October 5-12, 2022 Anton Tsyvatiy, Svitlana Stretovych, Mychailo Wynnyckyj, Volodymyr Yermolenko, Iryna Vikyrchak

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

Anton Tsyvatiy: Correction of victories. October 5

Everyone knows the phrase ‘error correction,’ but hardly anyone practices correction of victories. But understanding the way the goal was achieved and being able to repeat this experience multiple times is one of the keys to success.

I do not want this text to sound like yet another pep talk, so I will mention my personal discovery: only a large number of actions reveal the chains that truly work. And when countless attempts fail but one of them works, you must analyze the successful one in detail to figure out why and how exactly that was possible. So, the number of attempts is a second inherent part of success!

Let’s take, for example, the victories of Ukrainians in the war. What has been working well for us? With a limited weapon supply, we learn fast and use this weapon most effectively! In this way, we show the whole world how cool we are.

Let’s ‘correct’ our victories. The world wants to see courage and brevity, the skill of distributing and using resources properly, a strong desire to win — and the ability to hold the line despite trials and tribulations. We can get even stronger support by repeating this formula!

There are countless chains of victories, and Ukrainians are just as great at following the second rule: they make many, many attempts to open up new possibilities for bringing the victory over the enemy closer!  

Svitlana Stretovych: ​​It is scary but… October 7

My sister has a university friend, Ania. It means they have been friends for more than half of their lives. So, I consider Ania my friend, too. I know the names of her husband and two sons, even though I have never seen them in person. I love Ania’s fiery temper, though we spoke briefly only a few times. She is a classroom teacher in a school in Kherson region, where she also teaches math.

In the early days of the big war, Ania and her family found themselves under occupation. I could not find the right words to text her, even though I make my living by writing and working with books. I regularly asked my sister how Ania was doing. I was happy when Alia liked or reacted to my Instagram stories. On one of those occasions, I finally dared to text her.

“It’s ok. Explosions are getting closer. It’s scary but… it means our guys are closer, too,” she texted me back.

And then she added: “I haven’t cried even once for the past three months.”

“It’s scary but… I haven’t cried even once for the past three months”

The part of Ukraine where Ania and her family lived was not just occupied by the russian troops and military equipment. They were living eye to eye with the occupiers who settled down in their street, a few houses away from them. The occupiers went to the same grocery store, took the same roads, and looked at them closely each time they met them in the street.

Their smartphones had to be ‘sterile’ because the military could stop by anytime. They searched the houses of civilians for uniforms, weapon, and soldiers. They tried to establish their order wherever they could. For example, the following subjects were supposed to be taught in a Ukrainian school in the temporarily occupied territory of Kherson region starting from September 1: russian language, russian literature, history of russia, math, and PE.

“I hope they will liberate us by September 1,” Ania texted me in May. “Otherwise, I’ll quit.”

In each of her later texts, she said how unwilling she was to leave her home and how much she hoped for the breakthrough of the Ukrainian troops. She asked me not to forget Kherson and write about it in my stories.

“I hope they will liberate us…”

In late summer, I met with my brother. He serves in the army as the battalion commander. He arrived in Kyiv from the frontline for a few days’ leave.

“You just cannot stay on the frontline. People say it’s their house, their property, and so on. But if you stay, there will be nothing left. No house, and no you,” he said. 

I thought about Ania at that moment. I hoped it would not come to that.

“They left,” my sister told me one day when I met her walking down the street.

Now Ania and her family are safe. 

The journey took them four days. They slept only seven hours over all that time.

Kherson region — Crimean bridge — russia — Latvia.

Sometimes, I re-read Ania’s texts written under occupation and think about a particular one written on a hard day of this big war:

“The war will be over! Soon!!! Write a book!!!”  

To me, those exclamation marks represent her tears, her confidence, and her dream.

Over the months we have been texting, she mentioned tears only twice: when she crossed the border of Latvia with her husband and children and on the Independence Day of Ukraine.

