Time to read: 17 minutes(s)

A small group of the Lozva Mansi live in the far north of the Sverdlovsk region. Mining companies are exploiting their ancestral lands, and travel agencies are illegally building in protected areas. To fight for control of their homeland, the Mansi are trying to unite.

A GAZ-66 truck, with the word "Bystry Gas" painted white on the green side of its covered truck bed, roars along a snow-covered track that cuts through the winter taiga. This is the only route leading to the Lozva Mansi people, and the "Bystry Gas" is the perfect vehicle for it. A car won't make it.

The truck's owner and driver, Ivdel resident Dmitry Pushin, primarily transports tourists to the famous Dyatlov Pass. Inside, the covered truck bed is equipped with a wood-burning stove and sleeping pads. The truck struggles through the snow, sometimes slipping, and Dmitry has to navigate difficult sections by rocking the truck back and forth. He frantically turns the steering wheel and fidgets with the gearshift, cursing under his breath. However, on the occasional easier sections of the road, Dmitry can catch his breath and share stories about his relationship with the Mansi.

"About five years ago, I was picking up tourists in Ushma, a Mansi village. I was met by a local, Valery Anyamov. We struck up a conversation. We started discussing cooperation in tourism. We somehow trusted each other. And I became interested in the Mansi's problems," says the owner of Bystry Gaz. "Now I try to help them, delivering groceries and gas for free, and giving rides to and from town. Why I do this, I can't even say. I guess I want these people to survive and thrive. There are very few of them left, and if we don't do something, they'll die out completely."

The Mansi are a small Finno-Ugric people, closely related linguistically to the Khanty and Hungarians. Indigenous to the Middle and Northern Urals, hunters, fishermen, and reindeer herders, they formed the principalities of Pelym, Vogul, Tabarin, and others by the 12th century. The Mansi prince Asoka led campaigns against the Great Perm Principality but was defeated in 1483. By the late 17th century, the Russian population in the Urals outnumbered the local population, and in the 18th century, the Mansi were converted to Christianity and partially assimilated. In the 1930s, the indigenous population was forcibly regrouped on collective farms, which undermined the local way of life and made the Mansi dependent on the state. Currently, the population is estimated at 228 (according to the 2021 census). The majority of the Mansi live in the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug and Sverdlovsk Oblast—137 people, more than 60 of whom live in forest settlements. These people are currently facing new challenges. The mining companies UMMC and Polymetal are mining copper, iron, and gold on their ancestral lands, polluting rivers with runoff, and deforestation. Travel agencies are building camps in protected areas. Poachers are hunting game in the taiga, the Mansi's main source of food.

"Other guides ask me, 'How come the Mansi haven't screwed you over yet? They're all unreliable alcoholics,'" Dmitry explains. "I tell them, 'But you bring them vodka from the city yourself. Where are the locals going to find it in the forest?' Mansi tourists often cheat you. For example, they'll borrow meat and then 'forget' to pay you back. Some locals work at tourist camps, and they can get cheated out of their wages. They'll pay less or nothing at all, because everything is based on honesty, without a contract. The Mansi are a modest people; they're not used to standing up for their rights. They need to unite somehow, set up their own travel agencies, or they'll disappear completely..."

The Mansi village of Ushma is located on the steep bank of the Lozva River. It consists of ten siding-clad houses, with narrow paths between them—step off them and you'll find yourself knee-deep in snow. Solar-powered satellite payphones have been installed to connect to the outside world, but they don't charge sufficiently during the short daylight hours. Diesel generators and wood-burning stoves provide lighting. With the generators running, you can even connect to the local Wi-Fi network.

Ushma is the northernmost settlement in the Sverdlovsk region. It arose on the site of the IvdelLag barracks. By 2007, the authorities had resettled the Mansi people there from the burned-out Treskolye tract.

The village appears deserted, but good-natured hunting dogs are tethered to every house. They greet visitors with wagging tails. You can walk around Ushma in just a few minutes. The main local landmark is the unexpectedly monumental bridge across the Lozva River, built of composite materials. Designed for pedestrians and light vehicles, the structure replaces an old suspension bridge that collapsed six years ago. According to the Sverdlovsk regional government website, the cost of the project was 11,5 million rubles. The Mansi believe the money was wasted and unnecessary. A new suspension bridge would have been perfectly acceptable, and the remaining funds could have been used to restore the forest villages. Locals are convinced that the bridge was built primarily for tourists, who have already made Ushma a hub of traffic, passing through their village on their way to Dyatlov Pass, Mount Otorten, and the Manpupuner Plateau.

I was given a tour of the village by a local resident, Valery Anyamov, a middle-aged man with a sparse beard. He graduated from the St. Petersburg Institute of Cinematography by correspondence and worked for five years as a cameraman for Khanty-Mansiysk Television.

