monday were leaders of the minority Crimean Tatar community, which boycotted the referendum as illegal and challenged official declarations of an 83 percent voter turnout and 97 percent pro-Russian preference. Nearly 300,000 Tatars live in Crimea, and polling stations in many Tatar areas reported that only a handful of people cast ballots.
“There is just no way these figures are right,” said Mustafa Abliazov, a member of the Simferopol council for Crimean Tatars, pointing to a Monday newspaper headline. “It was clear they decided way ahead of time that everything would be falsified. For Tatars, this is a big threat,” he said. “We are an unarmed and law-abiding people, but how can we tolerate something like this?”