Svitlana Stretovych: People with the verb ‘to live’. October 7

The presentation of People with Verbs, Kateryna Kalytko’s new poetry collection, in Kyiv gathers a large audience. People are filling up the chamber hall of Molodyy Theater. A dark room with black walls, floor, and chairs. Kateryna and I also arrive dressed in black, without agreeing about it beforehand.

This evening, there are only two of us talking on the stage. We know that other people are sitting right in front of us but we cannot see them. Only the stage is illuminated.

If poets carved metaphors out of that, they would’ve many options to consider. A black box comes to my mind.

A black box is supposed to reveal all the details after an aviation incident or air crash. It records flight data and communication in the cockpit.

This autumn evening, on the last day of September, we are also talking about a catastrophe. About the big war — the largest disaster we have seen or experienced.  

In the past, I would’ve considered it an exaggeration to say that during the war, when the whole country is under a constant threat of missile strikes, people turn to poetry or attend literary evenings.

Everyone falls silent.

We begin.

“Have you experienced a state of numbness, of freezing between the past and the present, when air raid sirens are blaring and missiles are flying, and poetry cannot keep up with that? How long did that state last and how did you move on?”  

“Yes, I experienced that,” Kateryna says. “I felt like everything I was doing in my previous life lost its sense.”

So, she has rewritten her poetry collection she finished back in January 2022 and is presenting tonight. Now the collection includes poems about the war. About them coming to kill us. About a heart that turned into a shell crater. About Marik as we lovingly call Mariupol.

…

Readers highly appreciate many names in contemporary Ukrainian poetry. Right now, these names either perform the role of a diplomatic mission abroad, serve in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, or volunteer. But time and again, they dig up their creations from the previous life and recite poetry.

When our descendants get to decode our black box, one of the records will sound like this: people were getting together in the evenings to listen to poetry in the country deplorably ruined by the russian missiles. The voice of Kateryna Kalytko, a wonderful poet, will testify to the watershed moment. Two lives will echo in it — a life “before” and a life “during” the war with russia.  

We wrap up the presentation by talking about one particular verb in her poetry collection whose presence could hardly have been expected. It’s a verb ‘to kill.’ Not metaphoric; not poetic; not random.

Once it’s over, the guests come closer — to give us a hug and share their emotions. Theater lighting floods the dark room. It illuminates the people present and fills the black box with countless voices.

The voices of people with all kinds of verbs, with the most crucial one — ‘to live.’  

P.S.: Perhaps, it is for this reason that flight recorders — black boxes — have actually never been black. They have a distinct color: bright red.

Svitlana Stretovych: One morning, after a fitful sleep. October 10

October 10; 229th day of the war.

This Monday in Ukraine started with yet another massive missile strike.

07:30 am: air raid alerts all over the continental area of Ukraine. All 24 regions are labeled red on the map. Red means danger. Metaphorically, I see it like all Ukrainian regions, without exception, feel embarrassed for the aggressor country. 

We are not afraid of russia, even though we know for a fact that missiles are on their way to ruin our lives.

For over seven months of the big war, we have seen the russian army destroy museums, theaters, churches, libraries, and schools. They have killed civilians in humanitarian convoys, shopping malls, and queues for bread and medicine…

Zaporizhzhia, Dnipro, Khmelnytskyi, Zhytomyr, Lviv, Mykolayiv, Kyiv…

This morning’s list is not complete.

Sumy region, Lviv region, Kyiv region, Odesa region…

Too many locations to list here.

At 2 pm, the General Staff reports that russia deployed 84 cruise missiles and 24 unmanned aerial vehicles. 

56 of them have been downed.

The rest have destroyed another bit of our life.

…

A large share of my life is connected with Kyiv Taras Shevchenko National University. It was there that I studied, defended my thesis, and worked. I have known this place and loved it for a total length of fourteen years. It’s a local landmark and a tourist photo spot, its red building grabbing the attention of passers-by.  

Very nice.

“It’s a perfect place to live,” we dreamed as students. “There’s a park and opera next to it, a theater and a bookstore, and many, many museums.”