"Initially, I wanted to record our Mansi folklore. And to record it well, I needed to learn the craft. So I trained as a cameraman and got a job in television," Valery recalls. We're sitting in the kitchen of his little house, drinking tea with freshly baked Mansi bread. "Then I kind of got tired of it all and longed to go home. Besides, I'd been living in the city all this time, as if I were on a business trip, and I never really got used to it. I only feel at home in my native land."

According to Valery, the Mansi continue to strive to live a traditional way of life. Small forest settlements for single families, 10-15 kilometers apart, are the optimal way of life. Officials in pre-revolutionary Russia did not interfere with the Mansi's traditional way of life, but the Soviet government, beginning in the 30s, continued its attempts to herd the local population into specially built settlements.

"They herded people from all over the area into one place, by the Toshemka River, and our people had to build their own houses. They built a club, a boarding school, and warehouses, but the Mansi didn't settle in. After two or three years, everyone scattered into the forests," Valery says. "Then, in the 40s, there was another attempt, the village of Suevatpaul. That one lasted about twenty years, but the Mansi eventually left. Ushma is the authorities' third attempt to somehow concentrate us in one place. They still can't understand that the Mansi are forest dwellers who hunt for a living. To survive, families need to live far apart so there's enough food for everyone."

Hunting is still the Mansi's primary source of food. However, game in the forests has become less abundant in recent years.

"The hunting situation has worsened due to human pressure. This includes the extraction of minerals by mining companies, the development of tourism, and the increase in poachers," explains Valery. "The number of poachers has increased due to the proliferation of all-terrain vehicles—snowmobiles and ATVs. It's now easy to access previously inaccessible areas. We have one game warden for the entire Ivdelsky District; he visits our area once a year. He can't control all the poachers; we have anarchy in that sense. Fishing is also a problem. There are no fish in this river at all. There used to be noble species here, like grayling and taimen. When I was a child, there were no problems with fish, but now you're very lucky if you catch fish for fish soup. Tourists raft past our village all summer long. Every second one has a fishing rod. And they ask us, 'Where's the fish?' After all, you caught it yourself! Now we have to buy everything we need for food from the stores." And not only sugar and flour as before, but even canned goods.

According to Valery, ethnographic tourism and the revival of reindeer herding could be alternatives that contribute to the preservation of the traditional way of life.

"Under Soviet rule, every family had a herd of about 150 reindeer. They weren't registered anywhere; it was anarchy, in that sense. It just sort of happened that way. Well, the Mansi have reindeer, it's par for the course. When I was young, I wasn't particularly interested in reindeer herding, although I did get to participate. I once spent a month tending a herd in the mountains. And by 1995, there were no more reindeer. The old herders died, and the young ones didn't want to do it; they simply drank themselves to death. So the animals scattered across the taiga and disappeared," Valery reasons. "Reviving reindeer herding will create new jobs, stimulate traditional crafts, and bring in income for the community from the sale of hides and antlers. But all of this is very expensive. We need to buy reindeer, equipment, and hire reindeer herders from areas where this industry still exists to retrain the Mansi." All this is comparable to the cost of our bridge. Some say it cost 107 million, others 130 million. So, for that kind of money, you could have started reindeer herding three times over.

One of the sources of funding for the reindeer herding revival project could be the development of tourism.

"The Mansi have worked in tourism before, but not systematically, just sporadically. They'd pick up tourists on their snowmobiles, house them, and provide them with meat. But I think we should start our own Mansi travel agency," Valery believes. "We'd dress tourists in traditional clothing, house them in traditional houses, and feed them elk dishes. Such a project would also help create jobs and preserve traditions. We need to acquire a tourist center and upgrade our fleet of snowmobiles; ours are quite old. These aren't as far-fetched as reviving reindeer herding. I think we can succeed."

Valery Anyamov doesn't expect any help from the authorities:

"The government is indifferent to the problems of the northern peoples; they're more concerned with themselves. They allocate some funds, but mostly as excuses. Previously, we could have filed a complaint with the European Court of Human Rights, for example, but now that route has been cut off. Organize rallies, block the road to the quarry that's poisoning our rivers with wastewater? They'll just put everyone in jail. All we can do is adapt to what we have."

The short winter day is ending. The village of Ushma is plunged into darkness, and local residents are conserving gasoline for their generators.

Extreme tourism in the Northern Urals began to develop in the 2000s. Several tour companies emerged, organizing snowmobile and ATV trips to local natural attractions. Four years ago, the extreme sports club "Shatuny 96" joined them and quickly became a monopoly. Guides accuse the club, headed by Alexey Bykov, the son of Sergei Bykov, a United Russia deputy in the Ivdel urban district, of dumping prices. The Mansi are outraged that the Shatuny tourist center was built on the territory of the Ivdel Landscape Reserve, established in 2013 specifically to "preserve traditional Mansi lifestyle sites."

