October 26-31, 2022 Iryna Vikyrchak, Valerii Pekar, Taras Prokhasko

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 34 continues to present the series. You can get acquainted with the previous collection here.

Iryna Vikyrchak: My Uzbek Uber driver. October 26

I recently visited Krakow in Poland for a couple of days and had an interesting encounter with one of the Uber drivers. In Krakow, just like in other Polish cities, your driver would most probably be a Ukrainian. But in that case, the driver’s first name sounded unfamiliar, so it became a conversation starter. The man turned out to be from Uzbekistan, and since I had never been to that country with the capital city of Tashkent or met anyone from there, I allowed my curiosity to take the lead. My conversation partner seemed only happy about it. Tashkent might sound not that distant or exotic for someone from my parents’ generation since until 1990, it was part of the Uzbek soviet Socialist Republic — which makes Uzbekistan a newly independent state. It’s been independent for 32 years, exactly like Ukraine. 

First thing I asked the driver about was the attitude of his people back home towards the russian aggression against my country. After a few attempts to describe it, he finally said: “We are against it, but we are afraid to stand up against russia. What’s more, we must keep our tanks to ourselves, as there are regions threatened by russia for a long time, and we have to stay mobilized and armed.”

He said that only recently, the Uzbek authorities revealed the truth about 35,000 people, the nation’s intelligentsia, deported to gulag during the soviet occupation. russian politicians, public figures, and celebrities responded to that immediately, criticizing the Uzbek people for disclosing that information. What is their business in that, you wonder? Well, Uzbekistan regained its independence 32 years ago, but its giant imperialistic neighbor wants it to remain in its zone of influence. 

We started talking in Polish since my driver, who had been in Poland for five years, had mastered the language very well, but at some point, he could not find the right words to tell his story and switched to russian. He slipped one Uzbek word into this speech, but I did not catch it to note it down. The word was the name of a traditional Uzbek floor cushion made of many pressed layers of pure cotton. “You know the Uzbek cotton?” he asked, and after digging through my memories for a moment, I recalled my grandma’s colorful robes made of Uzbek cotton, hugely popular in the soviet times. “The soviets grew cotton all over our country. To fulfill and exceed the notorious five-year plans, they not only gathered all the harvest but also came to our houses and confiscated our floor pillows (here goes the word I did not catch) to add the cotton stuffing to the harvest they seized to please their superiors.” I could sense so much bitterness in his voice, which he kept low all the time, as though he was still carrying the generational trauma of his homeland being treated as a mere resource base. 

The people of Uzbekistan resisted sovietization when it started knocking on their doors in 1920. Still, the bolsheviks held Central Asia firmly in their hands back then, and four years later, Uzbekistan yielded to their grip, too. Around one and a half million Uzbeks were sent to fight in the red army during World War II.

And here we go again: russia is mobilizing only the members of the nations it had been oppressing to die in the war it’s waging now. Uzbekistan is one of the few which resisted, and, according to the only Uzbek person I’ve met, is keeping the tanks in case of need. But how much I wish they overcame their fear.

Valerii Pekar: A truly free man wants freedom for all. October 26

In the Pentateuch (the first five books of the Bible that tell about the exodus from Egypt and the rise of the people) the Lord dozens of times, again and again repeats to the biblical Jews: take care of your slaves and strangers, for you were slaves and strangers in the land of Egypt.

The idea is crystal clear: you yourselves were slaves and strangers, you know all the pain and suffering, you experienced them yourself — therefore, remembering this pain, you have to take care of those who are experiencing it now. Do not hurt others the way you were hurt yourselves. Alleviate the pain with care and compassion.

Ukrainians have experienced unspeakable tragedies in the 20th century and are experiencing one in the present. Aggression, Terror-Famine, destruction of culture, a great war in which Ukraine had no chance to gain independence, squeezed between two bloody empires, mass exiles, russification, another great war…

All this should have made us sensitive to someone else’s similar grief. The Almighty could have told us: take care of the enslaved and russified peoples, for you were enslaved and russified yourself in the soviet land.