“Hi there, Max,” we’d say, nodding at the Maksymovych Scientific Library, where we spent countless hours.  

We are driving through Kyiv downtown. It’s impossible to find a free parking spot here, even during the war. We make a few rounds from the opera house to the University’s red building and back to St. Volodymyr’s Cathedral.

“I love this place. Here’s our scientific library,” I say to my husband, talking about Volodymyrska street.   

“Me too,” he says. “It’s right next to the university.”

The crossroads we’re talking about is next to my alma mater, Shevchenko University, and close to Drahomanov University, where my husband studied. If someone asked me to name a location in Kyiv with the biggest concentration of culture and history, I would name this one — the crossroads next to Shevchenko University.

…

This morning, the lives of people walking or driving to work through that crossroads were cut short — the lives of Kyivers, who woke up in a war-torn country. The windows of Shevchenko University and the scientific library blasted out. A crater was left gaping in the middle of the street in the heart of Kyiv — like a black hole pierced in each of us. People who were out doing some errands are now tragically dead.

The philharmonic society, the university, the library, and several museums have been damaged as a result of the missile strike in Kyiv downtown.

Today, on October 10, russia’s ministry of defense reported: “The russian armed forces launched a massive strike with a long-range high-precision weapon against the military command, communication, and energy facilities of Ukraine. Mission has been accomplished. All targeted facilities have been destroyed.”

Mychailo Wynnyckyj: The word on the street in Kyiv today is DEFIANCE. October 10

The word on the street in Kyiv today is DEFIANCE.

I walked the dog around noon (poor girl couldn’t wait anymore) and passed the entrance to the subway — calm people on their phones, letting their loved ones know they’re ok and checking the news. I heard singing from the tunnel below.

Over 80 missiles fired from the south, east and north. Over half were shot down by Ukrainian air defence. If only our friends in the West had given us more systems and sooner, lives could have been saved.

But as I’ve said over and over: we have a war to win. No sense in blaming others. This is our fight. We are grateful for any and all help provided, but russia attacked Ukraine, not NATO. And so it’s up to us to make them pay.

And we will. Every life. Every building. Every emotional scar. Will be avenged.

Evil must be stopped.

#ThoughtsfromKyiv

Mychailo Wynnyckyj: Thoughts from Kyiv. October 10

putin’s revenge for the destruction of the Crimean bridge has begun. Today, the center of Kyiv and many other Ukrainian cities was attacked by russian rockets.

Our family is safe. After being hit by anti-aircraft fire, missile fragments have fallen near the monument to Ukraine’s first (1918–1919) head of state — Mykhailo Hrushevsky. It stands between the main building of Shevchenko university, across from the National Academy of Sciences. No military targets nearby, but probably the rocket was aimed at the government quarter. According to reports, one civilian was killed.

In the area we are in we’ve heard explosions from far away — similar to the sounds of artillery fire in March-April, but different. Our kids have become experts at differentiating the sound of a missile explosion from artillery and/or MLRS (Grad).

This beautiful and vibrant city (and country) will survive! This is russia’s last desperate gasp. They cannot occupy us, so they will try to destroy us. But they will destroy themselves in the process.

The latest reports on social media claim russia has launched kamikaze drones from belarus towards Kyiv. I wouldn’t be surprised if the long-awaited land assault from belarus towards western Ukraine starts today. It will fail as with everything else the russians have done in Ukraine. But how many lives will be taken in the process?

The Kyiv subway trains have now stopped. Every station is a shelter. Children in schools have been moved into basements. There they sing the national anthem.

This nation is indestructible!