The easiest way to reach the base from Ushma is across the river ice. The next morning, Valery attaches a drag sled, similar to a plastic trough, to his snowmobile and hangs a Saiga carbine ("For wolves," he explains), from the handlebars. I lie down on the reindeer hide that covers the bottom of the drag sled, and we slide down the gently sloping bank onto the ice.

Inexperienced, I lean my feet forward in the direction of the snowmobile's motion, and snow, exhaust fumes, and a blast of cold air thrown back by the machine fly into my face. Despite this, I manage to make out the surrounding landscape. The river flows between gray, sheer cliffs, on whose peaks pine trees have somehow found a foothold and grown. Bushes grow at the water's edge, their branches clinging to the snow, resembling strange figures—sometimes crouching animals, sometimes praying people. Due to the changing weather, alternating thaws followed by heavy frosts, a layer of icy ice has formed on the river—a cloudy, yellowish ice that's half as strong as clear ice. At particularly dangerous points, Valery asks me to dismount from the sled and then rides the snowmobile a few meters standing, like a rider standing in his stirrups. Sometimes, the drag has to be turned upside down and the layers of half-snow-half-ice crystals stuck to the bottom have to be knocked off with blows from the butt of an axe.

A couple of hours later, we finally reach the base. A wooden staircase leads from the riverbank up the cliffside to the "Shatuns." Valery slings his carabiner over his shoulder, and we ascend. The base consists of several large red yurts with white ornamentation ("Kazakh-style yurts, Mansi ornamentation," comments Valery), a kitchen, and bathhouses in tents. After the ride across the frozen river, the place seems very cozy. One can easily imagine the joy of tourists who have covered dozens of kilometers on snowmobiles at the opportunity to relax in warmth and comfort. But the Mansi have a different opinion.

"This land is dedicated to our people for hunting and gathering," says Valery. "However, because of the tourists who come here and the noise they make, the animals are moving further and further away."

According to the official website of the Sverdlovsk regional government, the following is prohibited within the Ivdelsky Nature Reserve: "the construction of roads, pipelines, power lines, and other utilities, as well as economic facilities not related to the functioning of the specially protected natural areas." The Mansi consider the construction of the base to be an illegal seizure of land. Alexey Bykov takes a different view:

The site we're building on is located in a cleared coastal strip. Construction of lightweight temporary structures is permitted there. The necessary documents are being obtained.

A 66.ru journalist received this response from the businessman in December 2021, during the base's construction phase. According to the Mansi, they have not seen any documents since then.

Natalya Gridneva, a Mansi activist, filed a police report regarding the illegal construction of buildings and the felling of trees in a forested area. Local residents were also outraged by the fact that a pipe was draining waste from the kitchen and toilets directly into the river, which was being carried away by the current toward Ushma. An inspection of the base took place in July 2023.

"I went to the base accompanied by two police officers and a forester," Natalya told me later. "But someone tipped off Bykov, and he left the base with the tourists. We encountered them on the way, driving towards us. We found only the guard at the base. After the check, the tourists continued to arrive. Nothing changed."

It was only in January of this year that Natalia received notice from the environmental prosecutor's office that a lawsuit had been filed against individual entrepreneur A.S. Bykov, citing his obligation to clear the forest plot of unauthorized buildings.

Bykov also had labor disputes with the local population. According to the Mansi, the people working at the base were not paid the agreed-upon amount or were not paid at all. The entrepreneur himself once spoke about his work with the local population:

"We have openings for the Mansi in hiking, rafting, and fishing. That's their passion. We don't yet know how to officially attract them. The problem is, they're always busy with their own things. Sometimes it's hunting, sometimes children, sometimes fishing..."

We found the "Shatuny" camp empty. We were greeted only by a guard, a young man from Ivdel, and a family of good-natured dogs. According to the guard, the base continues to expand. New buildings are being erected.

"We've heard that Bykov is planning to build another base right next to Dyatlov Pass," Valery adds. "After that, we'll lose the opportunity to hunt deer."

On December 25, 2023, a meeting of representatives of the people was to take place for the first time in a long time in the building of the "Faktoria," a guest house in Ivdel known among the townspeople as the "Mansi House."

"The meeting ended up taking place in a pizzeria," says Natalya Gridneva, the organizer of the meeting. "Inexplicably, the lock on the Factory had broken just the day before, making it impossible to open. So, we were forced to go to the cafe with the pies we'd made for tea after the meeting."

