Oh sure, it declared independence from Moldova in 1990 and fought a war two
years later. And it’s got a constitution and a flag and even a coat of arms.
But you won’t find it on many maps, and not a single member of the United
Nations recognizes its existence.
But the people of Transnistria do not care. They cling tenaciously to
a claim of statehood and their love for all things Russian.
“It’s quite tragic, really,” says Justin
Barton, a British photographer who
visited the countr…. er, autonomous territorial unit last year for his series The Transnistrian Patriot. “There are a lot of people who are very patriotic, but there are also a
lot of other people just caught in the situation. And they’re amazingly
isolated,” he says.
It all started in 1990, when Moldova broke away from the Soviet Union.
Transnistria was home to many Russians and Russian speakers who felt political
and cultural isolation in the new republic. They declared independence, hoping
to establish a socialist republic and remain part of the Soviet Union. A war
ensued, which ended in a ceasefire nearly two years later. The Soviet Union had
crumbled by then, and the conflict never fully resolved even though Moldova
granted Transnistria a measure of autonomy.
To all outward appearances, Transnistria is a sovereign state, albeit one
that skews Soviet. Its flag includes the hammer and sickle and often flies
alongside Russian flags. The Transnistrian ruble bears the images of Russian
figures like the Gen. Alexander Suvorov and Catherine the Great. An enormous
statue of Lenin guards the entrance to the Supreme Soviet, its parliament
building. Pictures of Stalin and Putin are almost as ubiquitous as those of
Transnistrian president Yevgeny Shevchuk.
In return, Russia provides free gas and supplements residents’ pensions. It
also provides more than 1,000 troops, to the consternation of those in
Ukraine. Still, Russia has not formally recognized the breakaway state, and
does not appear inclined to. Nor does Moldova. This does not bode
well. “Despite Transnistria declaring its own independence, it will not
achieve it, unless Moldova decides to recognize it—an unlikely scenario,”
says Thomas de Waal, a British journalist and an expert on Eastern Europe.
“The most likely future is either more of the same—an unrecognized status and
shadowy semi-statehood, or a confederation agreement with Moldova.”
Barton became interested in Transnistria in 2014 while working in Ukraine.
He heard that Transnistria was producing new plastic currency with
colorful coins in different shapes. His interest piqued, Barton read all he
could about the topic and decided to visit Transnistria and photograph its
residents. It required a month of pleading with the Transnistrian KGB, which
runs security, before Barton was cleared to photograph top officials. It helped
that his wife is Russian and he had an especially well-connected fixer.
He spent a little more than two weeks there over the course of two
trips. Many of the people Barton photographed were intensely patriotic,
though he couldn’t always parse their political views. In Tiraspol, he found
Natalia Yefremova and her small trinket shop. It sells busts of Stalin and
busts of Putin, and it wasn’t clear whether she favored communist or capitalist
Russia. Barton also photographed Igor Nebeygolova, a colonel in the KGB and
commander of the Cossack regiment in Tiraspol. A huge flag from Russia’s
imperial era adorned the wall of his office, along with Soviet and
Transnistrian flags. “His loyalties seemed deeply split,” Barton says.
“Everything he had was a symbol of one thing or another.”
Barton photographed some 20 people in all. He used a Nikon D810 and
favored wider shots that emphasize the environment as much as the person. “You
can find out a great deal about a place and, in particular, a mental space
[that way],” he says.
It’s impossible to escape the sense of melancholy that pervades the series.
It isn’t easy being stateless, and not everyone is optimistic about
Transnistria’s future. Anastasia Spatar, who is 23 and has never traveled
beyond Transnistria, showed great sadness when Barton asked her to think about
her homeland. “[She said] she might burst into tears,” he says.
Barton found the experience as surreal as the country that isn’t. He
recalls a conversation he had with a local of Transnistria he met while
exploring Tiraspol. “Welcome to nowhere,” he told Barton.
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