Stories and ideas

The Gagauz minority in Moldova represents a unique blend of Turkic ethnicity and Orthodox Christian identity. But it was neither its authentic culture nor mysterious history that brought it into the media spotlight recently. Instead, it was a number of outrageous events signalling that Gagauzia is increasingly becoming a destabilising force for the pro-European government in Moldova.

Constituting only 4.5 per cent of the population of the Republic of Moldova, the Gagauz minority is concentrated in the Autonomous Territorial Unit of Gagauzia in the south of the country. Although Gagauzia, for various reasons, has always been more inclined towards Russia than the rest of Moldova, since Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in 2022 this region has turned into the main stronghold of the pro-Russian opposition.

Following Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, a large portion of Ukraine’s Roma population escaped as refugees alongside their fellow Ukrainians. However, they were not always met with open arms and many faced additional challenges and discrimination.

In the face of Russia’s war on Ukraine, the subsequent hardships of Ukraine’s Roma population, both as refugees and internally displaced people, has drawn the world’s attention to the double standards refugee host countries hold even in the face of danger and destruction. It is estimated that of the approximate 400,000 Roma living in Ukraine (this rough figure is due to migration and lack of Roma documentation), 25 per cent have fled since the beginning of Russia’s February 2022 invasion. Yet, unlike non-Roma Ukrainians, who have generally felt welcomed when seeking refuge in Ukraine’s neighbouring Eastern European countries, Roma Ukrainians have oftentimes faced prejudice and distrust. This is similar to that which they face in their homeland.

As Ukraine has been trying to re-route its crucial wheat and corn exports via its ports on the Danube river, Russia has begun targeting them. Their proximity to Romania creates a significant risk to the local residents, who feel their concerns remain unaddressed. Drones or fragment of drones have already crashed on this NATO country’s territory, with little recourse.

“The sky was lighting up from the tracer ammunition fired by the Ukrainians and you could see the outline of the drones. The last one crashed at 00:20 – I can show you on my surveillance cameras how loud the bang was. And I told myself: this is one hundred per cent in Romania,” recalls Neculae Marian, a resident of the city of Tulcea who owns a house in the village of Plauru. Following multiple crashes of Russian drones on Romanian territory around the settlement, confidence is low and frustrations towards the country’s decision-makers are at a high. Neculae becomes visibly irate when talking about the government’s response and argues that the authorities have been consistently disingenuous about the risks faced by the local population.

European civilisation has developed by means of a few large leaps: Rome, Renaissance, Enlightenment and the European Union. Of course, the EU’s role is still underway and thus we do not know what its end will look like. But what all these leaps have in common is their connection to the land. In this way, the story of the Elbe river and its surroundings is the story of European history as a whole.

I was commissioned to write a book about the Elbe river by the Labirynt Publishing House in Czechia. I have known the publisher – Joachim Dvořák – since 1990. Labirynt is known for publishing good books with very nice covers. That is why I was happy to receive its offer and more than anything else that the topic of my new book would be about the river. In my youth, I was racing in fast-flowing upper rivers.

The story of violent clashes that broke out in Sibiu in Romania during late December 1989 is one that many have forgotten since the revolution and regime change. Tudor Giurgiu’s latest film Libertate revisits that turbulent event in Romania. The film not only acts as a reminder of the ruthless terror and chaos of the time but also as a chance for Romanians to reassess their own history.

When Nicolae Ceaușescu's brutal regime collapsed in Romania 34 years ago, Tudor Giurgiu was 18 years old, living in his home city of Cluj-Napoca, in central Transylvania. “For many days and weeks, the country was directionless,” the 51-year-old Romanian film director explains from central Sarajevo, Bosnia, where he is showcasing his latest film Libertate. “People were not talking normally, they were going nuts and there was a lot of shouting, paranoia, and violence.”

The exhibition Kroke. Orthodox Jews in Kraków is the result of a long-term photography project by Agnieszka Traczewska.

Ukraine’s newly liberated territories still show the scars of war. Critical infrastructure often remains damaged and life remains anything but ordinary. This is particularly true in the case of schools, with the education system in the town of Izium simply unable to provide for the country’s youngest citizens.

Almost a year after its liberation, Izium, a town in Kharkiv Oblast, bears the visible scars of the Russian aggression. Heavily damaged by the Russian bombing and having at least temporarily lost the majority of its population, Izium still remains an unsafe place to live. It will take a long time for the town to rise again.

Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine since February 2022 has impacted academic research on the region, forcing students and staff in western university departments to rethink their interests and curricula.

After Teresa Reilly took Russian classes for her bachelor’s degree requirements, she was keen to learn more of the language and decided to apply for a master’s programme that would allow her to spend more time in Russia. In autumn 2021, she enrolled in the Erasmus Mundus master’s degree in Central and East European Studies, Russian and Eurasian Studies, with the aim of spending the second year of her studies in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia. This would allow her to hone her language skills and work on her thesis, which was focused on a post-colonial view of the relationship between NATO and Yeltsin’s Russia.

The Estonian song festival, Laulupidu, has taken place every five years for over 150 years. It is one of the largest choral events in the world and involves almost all of Estonia. The festival embraces the power of singing, which has become a national symbol for Estonia, especially in the most troubling of times.

That recent stormy night in Europe’s eastern frontier still reverberates for a 19-year-old student and much of her country. It happened during the closing hour of Laulupidu, Estonia’s biggest national gathering, a quinquennial choral event that had helped Estonia free itself from communism. Under pouring rain that July 2nd, before a crowd, Hanna Grete Rebane stood in a choir of 23,000 young Estonians singing poetic verses about yearning for one’s homeland despite hardships. As darkness began to settle, the audience began to sway with the singers; people held hands and wept, waving the Estonia flag.

In the semi-autonomous Moldovan region of Gagauzia, young people seem to be at a crossroads, grappling with issues of identity. The direction the region will take depends on finding a balance between preserving independence, heritage and tradition and embracing opportunities for growth and cooperation at both regional and international levels.

Gagauzia, a little-known semi-autonomous region covering 1,848 square kilometres in Moldova's south, comprises a cluster of cities, towns and villages amongst mainly rural and agricultural landscapes. This unique region is predominantly inhabited by an ethnic Turkic group whose origins remain somewhat enigmatic. Presently, facing significantly worse economic conditions than Moldova's capital (Chișinău) and limited opportunities, young Gagauzians find themselves torn between preserving their community and embracing a more European-aligned lifestyle and outlook.

The ongoing war in Ukraine has forced many refugees to make tough decisions about their future. This is particularly true in neighbouring Moldova, where many Ukrainians are deciding to settle on a more long-term basis. Despite the difficulties of this new life, a large number of refugees are trying to make the best of the situation.

Olena Mustiats, 41, had only the most basic requirements when she fled Ukraine with her six-year-old daughter last March: safety, affordability and a local language she knew. Leaving from her native Odesa, in Ukraine’s southwest, Mustiats settled on Moldova and headed to the capital, Chișinău. “I chose Moldova because it’s closer [to Odesa] than Poland, they speak Russian there, and because prices at the supermarket are cheaper than in Poland,” Mustiats said. A year and a half later, Mustiats and her child are still in Moldova, with no plans, and limited options, to go anywhere else.