Refat APPAZOV: “Korolev’s personal intercession with Beria saved me from a worse fate”

Professor Refat Appazov, who has a Ph.D. in engineering and is a member of the board of a mutual aid association of Crimean Tatars living in Moscow, recently celebrated his 85th birthday. A famous rocket engineer, he worked together with Serhiy Korolev and was part of the team that developed the Energia-Buran space shuttle program. He is one of the most outstanding representatives of the Crimean Tatar nation, which takes great pride in his accomplishments. The Simferopol-based Crimean Tatar Music and Drama Theater recently hosted a ceremony in honor of Appazov, who discussed his life and shared his views of his nation’s history and the future of the Crimean peninsula. He doesn’t like talking about himself. For that reason, his book of memoirs, Traces in the Heart and Memory, which was published a few years ago, is not an account of himself but the people whom he encountered in his life and work. But on his birthday Professor Appazov eagerly answered questions from journalists and his fellow countrymen. This remarkable account of his life is a must-read for all readers of The Day.

“I was born in Simferopol in 1920 and finished school in Yalta in 1939. For the first seven years I was taught in the Crimean Tatar language and in Russian from the eighth grade. I enrolled at Bauman Moscow State Technical University and graduated from its Ammunitions Faculty in 1946. I was commissioned to work at the former artillery plant in Kaliningrad outside Moscow (near the commuter train station Podlipki), which was soon reorganized into the Rocket Engineering Research Institute. I spent six months in Germany, where I explored captured German military hardware, in particular the long-range ballistic missile V-2. There I met Serhiy Pavlovych Korolev, the future chief designer. For the rest of my life I worked at the same enterprise, and for twenty years I worked under Korolev’s guidance. I participated in all of his projects, beginning with the replication of the German V-2 missile and the development of our first long-range guided missile R1, and ending with the creation of the Energia-Buran rocket and space complex. I took part in developing the first nuclear warhead missile, the first earth-orbiting satellite, the first intercontinental missile, the first strategic solid-propellant missiles, as well as missiles launched from self- propelled vehicles and sub marines, the first spy satellites, and the first communications satellites. I also participated in the preparations for Yuri Gagarin’s first manned space flight, the first unmanned flights to two planets in the solar system, Venus and Mars, and the first flights to the moon. I helped to develop technologies to ensure a soft landing on the moon’s surface. I assisted in the development of manned and cargo spacecraft, technologies to assist the safe return of spacecraft traveling at cosmic speeds through the dense layers of the atmosphere to the earth’s surface, and the habitable orbital stations Salut and Mir. I also took part in the plans to send a mission to the moon, which failed, unfortunately. There were other, less significant, projects. Of course, my life wasn’t all work. But it constituted the core of my interests for many years.”

“You worked in a sector where, much like in other spheres, no Crimean Tatars were allowed by the Soviet leadership, regardless of their talents or merits. What role did nationality play in your life after the war, when the Crimean Tatars had just been deported from the Crimea?”

“I felt this constantly. There was a period when I had no access to top secret or very important materials. The sheer nonsense of this made for a confusing situation. My subordinates had access to these materials but I didn’t. However, the work had to be done, and I had no choice but to use them illegally without affixing my signature anywhere. Technical reports, volumes of projects, and flight test materials produced by my division were signed by my subordinates or superiors, while my name did not appear on any of them. There were times when I could have ended up on the street in the best-case scenario, but more likely behind bars, because people with my knowledge, who possessed such information, never escaped the scrutiny of the uniformed services, even though apart from being a Crimean Tatar I had not committed any crime. Only Korolev’s personal intercession with Beria saved me from a worse fate. I found out about this much later. Three times I was denied enrollment in a postgraduate course because of my Crimean Tatar nationality. On five occasions I was removed from a list of individuals whom our enterprise had nominated for the Lenin Prize and the State Prize. Of course, I experienced blows that were less painful. I did not encounter ethnic discrimination during my years at the institute because I had enrolled in 1939, when this problem did not exist, and in 1944 I was about to graduate. I hadn’t been to the Crimea since 1940, which is probably why I escaped the fate of my resettled countrymen. During the first two or three years after graduating I didn’t experience any infringements of my rights, which did not begin until 1949.”

“Apart from your design work, you lectured for many years. How did it happen that you were allowed to work with students? After the war Crimean Tatars were forbidden to enroll at humanities institutions (with the exception of technical schools), let alone lecture.”

“The thing is that I did not take up lecturing voluntarily. It was part of a mobilization campaign. But then I developed a liking for teaching. At first Korolev assigned me to conduct practical training at the Higher Engineering Courses at Bauman Moscow State Technical University. I later filled in for his lectures at the MSTU. After that I spent two or three years lecturing until I had one of my colleagues replace me permanently. This was followed by a break of several years. In 1959 the Moscow Aviation Institute opened a department specializing in our field of study, so once again I had to combine my work with teaching, which lasted for 34 years. There is no doubt that I was followed closely. No politics were allowed. I taught a course on design, flight theory, and missile ballistics, supervised research papers and design projects of graduating students, and was a member of the academic council. I was named professor there. I liked this work: it provided a distraction from stressful design work and an opportunity to do some academic work and share the spirit and interests of young people whom I have always treated with the utmost respect.”

“You lived in or near Moscow for many years. Did you hear anything about the Crimean Tatar struggle? Was the Crimean Tatar problem part of public discourse at the time? What place did it occupy in the Soviet public’s consciousness in the 1950s-80s?”

