Faculty Publication Feature Series
New Research. New Ideas. Conversations with Northwestern University in Qatar (NU-Q) Scholars
The Faculty Publication Feature Series showcases significant new scholarship by Northwestern University in Qatar faculty, including books, journal articles , edited collections, monographs, and creative works. Through conversations with NU-Q scholars, we explore the ideas that drive their research, the insights they uncover, and the ways their work advances understanding of the complex issues shaping our world, particularly in the Global South.
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For Zarema Bariieva and Eskender Bariiev, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine brought another upheaval after their displacement from Crimea in 2014. This time, they chose to remain in Ukraine, raising their children while advocating for their people and helping others living under occupation.
Their story is at the heart of Etched in Memory, a documentary by NU-Q’s Christina Paschyn. The film examines the war through the experiences of the Crimean Tatars, the Indigenous Muslim Turkic people of Crimea, connecting civilian resistance today with a longer history of displacement and efforts to return home.
Building on her earlier documentary, A Struggle for Home: The Crimean Tatars, Paschyn draws on years of research and a longstanding relationship with the family. Her first feature documentary also marks a creative shift from a narrated journalistic approach toward cinematic storytelling centered on the people living this history.
As part of NU-Q’s Faculty Publication Feature Series, we spoke with Paschyn about the relationships behind the film, the responsibilities of documenting war, and what journalists and filmmakers can learn from stories that receive limited attention.
This interview has been edited for length and clarity.
Q: What first inspired you to make Etched in Memory, and how does it build on your earlier documentary about the Crimean Tatars?
A: I am Ukrainian American and grew up attending Ukrainian school on Saturdays in Ohio. I first learned about the Crimean Tatars there, but only briefly, through their historical battles with Ukrainian Kozaks. It was not until my master’s studies in Middle Eastern and Islamic studies that I began learning about their history in depth. I was stunned by the parallels with Ukrainian experiences under Russian imperialism and Soviet rule. How had I never learned about the Soviet deportation-genocide of the Crimean Tatars in 1944 or their determination to return to their Indigenous homeland?
I began filming in Crimea in 2012. After Russia invaded and annexed Crimea in 2014, the story changed completely. That became A Struggle for Home: The Crimean Tatars, which came out in 2016.
Zarema was my fixer and translator on that film. After her family was forced out of Crimea, they moved to Kyiv and started an organization helping Crimean Tatar and Ukrainian political dissidents who had been imprisoned by the Russian occupation. We stayed close.
When the full-scale invasion began in 2022, I urged her to leave. She told me, “I don’t want to start all over again.” Her family chose to stay in Ukraine. I was blown away by her courage. I knew I wanted to report on the war through her perspective and the Crimean Tatar perspective. I should not have had to tell this story, but this is the reality.
Q: The film follows Zarema Bariieva and Eskender Bariiev as they raise their children and advocate for their people during war. What does telling the story through one family’s daily life reveal that broader news coverage might miss?
A:The Indigenous Crimean Tatar perspective is what I feel is missing from much of the broader coverage. There are stories here and there, but I wanted to give them sustained attention.
Many films about Ukraine focus on the front lines and on soldiers. That coverage is justified and important. But I wanted to focus on civilian activism and resistance, which in this case takes place in Kyiv.
There are many Crimean Tatars fighting in the military, and the film includes the story of a soldier who died on the front lines. Its main focus, though, is on civilian resistance leaders who are helping others, advocating for political prisoners, and continuing their work while living with their families through the war.
What moves me is their refusal to leave. Zarema and Eskender had already been displaced once. They temporarily moved to western Ukraine after the full-scale invasion but returned to Kyiv after a few months.
Civilians choosing to remain in their homes with their children and continue supporting their country is immensely courageous too and their story deserves to be told.
Q: How did you approach the creative and ethical challenges of filming people living through war, particularly given your longstanding relationship with the family?
A:Our longstanding friendship made the film possible. I had met Zarema’s family when she worked with me in 2012, and she had seen my subsequent work on the Crimean Tatars. She knew I had studied the history and understood what was happening. That trust allowed her to invite me into her home.
Even with that relationship, we had to help the family become comfortable in front of the camera. Through their organization and other contacts, I also met people I had not interviewed before. They trusted Zarema, knew about my earlier film, and could speak with me in Ukrainian.
The biggest ethical responsibility was making sure people understood what participating in a documentary meant. They were revisiting horrific experiences. I wanted them to feel comfortable telling their stories without retraumatizing them.
Some still had relatives in Crimea or other occupied territories, so I also had to be careful not to reveal information that could put anyone in jeopardy. Sometimes someone would become emotional during an interview and later express concern about something they had said. Those concerns needed to be taken seriously. I was not there to humiliate anyone or put anyone in danger.
Working with local people mattered too. My co-producer is Crimean Tatar , and most of our crew were also Ukrainian or Crimean Tatar. I wanted the film to be rooted in the knowledge of people who understood the culture.
Q: Memory and displacement connect generations in this film. Was there a moment during filming that deepened or changed your understanding of how this history shapes Crimean Tatar identity today?
A:I knew the film could not simply begin with the full-scale invasion in 2022. It had to connect to the longer history of Russian imperialism and violence against the Crimean Tatars. At one point, I considered calling it The Cycle, because that repetition was so central to the story.
The opening establishes some of that history through Zarema’s memories. I did not want to overwhelm viewers with a history lesson, but they needed that context.
What surprised me during filming was a connection I discovered in Eskişehir, Türkiye. One of the people in the film had been abducted by Russian forces in Melitopol, in mainland Ukraine. Zarema and Eskender helped her get free and escape, and she eventually went to Eskişehir.
I knew about the long relationship between Crimea and Türkiye, but I had not understood this city’s particular history as a place of refuge for Crimean Tatars. There was already a large diaspora community there, whose roots go back centuries. Crimean Tatars had been fleeing to Eskişehir since 1783, when Russia first conquered and annexed Crimea.
As we filmed her walking through the old city, people told me how much the city looked like or reminded them of Crimea. Later, a Crimean Tatar American I had interviewed for my first film told me his grandparents had immigrated to America from Eskişehir.
Discovering those connections was remarkable. This place had its own long history of Crimean Tatar refuge, and now someone in my current film was finding refuge there too in real time.
Q: What do you hope audiences, including students learning journalism and documentary filmmaking, take away from the film about whose stories are told and how they are represented?
A:It is important to uncover the marginalized voices in every war. Ukraine has received a great deal of coverage, but I knew this Indigenous community quite intimately and felt its experiences were not being covered extensively enough. I wanted to change that.
There can be reductive thinking in journalism and film: we already have one Ukraine story, or one story about a Muslim community, so there is no room for another. But one film cannot represent everyone’s experience. We need to make room for different stories.
I knew it would be difficult for this documentary to stand out, particularly because I was not focusing on soldiers or the front lines. I felt the story needed to exist anyway. I hope it will be valuable to students, academics, filmmakers, and policymakers.
For young journalists and filmmakers, my advice is to research how a story has already been covered and understand what makes your approach different. Passion matters, but so does deep knowledge. Do your research, and do not just stick to your questions. Let people explore their own stories, memories , and personal reflections on camera. They will help lead you.
I also hope audiences understand that this war did not begin in 2022. As Zarema explains in the film, for Ukrainians it began in 2014. Crimea is essential to understanding that history.
