July 4-12, 2022 Svitlana Stretovych, Tania Kasian, Taras Prokhasko, Valerii Pekar, Volodymyr Yermolenko, Mychailo Wynnyckyj

Flash essays from the collection “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity” tell about the insights, experiences, and beliefs of Ukrainians, which ignited their society in 2022, when the full-scale russian invasion of Ukraine began.

The Cultural Hub community and curators carefully collected, translated, and illustrated these texts in order to capture the values ​​of Ukrainians — Freedoms, Bravery, Dignity, Responsibility, and Humour. 

A series of publications in partnership with Chytomo introduces this collection to the English-speaking audience. Volume 23 continues to present the series. You can get acquainted with the previous collection here.

Svitlana Stretovych: Borscht and Co. July 4

The most delicious onion soup was served at a pizza place in the Lukyanivka neighborhood.

It did not matter that it was an Italian restaurant.

You could get fantastic French cheese soup at a downtown restaurant on Shota Rustaveli street. One of the steakhouses on that street, named after the famous Georgian poet, also served amazing steaks.

At the same time, your go-to place for khinkali and khachapuri was “Tbilisi”: it was fascinating to watch how deftly the chefs held the khinkali by the tail or how skillfully they kneaded the dough for khachapuri Adzharia style.

A restaurant around the corner served gazpacho, even though it might have been more atmospheric to sip it in Spain.

Burgers and french fries taste just as good anywhere you go, but McDonald’s does not operate in Ukraine due to the war.

You could study geography at Kyiv restaurants. At the same time, it was only at home that you could feel the real taste of Ukrainian cuisine.

I pull out a pen and a recipe notepad. Then I make a phone call: “Hi mama! Could you please tell me how to make…”

Onions, carrots, beets, potatoes.

Meat, tomato paste, cabbage.

Bay leaf, salt, pepper.

Borscht recipes can be found on Google. You can choose the one with prunes or beans. Based on veal or pork stock. Whatever you like best. But this is not the way people in Ukraine make borscht. Borscht is like a dowry that you inherit and pass on; like an old photo of your relatives who came from different regions but had borscht for lunch every day all their lives. Most probably, they had it with pampushky because your mama serves it that way.

Borscht is infused during the day, acquiring a richer taste. Made according to the same recipe, it tastes differently every time.

Your relationship with this dish undergoes a transformation: as a child, you are pressured into eating it; then you wish that someone will cook it for you; finally, you start making borscht yourself or look for a restaurant serving national cuisine.

“Good evening. Are you ready to order? What can I get for you?” a friendly waiter asks you.

“We haven’t tried borscht here yet. Let’s go for it now!”

The terrace of the oldest Ukrainian restaurant in Kyiv. Music is playing. The city has not been bombed yet. Visitors order varenyky, borscht or deruny. Ukrainian borscht is served with wheat toast, salo, and garlic on the side.

People take their foreign friends here to show off the national cuisine and treat them to the food that makes us stronger.

“Eat borscht to grow up strong,” we have being told since childhood.

The most delicious Ukrainian borscht is served at home.

The dish that has recently been inscribed on UNESCO’s List of Intangible Cultural Heritage — as it deserves to be.

Svitlana Stretovych: ​​The first national holiday. July 4

Ukraine celebrates Constitution Day on June 28.

This year, it was Tuesday.

However, no one remembered it was “Tuesday” because that date was marked on the calendar as the 125th day of the all-out war. Back in the day, it was everyone’s day off.

Article 27. Every person has the inalienable right to life.

Back in the day, on a weekend or a holiday, you asked your friends out for coffee and went shopping. You had a two-in-one pleasant pastime.

This year, in Poltava region, Constitution Day was a day of mourning. The whole nation commemorated the civilians killed in the missile strike on the shopping mall in Kremenchuk. The russian attack killed at least twenty-nine people and injured another sixty-six. Thirty people were reported missing.

Article 33. Everyone who is legally present on the territory of Ukraine is guaranteed freedom of movement, free choice of place of residence, and the right to freely leave the territory of Ukraine, with the exception of restrictions established by law.