“Because of the top secret status of my work, I was cut off from my people for many years. For obvious reasons, during my infrequent meetings with family and friends we almost never discussed our nation’s organized struggle. After the Caucasian nations returned to their homelands, it became clear to me that the Crimea was closed to us indefinitely. I was certain that under the regime that existed at the time we could not hope for even a partial restoration of our rights. It seemed that no protests, petitions, or methods of organized struggle could change the situation that existed back then, with the overwhelming and uncurbed strength of the state run by a single party. The ‘justice’ of the punishment unleashed against the Crimean Tatar people for their alleged ‘treason’ became so deeply ingrained in the population’s consciousness that any attempt to seek compassion even among close friends, not to mention the general public, was at best perceived as a mistake or personal insult.”

“How did you feel all this time?”

“I never stopped feeling that I was a Crimean Tatar. This feeling came from birth and became lodged in my consciousness along with my native language, the beauties of nature in the Crimea, its springs and air, our songs and dances. No matter how well disposed I was to Russia’s culture and its accomplishments, scientific and otherwise, its language and folk traditions, I always felt alone. For many years there was no one to talk to in my native language. When I heard a radio broadcast of the Armenian song ‘Elmas,’ performed by the nearly forgotten soloist of the Bolshoi Theater, Pavel Lisitsian, the melody, which was almost identical to the popular Crimean Tatar song ‘Elmaz,’ tears streamed down my face. This happened every time I saw Yalta or the Crimean coastline on television. My loneliness was coupled with a feeling of utter hopelessness. Sometimes I even lost confidence in my ability to continue the work that I loved so passionately. There were periods of depression and despair, when it seemed there was no relief in sight. Other people in a similar situation found solace in the bottle. Allah be praised, I never liked alcohol or knew how to drink. Sometimes I felt guilty that I had escaped the deportation and reprisals. Then I would become engulfed in work all over again. Nothing in the world was more interesting and fascinating. For many years the only source of information about my people was the newspaper Lenin Bairagy, but it said nothing about the trials of Crimean Tatars or the growing movement to restore their rights. In addition, life in the closeted environment of a top secret enterprise left its mark. I was constantly confronted by a lack of understanding and compassion. Whenever I mentioned my nostalgia for my native language, people reacted with utter disbelief: ‘You speak Russian better than any Russian. Why do you need some other language?’ or ‘Everybody understands you perfectly. With whom will you speak the Tatar language?’ When I decided to join the party, I asked three of my closest friends for references. Two of them found excuses not to provide them.”

“Even so, in the 1980s you became a leading activist of the national movement. You were a delegate to the 2nd Kurultai Congress and elected a member of the first Majlis parliament of the Crimean Tatar people. What did this involvement mean to you?”

“My active involvement in the national movement began in 1987, when the state commission to investigate the problems of the Crimean Tatars, which was chaired by Andrei Gromyko, published its results. I was revolted by this cynical, blatant, contemptuous, and downright fabricated document. I realized that I could no longer sit and do nothing. I ignored the top secret status of my job and other conventions that restricted my activity. At the time I had no contacts with Crimean Tatars in Moscow. I managed to establish initial ties by corresponding with the newspaper Lenin Bairagy. Of course, at the time I had no idea of the different directions in the Crimean Tatar movement. That’s why I would occasionally find myself in embarrassing situations until I finally figured out who was who and learned about the leaders’ positions concerning the methods of struggle. At first I was treated with some suspicion. Gradually everything worked out, and they found a use for my knowledge and ability to resolve complex situations and, most importantly, my sincere desire to provide my people with maximum assistance to resolve their most important problem, i.e., repatriation. This was the principle reason behind my decision to retire from my main job in 1988. However, I continued to teach at the Aviation Institute. Along with four other representatives of our people, namely Refat Chubarov, Refit Ziyadinov, Akhmet Tippa, and Riza Asanov, I worked with the State Commission on Crimean Tatar Issues, chaired by Vitaliy Doguzhiyev, and on the committee that organized the 2nd Kurultai Congress. I was a member of the first Majlis parliament, contributing to the successful work of our supreme representative body. All I can say is that I still find this work extremely rewarding, and I have a high regard for the Majlis’s accomplishments of the first five years of its work.”

“Many of the problems facing the Crimean Tatar people still have not been resolved. What should your people do to revive their community, to preserve their very existence and survive?”

“I have very little information about the current situation in the Crimea, especially since the change of government in Ukraine. We receive only sketchy information, much of it rather distorted. Every few months here in Moscow a fresh helping of dirt is dumped on Crimean Tatars via one of the media outlets. We regularly meet as members of the Moscow-based Mutual Aid Association of Crimean Tatars. We receive guests, who bring the latest news from the Crimea. We get some information from newspapers that arrive sporadically and very late. But despite this information vacuum, I will try to express a few opinions that I don’t presume to consider as being the final word on the subject. I think that our Majlis in particular does not have a good enough analytical center. Ambitious individuals have formed separate groups that do not know how to subordinate their interests to common goals. Other legal and semi-legal sociopolitical organizations are slowing down progress toward our common goals by acting in a disunited manner, thereby providing grist for the mill of our enemies. For such a small nation this is unacceptable. I also think that we are not making effective use of international organizations’ influence to stop human rights violations in the Crimea and all of Ukraine. The situation with the Crimean Tatar language is worrisome. This is a major characteristic of our national identity, which must be preserved. Unless our people realize this and our scholarly and political elites propose some drastic measures to remedy the situation, two or three generations from now this attribute of our identity will disappear, and the nation will turn into a formation based on mere convention. Preserving our nation’s moral principles is proving to be just as difficult. Unfortunately, our people, surrounded as they are by an overwhelmingly alien environment, find it very difficult to resist its temptations. In this respect my forecast is not very encouraging.”

The author would like to thank the Moscow-based historian Gulnara Bekirova for her assistance in collecting information and preparing this article.