Transdniestria – A breakaway republic from Moldova

Snaking down the border between Moldova and Ukraine is a landlocked sliver of terrain called Transdniestria. It’s home to more than half a million people and run by an independent government. It has its own form of currency, a constitution, and a standing army. The national anthem is, “We Sing the Praises of Transdniestria.”

But Transdniestria—sometimes spelled Transnistria—is not recognized by the United Nations. In other words, it’s not considered a country.

Officially known as the Pridnestrovian Moldovan Republic (PMR), Transdniestria is technically part of Moldova. But, says Eastern Europe scholar Dennis Deletant, “the separatist statelet has had de facto independence since the Moldovan civil war in 1992,” which pitted Moldovans against Transdniestrians.

Transdniestria is sometimes referred to as a “frozen conflict” because, while fighting ceased in the area 25 years ago, no formal peace treaty has ever been drawn. Today the perimeter of Transdniestria is patrolled by “about 1,200 Russian peacekeepers,” says Deletant, “who enforce an uneasy cease-fire.”

And though its residents are patriotic, calling themselves “Transdniestrians,” many pledge allegiance to Russia rather than Moldova.

This national identity crisis was what compelled Belgian photographer Thomas Vanden Driessche to travel to Transdniestria and document life there.

Starting in the capital of Tiraspol, Vanden Driessche spent two weeks driving around the region with a fixer who spoke Russian, one of the territory's main languages (along with Romanian and Ukrainian).

Zinaida Borets, 37, is a Transdniestrian actress who has belonged to a Tiraspol theater troupe for more than a decade. Every year, near the anniversary of the end of World War II, the troupe performs a play dedicated to the glory of Soviet soldiers.

Photograph by Thomas Vanden Driessche, Institute

For the most part, says Vanden Driessche, people were comfortable with him taking their portraits. But when he was out on the street with his camera, something struck him about the way people reacted. Instead of being either overly friendly or confrontational—the two extremes he typically encounters—Vanden Driessche was met with an unfamiliar indifference.

“It was strange,” he says. “Nobody was happy. But nobody was pissed off.”

In a Tiraspol theater, actors perform in a patriotic play that pays tribute to the Soviet soldiers who died during World War II.

Photograph by Thomas Vanden Driessche, Institute

You can see more of Vanden Driessche's work on his website. Or on Instagram.

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