And yes, we are sensitive and compassionate. But not all of us! Too many people believe that the suffering they endured entitles them to despise those who are now in a similar position. We were slaves, so we despise those who are slaves now. We were russified, so we despise those who are russified now. We were killed in imperial wars, so we despise those who are being forced into such wars now. We were oppressed by an authoritarian regime, so we despise those who are under an authoritarian regime now.

The former slave says: now I am free, I have won my freedom, so I am superior to those who have not won their freedom yet.

There are two answers to this: a biblical and a geopolitical one. Whichever you prefer.

The Lord says to the slaves who are now free: well done, you have courageously escaped from the land of Egypt, but do not forget that I brought you out of there. You would not have done it on your own, you would be completely russified (crossed out) Egyptized by now, despite the freedom-loving aspirations and efforts of your active minority. I created the conditions under which your exodus was possible. So do not get too proud and remember: you were slaves in the land of Egypt, so take care of those who are slaves now.

The geopolitical response takes us back to 1918–1920, when all the peoples of Eastern Europe became free because they were supported by other states of the world. Ukrainians did not receive such support due to a number of reasons, which Yaroslav Hrytsak examines in detail in his Essays in Ukrainian History.

If we had been supported then, the history of the 20th century would have been different. On the other hand, in 1991, we were supported, and we became free. — Today, the fate of the currently enslaved peoples depends on the support of other states. The further course of history and whether there will be another war depends on our stance.

Individuals’ attitudes depend on the scale of our solidarity circle (to find out more about this concept, first introduced by Christian Welzel, co-author of the World Values Survey, see the book Bildung) rather than on their level of empathy (the depth of the ability to sympathize). Our circle of solidarity can include only our own Ego, or only our family, or only our community, or our nation, or the entire civilization to which we belong, or the whole of humanity. Expansion of the circles of solidarity is well familiar to all who have studied models of vertical human development, such as integral dynamics.

Does the circle of solidarity of a once oppressed and now free nation include other peoples who are oppressed now?

You can have your own answer to this, and the Lord has his, repeating dozens of times: take care of slaves and strangers, because you were slaves and strangers yourself relatively recently by historical standards.

A former slave who received freedom without squeezing slavery out of himself does not dream of freedom for others and maybe even deep in his heart dreams of becoming a slave owner. A truly free man wants freedom for all.

For our Freedom and yours.

 Taras Prokhasko: Trading in tongues. October 27

Up to the end of his life, my father was prone to write the russian letter “э” in place of the Ukrainian “є”. Likewise the Ukrainian “и” was apt to be replaced by the russian “ы”. Most of his school years were spent in a chita [siberian] school, and he skipped several years because of being placed in deportation and filtration camps. Later, upon his return to Ukraine in Halychyna (Galicia), he graduated from a school that was not certified in the Ukrainian language. But in spite of this, he almost never used any russianisms in his colloquial speech. And absolutely never resorted to swearing. I am not sure how he got away with this in siberia whilst amid the thieving and criminal types. But I suppose he traded in some level of prison speak as evidenced by the fact that he did not call himself by his name, Bodya, but rather by the more accepted Boria.   

But after siberia, there was not a single swear word out of him. Like some sort of idiosyncrasy. Like some type of vaccination. Not even among the factory workers and engineers from Halychyna who were rather fluent and free in their use of heated swear words at work and in their daily lives.

We had once watched a program on the use of vulgarity in language. A supporter of erasing  the taboo on swearing presented the following argument: “If a rock drops on your foot, wouldn’t you say ‘oh, God’ or ‘f***?’” A compelling argument. But my father’s response was even more compelling. He said what separates unsophisticated people from sophisticated people is their ability to contain themselves. In other words, there is nobility in the ability to control your emotions and physical responses. When something is scary, do not to stress yourself; when something hurts, do not complain; when something is sad, do not  dishearten; when something is embarrassing, do not make excuses; when it’s necessary — do not fall asleep.

