Preserving identity under fire: the North Azovian Greek story

1 November 2025, 03:53 PM

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Demian Shevko:
Olga, thank you for joining me. Let’s start with you. Could you briefly introduce yourself — where you’re from, what you do, and what led you to become an activist promoting your national community?

Olga Tsuprykova:

Thank you for having me. I’m an activist and the head of the non-governmental organization called North Azovian Greeks: Urums and Roumeans. We were officially registered as an NGO in April 2024, after two years of working informally as a grassroots initiative in Kyiv. Our focus has been on supporting displaced North Azovian Greeks, as well as anyone who feels connected to this culture. From the beginning, we realized that our events attracted not only ethnic North Azovian Greeks but also people who are simply drawn to this unique heritage.

I currently live in Kyiv, but I’m originally from Donetsk, where I grew up. I moved to Kyiv to study at the Kyiv National Economic University and stayed after graduation to work in corporate banking. I never imagined I would one day dedicate myself to cultural activism. The turning point for me was the Revolution of Dignity in 2013–2014 — that’s when my journey toward understanding my identity truly began.

My background is mixed: my mother is Ukrainian, and my father is of North Azovian Greek descent. I’m proud of both sides, but today I feel the North Azovian Greek identity is especially fragile — a smaller tragedy within a larger one. That’s why I’ve devoted myself to preserving and promoting it.

This journey transformed my life. I changed professions, earned a second degree abroad in international relations, and spent time in Greece studying this identity more deeply while working at a think tank. Later, I interned at the European Commission before deciding to return to Ukraine — a conscious choice to come back to Donetsk Oblast. I settled in Mariupol and lived there for two years before the full-scale invasion.

I left Mariupol on Feb. 24, 2022. After a short time in Kyiv and several months abroad, I returned to Ukraine’s capital in the summer of 2022 and reconnected with colleagues who were also active in language and community work around North Azovian Greek culture. That’s how our grassroots initiative began — and by the following year, we formally registered our organization.

Could you tell us more about your community — its size, demographics, and origins? As I understand it, your ancestors were part of the Greek colonization of the Black Sea coast. Is that correct? And why do you identify specifically as North Azovian Greeks?

Indeed, there’s a long history of Greek colonization in the Black Sea region, but our focus is specifically on the autochthonous group formed in Medieval Crimea -  Urums and Roumeans.Their ethnic identity took shape in medieval Crimea through the blending of various peoples — Greeks, Goths, Alans, Turkic nations, Georgians, Vlachs, etc among them. What united them was their shared faith: they were all Greek Orthodox Christians.

In 1778, the Russian Empire forcibly relocated these communities from Crimea. After two years of displacement, they settled in what is now Donetsk Oblast. This is how the North Azovian Greeks emerged — a community rooted in Crimea which had to find its new home on the northern coast of the Azov Sea, particularly in the southern part of Donetsk Oblast.  It’s a very specific geographic area.

While other ethnic groups, whose namings include the word ‘Greeks’ exist elsewhere, our identity is tied precisely to this area — the northern coast of the Sea of Azov in Donetsk Oblast of Ukraine. There was also one settlement founded later in Zaporizhzhya Oblast in the 19th century, but when we speak about North Azovian Greeks, we refer to the community traditionally living at the northern shore of the Sea of Azov in Donetsk Oblast of Ukraine and nowhere else.

What are the borders of this geography — I mean, the linguistic ones? In which areas of Donetsk Oblast do we know for sure that people spoke one of the two North Azovian Greek languages? Is that how you define where your community lived?

Historically, after the forced relocation of the Urums and Roumeans from Crimea in the 18th century, they settled in what is now Donetsk Oblast and founded 21 villages plus the city of Mariupol. Let me clarify that when we talk about the founding of Mariupol, we refer to the development of a specific municipality and that is specifically connected with the arrival of the North Azovian Greeks. Of course, some earlier settlements existed there, but the formation of the city itself is linked to the arrival of these communities, primarily the Urums.

Interestingly, the first settlers organized themselves into three districts, named after their places of origin in Crimea — Karasubazar, Mayrum, and Kefe. Until the Russian invasion, Mariupol even had streets named after these historic settlements, preserving that connection.

Over time, the population grew and spread. Today, there are 75 settlements across Donetsk Oblast founded by North Azovian Greeks — as well as one settlement in Zaporizhzhya Oblast. All of these settlements are now under temporary occupation, which makes precise data collection on the current population number impossible.