The "Faktoriya" property has long been a source of conflict between the Mansi and local businesses and the Ivdel administration. Initially, the building, a small, one-story gray structure, was intended as a resting place for people coming from the forest to visit hospitals, administrative offices, and shops. But since 2017, the "Faktoriya" has been in disrepair, with a leaking roof and no electricity or heating. Businessmen began eyeing the property, including Sergei Bykov, a United Russia member of the Ivdel City Duma. A hotel, run by the "Shatuny" tourist club ("den," as the building is called on the company's website), was built on the property adjacent to the "Faktoriya," complete with a sauna, restaurant, and billiards club.

"The building was abandoned. The heating was frozen, and the lot was overgrown with weeds. No one wanted it. The administration put the lot up for auction, and I legally leased it," explained Sergei Bykov.

However, the Mansi continued to fight for the Factoria. After numerous appeals to the Ivdel administration and the governor of the Sverdlovsk region, the authorities finally allocated funds for repairs. However, the Factoria never became a transit point for the forest's residents again. The building now houses a sewing workshop, "Khasne Kol" (meaning "House of Skilled People" in the Mansi language), which makes traditional clothing and repairs leather and fur items.

"There are three women working in the workshop, only one of whom is Mansi, Natalya Kurikova," says Natalya Gridneva. "They also hold classes for children in the building, teaching them national songs and dances. But for some reason, they're for Russian children, not Mansi."

Natalya lives in the village of Polunochny, about twenty kilometers from Ivdel. I'm sitting in the living room of her house. She's treating me to boiled elk meat.

"My father is Russian, and my mother is Mansi; she was orphaned at eight. She was taken to a boarding school, where at first they even held her back a year because she didn't speak Russian, but then she did well in school and got a perfect report card. My mother worked hard all her life in the forest, as a lumberjack. Now she's seventy-one, but she still walks dozens of kilometers to her deserted native village of Takhta. She takes her dog and a little food with her and sleeps right in the forest, sometimes in a tent, sometimes right on the ground, on spruce branches. The forest Mansi are strong, stronger than us 'village people,'" Natalya says. "I once decided to find out what benefits my mother was entitled to; she's a pensioner and a member of a small ethnic group. I contacted the administration, and they told me there were no support programs available; they were all for forest people, and you live in the city. So, work." I wondered why the Mansi in the Khanty-Mansi Autonomous Okrug, who outnumber us, receive some kind of compensation, while the Ivdel people don't. It's clear that oil companies there help, but we also extract minerals.

Two companies are mining on Mansi lands: Svyatogor OJSC (part of the UMMC holding company), which mines copper at the Novo-Shemurskoye deposit, and Polymetal OJSC, which mines gold at the Tamunyerskoye deposit. Both companies are clear-cutting the taiga and poisoning rivers. To distribute compensation to the Mansi, two organizations have been created: the Society for the Survival and Socioeconomic Development of the Mansi People (which collaborates with Polymetal) and the Association of the Indigenous Minority of the Mansi People of the North of the Sverdlovsk Region (which collaborates with UMMC). Both organizations are required to allocate two million rubles annually to support the local population. However, the Mansi claim they have no visibility into how the funds are distributed. There is no reporting.

"Both organizations are headed by Russians. The Survival Society is led by Ivdel resident Valery Zenkov, and the association is led by Severouralsk City Duma deputy Yegor Nikolaev," Natalya explains. "Yes, the nominal president of the association is Mansi Anastasia Anyamova, but Nikolaev is the executive director. And while Valery Nikolaevich Zenkov is genuinely helping, paying for student stipends and dormitory accommodations, purchasing food, first aid kits, and firewood for families in Ushma and other villages, we still don't understand where the money from UMMC goes."

What upsets Natalia most is that the Mansi are not allowed to participate in solving their own problems.

"Last year, on February 13th, I went to Yekaterinburg with two Mansi representatives for a meeting with Deputy Presidential Plenipotentiary Envoy Boris Kirillov on the issues of indigenous peoples of the North. We didn't make it to the meeting, although we did manage to chat with the deputy plenipotentiary for about fifteen minutes. And the discussion there focused on preserving our language! 'Representing the Mansi were Vladimir Mikhel, the mayor of Ivdel, and Yegor Borisov," Natalya says bitterly.

According to the activist, one of the Mansi's main problems is their individualism, their distrust of even one another, and their propensity for conflict. When confronted by the authorities, the Mansi's first instinct is to retreat into the forest, to escape the imposed order.

"It's very difficult to get everyone together. Everyone feels like they haven't gotten enough. That's why that meeting at the pizzeria was an important step," Natalya believes. "Our problem is legal illiteracy; we don't know what we can legally demand or what rights we're entitled to. But we'll still fight."

The Lozva Mansi must, first and foremost, secure the right to manage their own land; we must defend our own interests. Otherwise, the people will die out.