Back in the day, the Kherson region, with its access to Black and Azov Seas, was a national holiday destination. People from across the country put fruit and vegetables into their shopping carts just because they were labeled: “From Kherson.”

This year, the russian troops have been blocking the region since the early days of the full-scale invasion. People cannot leave or evacuate. The farmers in the Kherson region who grow and sell vegetables have no days off. Especially in summer, during the harvest time.

They grow cucumbers or cabbage in long greenhouses in their backyards. People have to work hard all through spring and summer to make enough money to survive winter. Summer days are intense.

“Today, we threw away 1,200 kilograms of cucumbers,” a friend of mine texted me.

You can no longer sell cucumbers in the Kherson region. They cost a trifle — some five or seven hryvnias per kilo — because russian troops have blocked this area, cutting it off from the rest of the country.

The farmers’ hard work is, in fact, useless. But this year, as always, they get no days off.

Article 30. Everyone is guaranteed the inviolability of his or her dwelling place.

Back in the day, the citizens of Ukraine had the right to fall asleep and wake up in their apartment blocks.

This year, their homes in the occupied territories are surrounded by russian military equipment. In the context of war, it is called a human shield.

“Will you shell us?” the locals wonder.

“No. It is your army that will shell you,” russian soldiers say.

russian soldiers know that this territory will be liberated from them.

Since February, people in our country have had no holidays. All regions work hard to make russia remember one particular historical fact: since 1996, Ukraine has been living by its own Constitution. It is just that now its articles are written in blood.

Article 2. The territory of Ukraine within its present border is indivisible and inviolable.

The first day after the war is sure to be a day off in Ukraine. And a national holiday too.

Tania Kasian: A marshmallow split in half and a bunch of parsley. July 7

“Mum, is it true that people in Mariupol are eating pigeons?” I wonder.

“Maybe.”

“Might be dogs,” my father says. “There are quite a few dogs in the streets now, all of them so nice, purebred, but there aren’t many pigeons.”  

There are quite a few dogs — and quite a few crosses in the courtyards between apartment blocks. I used to jump rope with my friends in those yards.

“What did you eat when it was cold?”

“Anything we could.”

“And how did you cook food?”

“On the grill. Now I know how to start it, too,” my mother says proudly.

“I don’t think I will ever wash my hands clean,” father adds. “The smell of smoke got deep under my skin.”

“So, what did you cook?”

“All kinds of meals. Even borscht and pancakes.”  

“Pancakes? How did you even manage to make them?”

“Well, we did somehow. People had to eat something, right? We hosted three people at our place and took meals to your godfather and his mother.”

“Weren’t you scared to go out?”  

“But what else could we do, sweetheart? We had to help people.”

My father’s nephew brought him a bag of cat food and a bag of potatoes. Those two bags helped them survive the month of March following the russian full-scale invasion.

“But you have a sweet tooth, mum, don’t you? How are you coping with that? Have you eaten all the jam yet?”

“No, there’s still lots of it in the jars. Your father’s colleague brought us some candy… They’re so expensive now. But people share what they have.”

“And no chocolate or cakes, indeed. No butter cookies with jam. Full ‘liberation’!”

Suddenly, my parents’ voices over the phone are interrupted by our dog’s barking. The connection is lost for a moment. Then I hear my mother’s voice again, and I can imagine her smiling sadly.  

“What happened, mum? Who was that? Are you okay?”

“It was Liusia, that old lady from the house across the street. Do you remember her?”

“Sure. What was it about?”  

“She just brought marshmallows on the occasion of Trinity Day.”

“Marshmallows?”

“One marshmallow, to be exact. She said father and I should split it. One half for him and the other one for me.”

“Did you do it?”

“We did. We’ve already eaten it. I picked some parsley and gave it to her in return. She was happy. She’s now all alone. Her granddaughter Mariyka moved abroad a long time ago, but Liusia is afraid to go to her. She says she doesn’t feel well and won’t survive the journey. And the neighbors are also all over the place. Some of them left, and others have to take care of their own families. Someone died. By the way, do you remember Mariyka?”

“I do. She was a few years my junior in school.”