Understood. And what do we know about your community’s current population — both before and after the full-scale invasion?

The only official data we have comes from Ukraine’s 2001 census, which recorded around 90,000 people identifying as Greek. In Donetsk oblast at the time of census there were around 77 thousands of those recorded as ‘Greeks’. That made Urums and Roumeans the third-largest ethnic group in Donetsk Oblast after Ukrainians and Russians. Importantly, when we speak about “Greeks” in this region, we’re referring specifically to the Urums and Roumeans — the North Azovian Greeks.

Since the full-scale Russian invasion, it’s impossible to know the exact population figures. Tens of thousands of people have become displaced — some within Ukraine, others abroad. But many have remained in occupied territories, deeply attached to their native villages and land. For those living in small rural settlements, leaving everything behind simply wasn’t an option.

The most tragic part is that we’ll likely never know how many people have been killed. Before the invasion, there was a significant North Azovian Greek population in Mariupol. Estimates of total victims in the city range from 20,000 to as many as 100,000 — and many of them were of North Azovian Greek descent The same is true for Volnovakha and nearby areas. When official casualty reports mention Donetsk Oblast, they often include a note saying “excluding data from Mariupol and Volnovakha.”

So when we talk about the North Azovian Greeks today, we’re speaking about a community whose losses are incalculable — dispersed, displaced, and in many cases, never recorded.

You’ve mentioned how the war has affected your community in general. Since some of the fiercest fighting took place in Mariupol and the surrounding areas, how has the war affected your community in an organizational sense? 

Our organization is based in Kyiv, and we work primarily with people living in Ukrainian-controlled territories. However, a significant part of our community remains in the temporarily occupied areas, and we monitor developments there as closely as we can. When you read Russian sources—official publications or local “journalism”—you have to interpret them carefully, because they always serve an agenda.

From what I’ve observed, the North Azovian Greeks living under occupation are now formally presented as part of the broader “Greeks of Russia” community. They’re not given any special recognition or autonomy. At the same time, we’ve noticed smaller but telling developments—particularly concerning museums that once preserved our cultural heritage.

For instance, the Museum of Folk Life (Narodny Pobut) in Mariupol used to be a small branch of the city’s local-lore museum. It had four rooms dedicated respectively to North Azovian Greeks, Jews, Germans, and Ukrainians—each representing a vital part of the city’s historical fabric.

And what happened to it after the occupation? Did they remove those sections?

Worse. In the spring of 2022, photos showed the building completely gutted—burned out, with nothing left inside. But what followed was even more disturbing. By Putin’s personal order—or at least with his approval—the site was turned into a museum dedicated to Andrei Zhdanov. It opened in February this year.

It’s in the same building, but completely renovated—dark gray walls, polished interiors, that typical cheap renovation style. And the exhibition now tells the story of the Siege of Leningrad. The irony is unbearable: they are showing this to people who survived their own blockade in Mariupol just three years ago. One room even displays wartime patches and memorabilia.

It’s shockingly cynical: they erased the museum that preserved the city’s multiethnic history and replaced it with another Soviet-style cult of war and suffering, imposing new symbols on top of the ruins of the old.

Exactly. It’s part of a systematic approach we see across all occupied territories—a deliberate rewriting of cultural memory. Another example is the museum in Sartana, a nearby village. Before the war, it was devoted to North Azovian Greek culture. But in 2024, the occupiers staged an exhibition there dedicated to General Suvorov—the very man who orchestrated the forced resettlement of our ancestors from Crimea in 1778.

The exhibition description literally said: “This display will teach you how to truly love your motherland.” Imagine that—honoring the commander who displaced your people and calling it patriotic education. It perfectly illustrates Russia’s imperial historiography: they justify aggression by claiming to “save” or “protect” others, just as they once said they were rescuing “Crimean Christians.”

Sometimes it feels like we’re living inside a history book — the same imperial playbook, just updated for a new century. For your community, how important is it that Ukraine formally recognizes the North Azovian Greeks as one of the country’s indigenous peoples?  Do you believe such recognition matters? And what has been your experience working with the Ukrainian government — do officials understand and support your community’s needs?

That’s a very important question. I’ll answer in two parts.