#ThoughtsfromKyiv

Volodymyr Yermolenko: In these times, it is incredibly joyful to hug your loved ones, especially children. October 10

In the morning, we returned from Lviv (BookForum) to Kyiv. We rushed by taxi to pick up the children from my parents’ on the left bank. Darusya (13 years old) told us how she heard heavy explosions, “as if it struck right into the yard.” It hit somewhere else, though. After February, 24, she rapidly grew of age. Yesterday, she sent us her new avatar, which she painted herself: she was in the image of anime, with the Kerch bridge flame in the background. This is how her own development goes. We try to talk to her about the war on serious grounds, but in portions. Younger children (Yaryna, 6, and Yasya, 4) are now experiencing a period of unrestrained joyful frenzy.

They can’t be quenched, and you end up laughing with them even when you’re trying to be a strict dad. We brought them gifts from Lviv. This strong laughter might be the thing that keeps our balance. An hourly source of laughter. There is no power and water supply in Brovary now, like in many areas in Kyiv, but people in the streets keep composed. We have already bought a new car for the frontlines; the friends have driven it in; it is already in Kyiv; we will soon take it to the combat. Then, we’ll be looking for the next one. While the children are sleeping, we will record the release of the Explaining Ukraine podcast. May they rest in peace, all those who perished today, yesterday, and in all the previous days. I can’t think of you without tears. In these times, it is incredibly joyful to embrace your relatives, especially children. We must continue to work, to support the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and focus on practical things and concrete results. I embrace you all, we shall win.

Iryna Vikyrchak: Nuclear anxiety in a poem. October 12

Ukraine is a multicultural nation. In this sense, it has never been a monolithic one, and any attempts to accuse it of being nationalistic just make no sense. More than 120 ethnic minorities live in modern-day Ukraine — just think about it! 

The country’s cultural heritage, in particular, literary, is just that — multilingual. For my PhD thesis, I have been working on the poetry of Rose Ausländer, a poet of Jewish origin who wrote in German and also in English in exile after World War II. She represents an “island” of literature written in German in the city of Chernivtsi, also known as Czernowitz, in the southwest of Ukraine. 

When analyzing or translating poetry, you go very deep into every single word. It is a plunge into the emotional cocoon created by the poet with their words. One day, long before the full-scale war, I found myself sobbing while working on my thesis. I was engulfed in the cocoon of this poem by Rose Ausländer I am citing below. As Rose herself later commented on it, this was one of the most gloomy poems she had ever written. It is a post-Holocaust poem where she connects the tragedy of the Jewish people with another human-caused catastrophe: the Hiroshima and Nagasaki nuclear bombing. 

During recent months, I have kept coming back to this poem in my thoughts way too often. Unfortunately, the blood-freezing reality has become more imaginative than the poetical imagination. Two catastrophes are looming over my country at once: genocide and the nuclear threat. Sometimes, it feels like we are living in a premonition, which should have never even come into question anymore. 

AFTER THE WORLD WAS ATOMBOMBED

Nobody was prepared when it came.

Everyone hurried to look for his name

under the ashes. 

Dead mothers washed their eyes

to recognize

the dust of their children. 

But all children were blended. 

Gases from firmament to firmament

spirits from the Old and New Testament

assembled at the spaceless cemetery. 

 

Exploding stars smeared

the oily surface of the seven 

heavens.

Pretty silvercrisp angels

were annoyed

at their singing lesson of HOSANNA

and retreated into deeper nothingness. 

 

Mary washed her eyes to see clear

the Resurrection beneath the smear.

But her sin

had undergone

a strange

change: 

 

His delicate Bones

His Love His Blessing

Blended

With the ashes of all children.

His whole

Immortal Soul

mingled

with the immaterial

material.

 

Mary wept.

Her tears blended

with the tears of all mothers.

An ashen soldier kept

vigil and slept. 

Iryna Vikyrchak: Psychotherapy and soviet tanks. October 12

When the first russian missiles hit the airports in Ukraine in the small hours on the 24th of February, we all (and I am talking on behalf of my generation of Ukrainians) shared the same emotion. I know it, because I felt it too and because my friends and acquaintances, bloggers and celebrities were all talking about it weeks into the war. You might be guessing it was fear or helplessness, panic or freezing horror, or all of that at once, but I am talking about the sense of guilt as the strongest one. 

