Ukraine: The path of freedom
Today, Ukraine celebrates its Independence Day. As I revisit Ukraine’s path of freedom, I can relate to this: it’s the experiences of the path that make us free. Freedom is a journey, not a destination in the end of trials.
The 90s
I was born three years after Ukraine regained independence. The turbulence of the 90s only registered in retrospect, through my parents’ stories. I was oblivious to many challenges my parents faced back then.
That my mum calculated this: the maternity support money could buy her one plain bun and half a glass of milk a day. To supplement the meagre state support, my parents went to Poland to sell electronics in flea markets, and earn some extra cash.
That my dad once heard gun shots in our backyard. My mum, breastfeeding at the time, assumed it was a movie sound from the other room. She looked at dad bewildered, as he was crawling slowly on the floor. Next day, they learnt from newspapers, which gang boss was injured in the shootout.
That surviving the 90s was an act of creativity. Rewards, however, accrued unevenly.
The 2000s
In 2004, I was throwing sponges at the chalk-drawn figure of Yanukovych, together with a handful of fifth-grader classmates. In weeks that followed, together with my grandma, we were reading the chronicles of Orange Revolution in Ukrainska Pravda, an online publication.
School was dismissed for several weeks. Watching November snow from our windows on level 9, and reading the news on the Internet — was daily entertainment. Every time I switched on the computer, it took some explaining to my grandma: where exactly the Internet is located, and how exactly it comes alive as a newspaper.
The 2010s
In 2013, I followed the Revolution of Dignity through Hromadske TV online streams. In those late-night sleepless hours in my Innsbruck dorm room, I felt torn between the yearning to be on the Maidan and the reality of studies, responsibilities, and common sense.
Eventually, I spent but a few hours in Kyiv on the New Year’s night of 2013/14.
I remember visiting Kyiv later in May 2014, walking along the Khreshchatyk and the Maidan, and feeling ashamed. Every pair of eyes I encountered, — especially those who died, their photos displayed in the city, — seemed to accuse me of not being there, not fighting the fight.
How dare I remain outside? Always remain outside…
The war
In 2014, Russia invaded Ukraine. I tweeted on March 1, 2014 that in Europe, a foreign power invaded a sovereign state. But everyone’s silent! How can they all stay silent? I watched the footage of Russian soldiers in Crimea, bewildered, incredulous.
During the Easter Lent time in 2014, on a Sunday of Forgiveness, I received a message from a Russian friend I met in Innsbruck. She apologised. She felt ashamed. We both prayed for no bloodshed.
Bloodshed did come. First subdued, then roaring, then established as a matter of fact. Ukraine was bleeding slowly for eight years, until in February 2022, the sound of explosions in Kyiv woke up the world to the war in Europe.
In early hours of February 24, 2022, Russian missiles landed in Kyiv, Lviv, and every major city in Ukraine. I recall a strong sense that this is the final purge: Ukraine must purge any past sympathies to Russia before it’s reborn as truly free.
The history and the freedom
History is always written with the benefit of hindsight. And so, while the history is being lived, the pain and the striving, the suffering and the transcendence, the victories and the defeats — all appear as a chaotic dance of life.
We walk the path of freedom, one step at a time.
Happy Independence Day, my dear free Ukraine!
P.S. Thanks for reading! I keep my posts free, but here’s a quick way to say thanks — donate to Return Alive Foundation, United24 or the KSE Foundation, and #StandWithUkraine! This is the best way to invest in freedom and ensure we live in a safe world