“That’s her. So, she’s now trying to get some food for her from volunteers and sends her money…”

“But it’s not the same as talking to people,” I say, finishing my mother’s sentence instead of her. “So, all she’s left to do is feel happy getting a bunch of parsley from her neighbors…”

“Exactly… Feel happy getting a bunch of parsley from her neighbors… Alright, honey, I need to go. I have some things to do.”

“What kind of things?” I ask, surprised. My parents have no jobs and no hobbies. They have nowhere to go — everything has been destroyed and damaged. So, I can’t understand what kind of things they can do except cooking.

“I want to sort your old clothes. Our neighbors across the street have small children. They need to wear something. Your outgrown clothes might come in handy.”

“Giving away whatever you can, aren’t you?”

“And what people need.”

Tania Kasian: Hope. July 7

Summer is all about sunny weather, the sea, sweet cherries, and watermelons. At least, for me, a girl from Mariupol strolling with a shopping bag to Stryiskyi market in Lviv. I approach an old lady selling vegetables and fruit and look closely at sweet cherries.

“They’re not from Melitopol,” I conclude.  

“No,” the lady says, shaking her head. “How could they be from Melitopol, my dear child? Take these. They are from Vinnytsia.”

She’s putting a kilo and a half of juicy sweet cherries into my bag while I’m time-traveling to our yard. All people in Ukraine know about sweet cherries from Melitopol — it’s an icon of the Zaporizhzhya region, like olives in Greece or grapes in Italy. This year, sweet cherries from Melitopol were taken away from Ukrainians.   

Sweet cherries from Mariupol, too — but I’m the only one who knows about them.

When I was staying at my parent’s place, I’d go out into our yard on summer mornings and pick sweet cherries to eat after breakfast. My cherries were half sweet, half tart — but they were mine. My parents always pickled them, especially the yellow kind. Almost all of them had worms, so my mother put them into a bowl and poured salty water on them to make the worms crawl out. Then she and my father pickled cherries in three-liter jars. This summer, they pickled sweet cherries, too — this time, on the grill since there’s still no gas in Mariupol.

Talking to a twenty-year-old man, now fighting on the frontline, I told him how much I missed my sweet cherries. He said he missed Kherson watermelons which were just as popular as sweet cherries from Melitopol.

“It drives me crazy that I won’t eat Kherson watermelons this year,” Vova said. “Where are my Kherson watermelons? Where are they? They came to our soil, they plunder our grain, and now they’re going to gobble up our watermelons?! Our own watermelons! They are ours!”

While Vova was raging, I was thinking about the watermelons I ate as a child in my grandparents’ village in the Zaporizhzhya region. My cousins and I always spent our summer holidays in the countryside. We’d run to the river, pick pears in the garden, dig out potatoes, go fishing, and grind dry beans. My most favorite moment of the day was when Grandpa went to the patch and picked a watermelon and a melon. When the watermelons were only tying their knots, Grandpa took a knife and cut out our initials on the would-be fruits, and we’d hurry to the patch every day to check whose watermelon was growing faster. Grandpa threw ripe watermelons and melons into a barrel of water under the apple tree to cool them. And then, after a family dinner, we’d sit under the starlit sky and bite into pieces of watermelon, its sweet juice running down our chins and arms. 

I no longer have these watermelons, either. We, Ukrainians, had our Kherson watermelons taken away from us. russian troops have occupied our villages with fertile lands. One of our neighbors told us that they came into our yard, empty and silent, trampling on our path and our soil.

But there is something they cannot trample down. 

It’s hope.

A hope that my cherry tree will bloom again and that I will pick the ripe berries, checking them for worms, and even if there’re some, I’ll still eat the cherries, half-closing my eyes in pleasure. A hope that all Kherson watermelons make a comeback to the August tables of Ukrainians. A hope that the families torn apart by war will reunite at those tables. A hope that the sun will come out even after the darkest times and that life will go on even after death.

Taras Prokhasko: The russkie-Ukrainian war under the red banner. July 7

I am envious of people taking today’s war in more chill manner, referring to the fact that war has been on since 2014. I am envious of their naivety and their life experiences implying that in that case there had been peace before 2014. However, the most knowledgeable people resort to history keeping in mind all landmark Ukrainian-russian wars over many centuries. Still, this list of wars does not deny the blissful peacetime.