Yes, guilt. A paradoxical emotion to feel when your country is under attack and your lives under death threat, right? But I guess that’s who we are. The biggest guilt was felt by those who met this day in a safe distant place — on a vacation or business trip or as a new migrant. The safer you were, the bigger guilt would wash over you. I was one of these people, too. It also made me think of the first violent act in our fight for freedom and a European future – the February days of shootings in Kyiv during the Maidan revolution. I was in Warsaw, where Polish TV streamed the protests non-stop. It was then that I had learned that psychologically it is way harder to watch from a distance than be in the epicenter of the action, able to act physically in this space.

At the same time, we, Ukrainian millennials, were much more aware of what was going on with our emotions, sharing them openly and trying to support each other. That is thanks to the fact that we are the first generation of Ukrainians going to therapy en masse to get rid of the consequences of soviet upbringing, heal generational wounds, and open our eyes to who we are. Just like fish which don’t know that such thing as water exists, we grew up in the post-soviet environment, mental and physical, unaware it was there. For instance, the monuments made of old soviet tanks and standing in the streets of our hometowns were just part of the landscape we took for granted. 

Only growing up, defining and unshelling what was imposed and not part of who we are, we came to realize that the soviet tanks are the monuments glorifying the enemy and must be demolished together with soviet thinking, methods, and propaganda. 

It seems to me this is one of the deep reasons we, the Ukrainian people, never met putin’s expectation to surrender in a blitzkrieg or mentally surrender our identity. Even if our state didn’t manage to build a powerful cultural image of Ukraine to beat the myth of the “great russian culture” because of the political and economic turmoils of the past three decades, we, the Ukrainian people, have become so mature and self-aware that no oppressor can take it away from us. Simply because we know who we are. We know what is ours, and we know our own strength. And we are quite assertive about it. 

Iryna Vikyrchak: The cyrillic confusion. October 12

A few years ago, in 2016, to be precise, I was curating a Ukrainian event at one of the biggest European literary festivals. And since I had a free hand, I chose to invite three Ukrainian women writers of the new generation to present the most up-to-date trends in the book market of my country. I was very proud of this concept and the invited participants. I even wrote an essay about them for an important socio-cultural weekly. The announcement was a success, and the event was printed in the program, but a terrible thing happened when it came to the promotional strategy. 

I first learned about it from a Facebook friend who tagged me in a weird post full of protesting intonations. And when I opened the festival’s website and its social media pages, I was rendered speechless: my three intellectually powerful yet fragile authors were pictured on a photo collage together with a russian writer, zakhar prilepin. It looked as though the four of them were walking hand in hand, with prilepin in the middle. The text of the invitation was highly emotional and showed that the organizers had no clue they had done anything wrong. 

For many years, European cultural institutions have too often placed Ukraine, belarus, and russia in the same “eastern triangle.” Residencies, anthologies, entire festivals, and stand-alone events. The organizers, curators, and sponsoring foundations did it with the best of intentions, so we, the Ukrainian side, barely protested, taking it with the grain of salt but still accepting. In 2016, though, the war was raging in the east of Ukraine, Crimea had been annexed for two years already, and it was already clear who the aggressor was. But still, we got those “try to talk you guys” from the European organizers. 

It took me a week of non-stop email exchanges with the administration of the above-mentioned festival to settle the issue and explain to them what the problem was and why not only their publication but also the mere fact of inviting that author was inappropriate. Meanwhile, I learned that prilepin was a very popular author in that country, and his publisher was promoting him generously, never mentioning some “interesting facts” of his biography. He participated in a war in Chechnia as a mercenary, and just a few weeks before that incident, he posted a video in which he was shooting at the Ukrainian soldiers in Donbass. Theoretically, any of those soldiers could have been family members or friends of mine or the authors I have invited. His blog has always been the most intense concentration of hatred against Ukraine (not recommended). Finally, this festival and another one that invited prilepin withdrew their invitations. He wrote an angry, hateful post on his blog mentioning everybody, including the curator (yours truly). End of story, some more eyes opened, and the Ukrainian authors didn’t have to boycott the event. 

