Taras Prokhasko. Forgotten Spring

“State of War” is an online anthology of essays by Ukrainian intellectuals about the war by Meridian Czernowitz. One hundred authors will share their impressions, observations and feelings in one hundred texts. The anthology is being created as part of the project “Deepening the Internal Cultural Dialogue in Ukraine”. Some of these texts will be available on Chytomo.

We are opening the series with Taras Prokhasko’s essay “Forgotten Spring”.

    At the beginning of autumn, it is always quite challenging to remember what spring was like. After many months of the war, it is even more difficult to recreate what occurred beforehand from memory. But we have to try, not only because there is no today without yesterday. We must do it to get ahead of our future dreams–to prepare for them. Then at least we’ll have some meaningful signs to navigate our dreams, knowing how to escape horrors without panic.

A protracted psychological experiment on the humanity of Ukraine lasted for almost three winter months: moving troops along the border, conducting military training exercises, and the mounting threat of danger. All this occurred along with Covid, which at that time not only introduced large-scale changes in public and personal lives but also made us grow accustomed to daily statistics of losses, giving special powers to authorities and particular self-discipline to citizens. It also hit the physiology of the brain, and this mixture turned out to be quite hypnotic. 

But a crucial thing became clear even then: this time, it seems, we are not alone. We have not been left to our own devices. Visits, forecasts, assurances, warnings, intelligence information, and recommendations created a bouquet that Ukraine had never before received in its entire history.

But a crucial thing became clear even then: this time, it seems, we are not alone. We have not been left to our own devices. Visits, forecasts, assurances, warnings, intelligence information, and recommendations created a bouquet that Ukraine had never before received in its entire history.

The first month of the year was filled with a unique flavor of four things that together can be called mobilizing. First, the wave of daily mass reports of landmines. Secondly, the hasty search and minimal arrangement of premises that could be considered covers and shelters. Thirdly, a multi-faceted information attack on the topic of “bug-out bags”. And fourthly, taking preparatory steps for forming the Territorial Defense Forces. Regarding the latter process, its refinement was accompanied by arguments about a possible guerrilla war and total resistance when foreign intelligence published a version with a possible coup d’état by a pro-Russian contingent, followed by filtration camps and liquidation lists. The impression was strengthened each time by different exact dates of the invasion.

The first reserve knew that the unfinished was beginning. The rest were making foreign passports for themselves and their children, transferring money into cash, losing weight and treating chronic diseases.

A few days before the invasion began, we discussed what to do when it finally happened. I imagined that the main feature of the modern world is the total digitization of social communication. Such is that I believed the enemy, in a modern war, would primarily do everything in its power to disrupt mobile services. Moreover, they’d cut the power grid to ensure we remained in the dark, without access to water, and so on. While there was still time, I advised everyone to agree with relatives and loved ones on alternative methods of contact. It had to be like it was in the old days: places, terms, and conventional signs.

It turned out that I would be utterly wrong about the nature of the coming war. And this became the most optimistic shock for me. Despite the massive front line, the number of Russian troops occupying Russian land, and the regular shelling of random cities and localities, the war turned out to be relatively localized. 

In the first minutes of this war, explosions thundered not far from us. In an official Kremlin speech, the Ivano-Frankivsk airfield had been mentioned a few days prior. The aftermath in the city that morning provided us with some relief: there was no panic, everyone got to work, and the stress of waiting turned into active agitation.

In the first minutes of this war, explosions thundered not far from us. In an official Kremlin speech, the Ivano-Frankivsk airfield had been mentioned a few days prior. The aftermath in the city that morning provided us with some relief: there was no panic, everyone got to work, and the stress of waiting turned into active agitation.

And then the actual, and now almost forgotten, spring began.

There were queues at registration points to join the Territorial Defense Forces; Czech anti-tank hedgehogs were scattered along the streets, and sandbags were used to fortify defense structures. People stood with hunting rifles at roadblocks; curfew was established; military patrols were armed with assault rifles, and massive amounts of drinking water and food were collected for the Army.

On the third day, a significant exodus broke out; women and children headed to the border. Thousands of cars and buses made their way west and south. The city was emptied for several hours, only to soon be filled with tens of thousands of refugees from the east. Evacuation trains arrived without any schedule. We met these crowds at the station, fed them there, and led them around the city and nearby villages. Thousands of jars, boxes, and bags of household supplies, clothes, and warm blankets were taken to reception points. In the following months, the city looked like a network of promenades along which rich and poor fugitives walked. The rich took care of themselves by occupying restaurants and cafes. A separate category was the artists and intellectuals who left Kyiv and Kharkiv; Ivano-Frankivsk had never seen so many musicians, artists, translators, journalists, or directors.

Tulips bloomed at the beginning of March. Floriculturists, who wait all year in anticipation, took the entire harvest, which at that time seemed to be the last, to the streets. And it was impressively touching. This is how you begin to understand very succinctly how all the beauties of your personal life are included in the great powerful flow of history.

Tulips bloomed at the beginning of March. Floriculturists, who wait all year in anticipation, took the entire harvest, which at that time seemed to be the last, to the streets. And it was impressively touching. This is how you begin to understand very succinctly how all the beauties of your personal life are included in the great powerful flow of history.

There were also escapes to bomb shelters, camouflage, tracking spies and saboteurs, and restoring trust in the security services. Everything passed quickly, and even those who escaped from the shelling soon stopped responding to the sound of the air raid siren.

At the same time, we all became experts in unusual goods: thermal imagers, helmets, body armor, telescopes, tactical backpacks and gloves, hemostatic agents, and many other things–all this was sought out, purchased, and sent to our guys on the front.

Spring was slow, blooming, anxious, and pivotal. Then we realized that we’d withstood the worst of it–and that Ukraine would still exist. Everyone, even those who went to war, blossomed that spring.

And in the middle of that spring, just when the prohibition of alcoholic beverages went into effect, and even the most delicate of women switched to drinking moonshine–which turned out to be enough–all other toasts disappeared except for one: To victory!