Indeed, my war in this field started when I was six. It might have been hybrid but it has never ceased for any periods of operational peace. Since my childhood it has kept me on the alert. It always required additional effort. It added certain existential drive. It nurtured the study of stratagem, it added flexibility and meaning to the moves. It transformed life strategy into the meaningful promising idea: to withstand and not to retreat. And to enjoy every moment of elevating your language and your archetypes. The war did not imply any effort to build the enemy’s awareness and to win them over to your side. Virtuti Military was about your own awareness building. In other words, it was about the comprehensive certainty that in addition to the intraspecific competition, God designed the inter-specific one. Its key criterion includes the ability to expand. It is not merely about maintaining your natural habitat but about fearlessly invading another range expelling the competitive species from the possible food chains.

As it happens, this does not mean rejecting the joy, the pleasure or the landmark events in your life that build some most beautiful memories (the secret is not to take the memories as a loss of something but as a sweet acquisition, when the past is something that you possess already rather than something you have to re-produce).

The expansion energy of russkies is physically higher. Therefore, in the early phases of life, the war assumed defensive nature. When all defensive measures and fortifications were taken care of, the russkie expansion modified into another strain of the viral infection that lives by without overcoming any immune barriers.

At about the age of ten (and here I am conscious of speaking about the soft Halychyna, although fully infected at that time with the expansionists), we have not experienced any traumatic inferior breed of children. À la guerre comme à la guerre. Not to find yourself but to persecute. Idiots are comical when their hand-powered rail trolley gets on the heavy trafficked track to exert hyper control.

All those russlings who would panhandle for change and blocked you off from crossing some yards went through the adequate confrontation between Ukrainian and russian schools. We were labelled as lowlife thugs and cattle, but we controlled the entire downtown areas. Gosh, how many little things, details, and nuances built up that confrontation. It included the summertime urban landscapes, beautiful girls of both ethnicities, strong and smart boys. Parents of different creeds insisted on their own. Teachers were engaged in the war, to a greater or lesser extent. Blurring the generational memory and all sorts of instigation.

After all, I have never spoken to russkies in russki. Eventually, the biggest war compromise that might look like an illusion of peace was an interspecific hybridization that everyone could speak their own language. This sort of dialogue might look as a quintessence of Habermas’s communicative action. However, in fact, it is the bloating of the continuous war. The war I have been living in for all my life. The war that will continue in our lands regardless of the military and political agreements that the 2022 unleashed hot war ever ends with… It does not deny the possibility, or even the need, to have the fulfilling life. 

Valerii Pekar: Again, on culture. July 10

Again, on culture.

Two months ago* we discussed the russian statement that ‘culture is not to blame’, that pushkin and tchaikovsky are not to blame for the atrocities of russian soldiers.

My friends and I then explained that culture is not about poetry or opera. Culture is what shapes the norms of behavior. It is not on paper or on music sheets, much less in tangible artifacts — culture is what is ‘in over our heads,’ as Robert Kegan aptly put it. And if russian culture was not able to prevent russian soldiers from committing atrocities, then it failed, it did not fulfill its function. Which means it is to blame.

Later, last month, when this topic arose again, we discussed pushkin’s poems about Poland and brodsky’s about Ukraine. Discussed how dostoevsky distorted the concept of crime and punishment. Discussed the current figures of russian culture, those who are against the war but keep lecturing Ukraine with the arrogance of an older brother, with the disdain of the colonial ‘white man’ (there are some rare exceptions to be frank). russian culture has always carried the imperial flag. So, we shouldn’t say that russian culture failed to fulfill its task — on the contrary, it perfectly succeeded in this. It’s just that the task was not what it seemed.

This is the third wave of discussions about russian culture. If only we could reach more people, russian cultural actors lament, then everything would be different. But we staged theatrical plays for thousands of people, and meanwhile TV broadcast propaganda for millions. We have lost to the totalitarian state, they complain.

And they seem to be right.

But no. Let’s get things straight.

The above logic is based on the assumption that people are separate containers. Some containers were filled with ‘good russian culture’, while others, much more numerous, were tanked up with russian totalitarian TV propaganda.