When possible, do not curse, do not swear. By the way, he knew that swearing could bring about a release. But just the same, he preferred to trust in his ability not to indulge in it. And similarly, he strived to express aggression in a way that was neither banal nor ill-advised. 

Once he overheard a friend of mine having a swear-laden conversation with me, which resulted in a rare father-son talking-to. “You don’t use language like that, do you?” he asked. “No way,” I said, “never.” “That’s good, but not good enough; you shouldn’t allow people talk to you that way either.” “How am I supposed to stop them?” I asked. “Just tell them you don’t understand russkie.”

In the army, all the men swore. From the general to the non-russian Turk who, in spite of speaking in a tongue I couldn’t understand, from time to time would crack me up with his occasional use of choice russian words such as “b***” [lit. shit] or “n***” [lit. fuck] … But throughout my long journey such a populated army, I had contained myself. I could not avoid hearing it, but I myself never swore a word. Thanks to my father, I realized that in order for one to stay himself he has to stay committed, and not falter. 

Later on, once I left this russian speaking field behind, I found myself much more tolerant to foul language. There was even a time when I was taken with the universal nature of possible word constructions based on swear word bases; I admired the nuances and precise philology of all these constructs. I even came to use such expressions in conversations with women.

It was at this point that I came to understand just how far-reaching russification has contaminated us over the generations. My Halychanyn (Galician) father, whose generation was caught up at forefront of a most horrendous press, had more reserve to resist this form of russification than his children and grandchildren — who are caught up in a long-reaching subtle smoke plume of russian linguistic violence. It is clear that to them, and to us, that it is an arena of  pressure that creates normalization. One that enforces an adaptation at the expense of minimal significant changes in worldview, and of easing the discomfort of otherness. 

In short, in our democratic times, when everything is moving towards simplification, nobility is no longer associated with mastering the speech which is supposed to express feelings.

Iryna Vikyrchak: The Lakshmi Puja question. October 31

Two weeks ago I was invited to a party in the Indian city of Kolkata where I have been living since the beginning of the year. The evening was dedicated to the Hindu goddess Lakshmi, the patroness of fortune, affluence and prosperity. Our hostess and good friend, Jeena, was wearing a red saree with a bunch of keys tied to the tip of it — a cute local tradition. Everyone around, both men and women, were also dressed in traditional Bengali outfits, mostly of red color, and in one of the corners of her apartment there was a place with a little Lakshmi statue, lots of small lights and gifts to worship the goddess.  

As you probably know, India is ambiguous as it comes to its stance in relation to the russian-Ukrainian war. That is caused by historical reasons and, in particular, the friendly relationship the country had with the soviet union. So when Jeena introduced me to the other guests sitting around on the sofas in her living room, she proudly added: “Iryna is Ukrainian and she has explained to me that this tension and oppression on the part of russia has been there for at least four centuries already, it’s nothing new at all” — and invited me to continue. After just a few moments, as I felt my audience was not much interested in the topic, one man sitting at my side tried to cut me short. Or maybe I just got that impression because he seemed to be enjoying his festive snack more. “So, everything is destroyed there, in Ukraine? Is there anything functioning?” — he asked. 

Normally, I would respond differently, but, bearing in mind the visual representation of the war on Indian TV, I took a slower and a more determined approach. What I saw on the Indian news was more like a fragment of a video game, with the screen divided in two parts, Zelenskyy on one side, putin — on the other. A video of a city devastated by russian bombs. With graphic elements and animation, to make it look like a video game. Unfortunately, I couldn’t read the scripts, but the overall impression was quite bizarre. Rather quickly the news ceased to be broadcasted, as did the interest of my interlocutors at the party. 