Most probably, the PR department made “the mistake” because they followed this ossified Western habit of blindly putting together anything they see in Cyrillics that they can’t read. But the Cyrillic alphabet is not a criterion. Social values are the criteria. The outlook and the belonging to a certain civilization. Ukraine is definitely part of a Western one. russia and the nations it suppressed and made its zone of influence belong to a totally different one. It looks like it’s arriving to its end. belarus has yet to decide where it wants to be. But again, Cyrillics is not a uniting criterion here. 

It takes courage, a deeper look, and probably some basic empathy and a sense of judgment to see why. 

Mychailo Wynnyckyj: Thoughts from Kyiv. October 12

Today, the kremlin officially blamed Ukrainian military intelligence for blowing up the Crimean bridge last week. Apparently, a ship with 20 tons of explosives was dispatched from Odesa a month ago. It travelled via Bulgaria, Georgia and Armenia to russia and then its cargo was planted on a truck which blew up on the bridge.

Huh? This unbelievably complex covert op was executed by supposedly inept Ukrainian special forces? (the russian narrative claims Ukrainians are incapable of anything worthwhile without NATO help).

The explosives were planted undetected in a truck crossing the most protected bridge in russia? And a truck blowing up ON a bridge caused massive damage to the pile UNDER the structure — without even putting a hole in the pavement?

Hey kremlin, are you expecting anyone to actually believe this?

Now facts: russian forces have been preparing a massive missile attack on Ukraine for weeks. putin needed to strike overwhelmingly because the land war in the east and south of Ukraine was going badly. The plan was to attack energy distribution targets in November to force Ukrainians to freeze at the start of winter, but the Ukrainian advances in Kherson and Kharkiv-Luhansk were more successful than expected (and quicker). So the timeline was moved forward.

Blowing up the bridge provided a perfect excuse. Added bonus: no one is talking about the disaster that has been “mobilization” in russia. No one is talking about the fact that over 50% of missiles fired were shot down by Ukrainian air defenses, and that very few actual military targets were hit successfully. But all of russia is enjoying the testosterone boost offered by carefully crafted TV narratives and video.

Back to reality: the bridge was blown up from underneath. That could only have been done by professionals with access to the relevant struts and supports — highly unlikely that these explosive experts would be Ukrainian. If they were, these are without a doubt the best special ops agents in the world.

putin lies. He has staged “false flag” operations before in order to justify flagrant aggression (Chechnya, Georgia…) The Crimean bridge was no different: a theatrical show put on for a domestic audience that was followed by a massive bombardment of Ukraine — all broadcast in primetime. What better way to divert attention from the ground war that is going badly?

But despite the exciting images and stories of rockets and kamikaze drones, the war continues to go badly for russia. Ukrainian troops continue to regain territory northeast of Kherson and west of Severodonetsk. The resolve of the Ukrainian civilian population has increased despite hardships caused — blackouts and increased anxiety. Ukraine’s allies have increased military supplies, including (finally!) modern air defense systems.

You’ve shot yourself in the foot yet again vlad. Keep it up!

We have a war to win!

#ThoughtsfromKyiv

​

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: Anton Tsyvatiy, Svitlana Stretovych, Mychailo Wynnyckyj, Volodymyr Yermolenko, Iryna Vikyrchak

Translators (from Ukrainian): Hanna Leliv (Anton Tsyvatiy & Svitlana Stretovych’s essays), Svitlana Bregman (Volodymyr Yermolenko’s essay) 

Illustrators: Victoria Boyko (Anton Tsyvatiy, Svitlana Stretovych, Mychailo Wynnyckyj, and Iryna Vikyrchak’s essays), Nastya Gaydaenko (Volodymyr Yermolenko’s essay), and plasticine panel by Olha Protasova

Copyeditors: Hanna Leliv (Iryna Vikyrchak’s essays), 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