But we, humans, are not containers. We interact. Culture lives ‘in-between our heads.’ Culture is viral even in an era when there are no social networks, only books. Even if very few people can read. And even when there are no books, there is a cathedral, and in it are paintings, statues and sermons. And even when there is no cathedral, only drawings on the wall of the cave — there is already a culture.

Prophet-poets created the Ukrainian nation from a bunch of people of different strata, with different identities, scattered across different states. The same goes for the German nation and the Italian nation. Prophet-poets preserved Poland when the state ceased to exist. Dozens of such stories can be told. This is how culture works.

The statement that russian culture is not to blame because it lost in the confrontation with the totalitarian state isn’t tenable. russian culture is guilty because it made the creation of a totalitarian state possible. Because it did not instill dignity, responsibility and the desire for freedom in people. Because it failed to rethink history and offer a picture of the future. Because it was making money at the time when it had to lead people to the barricades.

And now it’s too late to repent.

But it is not too late to take a suitcase and emigrate, descending from the TV Olympus into the damp basements of exile, where the rest of their poor life is spent fighting totalitarianism (which in the era of the internet is not as hopeless as in the era of “samizdat” (underground press)). Exchange your life for repentance. Because repentance must be effective.

But that means loving your people, not its money. Is russian culture capable of this? — We will see. This will be the final exam. The previous ones have been failed.

Volodymyr Yermolenko: The strength emanating from being capable of the impossible. July 12

I want to share a sensation with you.

A sensation I get from the conversations Tania (the author’s partner, Ukrainian literary critic Tetiana Ogarkova — Ed. note) and I have with people in villages that were on the front line or under occupation.

These people of ours have developed an incredible sense of strength. Yes, there is pain, there is uncertainty, there is insecurity about the future — but there is also a sense of strength.

Many of them did things they never knew they were capable of. Things that seem impossible to an outsider.

This sense of strength helps you realize that your people is capable of the impossible.

Capable of making the impossible a reality.

There’s this feeling: if we’ve survived this, we’ll survive anything.

Of course, not everyone has this feeling, but it is there.

This care for the flowers in the garden in front of a destroyed house, this ability to smile when talking about terrible things — it comes from this strength.

The strength emanating from being capable of the impossible.

Mychailo Wynnyckyj: “No” to the sell-out-to-russia lobby. July 12

As russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine drags on into its fifth month, ever-increasing numbers of western “experts” are calling for an “off-ramp” or a “diplomatic” resolution to the war. The most compelling argument in favor of seeking a negotiated settlement was recently presented by MIT professor Barry Posen in the influential journal Foreign Affairs. His position echoes those of Henry Kissinger, John Mearsheimer, Jonathan Powell, Noam Chomsky, and several others.

In each case, these highly respected intellectuals reject the possibility of a Ukrainian victory on the battlefield. They view the prospect of reconstituting Ukraine’s territorial integrity through military means and/or a significant weakening of russia’s war machine through sanctions as unrealistic. Therefore, they view the “theory of victory” propounded by the Zelensky administration, and supported (for now) by the political leadership of the U.S., U.K. and most European Union (EU) countries, as a sham.

These analysts — none of whom are Ukraine experts — are rightfully appalled by the destruction caused by russia’s war in Ukraine and call for a humane cessation of hostilities. Apparently, giving up territory for the sake of peace is an acceptable price for the West to pay in exchange for peace. After-all, the territory to be ceded to russia would be Ukrainian, and so (apparently) expendable.

Give russia an inch, it will take a mile.

One could repeat the oft mentioned rebuttal to such proposals: that russian president vladimir putin cannot be trusted to keep to a negotiated settlement (and that russia would inevitably return in strength to fight another day), or that any such deal would amount to a sell-out of Ukraine — a betrayal of the valor shown both by its people and its Armed Forces.

But these arguments are countered with a superficially valid response: better to have peace than to continue the killing of Ukrainians while the world’s economies face food and energy shortages and other disruptions. Giving up territory is seemingly favorable to incurring long-term economic costs and never-ending human losses.