But at least I managed to say that the country is fully functioning. That on that day the opening of a huge bookstore took place in Kyiv. That the pits from the bombs in Ukrainian streets are gone overnight and new businesses are opening. Despite the air alert sirens, despite the problems with electricity, despite all the anxiety and risks my people face to carry on with their daily tasks and with the fighting for my country at the frontline. 

If you want to explain it in Hindu terms, goddess Lakshmi has never left my country. They say, Ukrainians have changed the general image of a refugee — well-off, well-dressed, well-educated and well-European, escaping from the bombs, and not from poverty, and going back to their homes as soon as it becomes possible. Even if it was still dangerous. But home is home.

Iryna Vikyrchak: The echo of the war at the end of the world. October 31

Half of my life ago, in 2004 to be more precise, I stayed for one year in the USA as an exchange student. It was quite an experience for a 16-year-old Ukrainian girl who grew up on American movies and TV series on the high school teen life. So I actually felt like being in one of those shows. It was not always easy by itself, but apart from that, I was in 99% of cases the only Ukrainian person everybody had ever met. And so, with every new meeting my task was to explain that: 

1. Ukraine is not in siberia,
2. Ukraine is not Africa either and has nothing to do with Uganda,
3. Yes, we do use electricity,
4. No, we don’t use child labour 
5. Yes, we are allowed to show skin and we dress in a usual Western way,

and so on.

These were the real things I had to explain until the Orange revolution began. After that, I remember, it was my duty to read out loud the names of the Ukrainian politicians during the History class or give spontaneous speeches on the current events in my country in front of our church community after each mass. But that was probably the first time when Ukraine appeared in passing in the American news. Ten years later I happened to be in the States again, when the Revolution of Dignity started and the photo of the Maidan in Kyiv on fire was taking the entire front page of the Los Angeles Times.  

This time, when Ukraine started appearing daily in the news all over the world, I was staying in India. This time, millions of people have learnt the inner geography of my country by heart. They know not only Kyiv, the capital, but also Kharkiv and Lviv, Bucha, Irpin and Izium, they know Vinnytsia and Kherson. Oddly enough, there is no problem with pronunciation. And when I have to answer the question where I am from, I don’t only have to explain any longer on what continent Ukraine is located, but they even ask me what city I am from. 

This time, the eco of the war reaches each smallest corner of the world. Recently, I have been traveling to the foothills of the Himalayan mountains and hiking somewhere I would literally call the end of the world. It is just on the border between India and Nepal, that’s why there were three obligatory checkpoints where we had to register and show our passports. At the first one, in the town not far from Darjeeling, we were surprised to have a deep and intelligent conversation on the topic of the russian aggression against Ukraine while the clerk was writing down the data from my visa. “We have only had a few Ukrainians visiting this place”, — he said.

We passed the second checkpoint quickly, but the third one was rather interesting. Already quite up the hill, in the middle of nowhere. The border guard talked to our guide directly in Hindi, but when he took my passport in his hand I caught his sly glimpse and two words I could also understand in Hindi. He was asking something about the russian-Ukrainian war. 

It was quite bizarre to be there, at the very end of the world, where the high horizon is cut by the highest snowy peaks of the world and to receive a question like that there. The war in your country follows you everywhere. Even if they don’t ask any questions, it is still within you. Since you take your pain with you even to the end of the world. But at least they know now who you are and where you come from.

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: Iryna Vikyrchak, Valerii Pekar, Taras Prokhasko

Translators (from Ukrainian): Svitlana Bregman (Taras Prokhasko’s essay), Halyna Bezukh (Valerii Pekar’s essay)

Illustrators: Victoria Boyko (Iryna Vikyrchak’s essays), Yuliya Tabenska (Taras Prokhasko’s essay), Max Palenko (Valerii Pekar’s essay), and plasticine panel by Olha Protasova

Literary Editors: Julie-Anne Franko (Taras Prokhasko’s essay), Hanna Leliv (Iryna Vikyrchak’s essays)

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