First, when we speak about the North Azovian Greeks, we’re essentially talking about an autochthonous historical community — a people whose identity was formed in medieval Crimea and who have lived on the territory of modern Donetsk Oblast for nearly 250 years. If we look at the legal criteria of indigeneity — continuous residence, distinct culture, and no own state outside the current one — then yes, we meet those criteria. In this sense, the North Azovian Greeks are de-facto indigenous to Ukraine. Our past is rooted in Crimea, our present and future lie in Donetsk Oblast of Ukraine.

But today, the issue is not symbolic recognition — it’s survival. The war has threatened our very continuity as a people. Without access to our historical homeland, we face the challenge of preserving our identity, and languages are key to that. Both of our ethnic languages — Urum and Roumean — are critically endangered There are no textbooks, no formal education, and almost no institutional support. Yet we see growing interest from younger generations who want to reclaim them.

As you once put it, our goal is to “awaken” these languages — to bring them back to life. This process has become a form of resistance and self-preservation.

How many people today can still understand, speak, or read these two languages? Do you have any estimates?

Unfortunately, we don’t have precise data. No formal linguistic survey has ever been conducted. But based on our observations, fluent native speakers are mostly from the older generations — people in their fifties, sixties, and seventies. Among younger people, there’s a growing curiosity, but very few active speakers. That’s why our work now focuses on documentation, education, and creating new opportunities to learn the languages before they disappear completely.

So theoretically, if someone went to Mariupol or nearby villages today, could they still find people who speak Urum or Roumean?

If you went to the more rural areas, you might still hear them — though less and less often, unfortunately. Still, each crisis we endure seems to awaken a new sense of urgency to reclaim these languages. Reviving them has become one of the few remaining sources of strength for our community.

And this brings me to your second question about cooperation with the Ukrainian government. There have been some positive developments. In June 2024, the Cabinet of Ministers approved a resolution listing the endangered languages of Ukraine’s national minorities and indigenous peoples — both Urum and Roumean were officially recognized on that list.

This year, the State Service for Ethnopolitics and Freedom of Conscience formed a working group to draft a strategy for protecting and, hopefully, developing these endangered languages. Our organization is part of that group, and after this interview I’ll actually join the next public consultation. It’s a slow and difficult process, but it’s progress.

At our own level, we’re collaborating with Taras Shevchenko National University to record surviving Urum speakers. Together with this University and with the support of the International Renaissance Foundation, we’re now working on an Urum language textbook — and hope to create one for Roumean next.We’re also working on an Urum language textbook and plan to do the same for Roumean. Because for the North Azovian Greeks, preserving the languages means preserving the people themselves.

It’s great to hear that academics and linguists are involved. You’ll need even more scientists to sustain this work. Olya, thank you very much. Before we finish — I’ve seen your exhibition Paths of Identity and your collaborations with Greek universities. Could you tell me a bit more about your current and upcoming projects? What’s happening now in your organization?

That’s an important question. As an autochthonous Ukrainian community, we’re trying to redefine our relationship with Greece. People often assume that because we are “Greeks”, we automatically have close ties to the Greek state — but it's important to recognise that our identity is quite different.

The Roumean language, for example, evolved from a medieval form of Greek, which shares roots with Modern Greek but isn’t the same. Roumean itself has five dialects. Meanwhile, Urum belongs to the Turkic language family, with two dialects, each divided into sub-dialects. It’s a complex linguistic heritage — and once you start exploring it, you realize how unique and fascinating it is.

Our mission as an organization is to share this cultural richness — our languages, traditions, and identity — both within Ukraine and internationally. We’re building partnerships, and this year has been especially active.

We’re working with the government on the language strategy I mentioned, and we recently collaborated with the National Academy of Arts and Architecture in Kyiv, known as NAOMA. It’s a beautiful space near Lviv Square. We contributed to their exhibition on Crimea — because Crimea represents our “yesterday,” our historical roots.

Our exhibit highlighted the cultural connections between North Azovian Greeks and the Crimean peoples such as the Crimean Tatars, Karaites, and Krymchaks. You can see these ties in embroidery, cuisine, and crafts. For instance, Greeks from Greece don’t cook chebureki or other traditional dishes we have — and we, in turn, don’t eat “Greek salad.” There’s no olive oil in our cuisine.

These differences may seem small, but they show that our culture developed here — on Ukrainian soil — shaped by centuries of coexistence with our Crimean neighbors. That’s the story we’re working to preserve and tell.

The interview was conducted as part of the Cultural Transformation Lab, organized by House of Europe, a program funded by the European Union.

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