The “land-for-peace” proposals voiced by western analysts are all logical — as well they should be given the stature of their authors. However, each appears to miss one important factor in the current geopolitical equation: the agency of the Ukrainian people.

Any negotiated settlement involving territorial concessions to russia would have to be accepted by Ukraine’s population. Taking into account the current social mood in Ukraine, even the hypothetical possibility of such a deal is seen as treasonous. Poll results recently published by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology show that 89% of Ukrainians consider the return of all territories to Ukrainian sovereignty (including the Donbas and Crimea) to be the only acceptable scenario for ending the current war.

Even if one ignores the moral dilemma that ceding territory also involves abandoning its inhabitants, the map of Ukraine is a foundational symbol and component of Ukrainians’ identity. Giving up a part of it is simply not politically tenable. Ukraine’s territorial integrity is seen as sacred.

During the past two decades, Ukraine’s elites have learned not to try to force unpopular political decisions onto the Ukrainian electorate. In the past, such attempts have led to mass protests (in 2004 and again in 2013–14) and confrontations that resulted in political leaders’ loss of face (or worse).

Inevitably, any attempt to adopt a negotiated settlement with russia that might involve anything less than a full reconstitution of Ukraine’s internationally recognized borders will be met with massive popular resistance within Ukraine. Any political leader brave enough to support such a deal will likely not survive (perhaps figuratively; possibly literally). russia would clearly profit from any such political instability.

Kudos for Zelensky.

Since February 2022, Ukraine’s political leaders and diplomats — led heroically by President Volodymyr Zelensky — have been exceptionally successful in making the country’s voice heard on the international stage.

Zelensky understands the need to maintain international backing, but he also understands the importance of domestic support. His nightly addresses to the Ukrainian people testify to his political instincts and savvy. Communication is at the heart of his presidency, and he seems always aware of his approval rating.

In democracies, elite decisions taken without popular approval, or even contrary to the will of the majority, are never legitimate. Those who forget that Ukraine is a democracy do so at their peril. Ukraine’s political elites have learned this lesson well.

And so, despite its apparent attractiveness to some external analysts, in Ukraine’s current domestic environment negotiating a “land-for-peace” deal with russia would amount to political suicide. If any such arrangement were agreed to (which is highly unlikely), the responsible political leaders would be swept from office quickly and possibly violently, spawning massive political uncertainty within Ukraine and further weakening its ability to defend itself.

No doubt russia would exploit such weakness to its advantage, likely ordering its troops to invade further into Ukraine. “Land-for-peace” would therefore result in further loss of land and certainly, no peace.

The editorial “rule of small letters” or the “rule of disrespect for criminals” applies to all the words related to evil, like names and surnames of terrorists, war criminals, rapists, murderers, and torturers. They do not deserve being capitalized but shall be written in italics to stay in the focus of the readers’ attention. 

The programme “Wars. Ukrainians. Humanity” has been created by joint effort and with the financial support of the institution’s members of the Cultural Business Education Hub, the European Cultural Foundation, and BBK — the Regensburg Art and Culture Support Group from the Professional Association of Artists of Lower Bavaria/Upper Palatinate.

Authors: Svitlana Stretovych, Tania Kasian, Taras Prokhasko, Valerii Pekar, Volodymyr Yermolenko, Mychailo Wynnyckyj 

Translators (from Ukrainian): Hanna Leliv (Svitlana Stretovych & Tania Kasian’s essays), Halyna Bezukh (Valerii Pekar & Volodymyr Yermolenko’s essays), Svitlana Bregman (Taras Prokhasko’s essay)

Illustrators: Victoria Boyko (Svitlana Stretovych, Tania Kasian, and Mychailo Wynnycky’s essays), Yuliya Tabenska (Taras Prokhasko’s essay), Max Palenko (Valerii Pekar’s essay), Nastya Gaydaenko (Volodymyr Yermolenko’s essay), and plasticine panel by Olha Protasova

Copyeditors: Yuliia Moroz, Terra Friedman King

Proofreaders: Iryna Andrieieva, Tetiana Vorobtsova, Terra Friedman King

Content Editors: Maryna Korchaka, Natalia Babalyk

Program Directors: Julia Ovcharenko and Demyan Om Dyakiv-Slavitski