Will Russia’s war affect you?
“What’s your sense — do you think Europeans feel they can be directly affected by Russia’s war?” — a Kyiv-based colleague asked us, an international group of academics discussing risk perceptions in times of war. I shook my head: few, apart from maybe people of Poland and the Baltic States, — would contemplate the possibility of losing their loved ones to the Russian missiles.
Malaysia Airlines Flight 17
Paradoxically, Australia, on the other side of the globe from Russia, was one of the first affected by the Russian invasion of Ukraine back in 2014. 27 Australians were on board the shot down MH17 flight on July 17, 2014. Today is eight years since that deadliest airliner shoot-down incident to date.
Vinnytsia and the feeling of “this could have been me”
“How likely do you think someone could feel the risk to their personal safety, living far from the front line?” In that academic discussion with my Kyiv-based colleague, the question seemed abstract. Then a few days ago it became concrete, when three Russian missiles hit the city center of Vinnytsia mid-day, killing 23 civilians.
The immediate, tangible realization of “this could have been me / my mother / my best friend / my child” — changes one’s perception of this war forever. The raw pain, the hatred that follows, the first-hand, direct experience of death — are constant companions of any Ukrainian, every day of the war.
Any city can be bombed any time
“How is your family? Are they still in Ukraine?” — “Yes, they are. My parents can’t leave my sick grandma behind, they are the only carers” — “Oh, are they safe?” — “Well, nobody is safe in Ukraine right now. Any city can be bombed any time. But people learn to live with that risk. They are ok.” — I’ve had this conversation countless times. My words are accurate, descriptive, matter-of-fact. I accept that words are sometimes meant for just that— to inform.
I remember this one conversation with my mum, in the early days of war: “How are you feeling these days?” — “I’m anxious, sometimes nauseatingly so.” — “That is natural — you just went from peacetime to wartime in a course of a week. What are you most afraid of?” — “It’s not so much about fearing death, as about becoming an invalid, or having one of my limbs torn off, or losing someone dear to me.”
In that conversation, I offered to look at the actual risk (largely unknown, but somewhat informed by the recent past) vs our perception of risk (a function of our feelings more than reality), and secondly — to separate those two from the actual outcome of when the risk materializes (death, injury, losing a loved one).
The rational analysis may help with anxiety. I’ve certainly thought in those terms when I made my decision to go home to Ukraine for a visit in September. But I know all well that rational analysis, — soothing as it may be to our distraught nervous system, — is a sham.
My own perception of how safe — or unsafe — my parents are, — is necessarily inaccurate. I accept that. I also accept that every time another Ukrainian city’s hospital, University, or trading center is bombed by the Russians, I’ll experience a cascade of pain, sorrow, hatred, and a very real, raw presence of death.
“You can’t understand”, or the two realities of war — in Ukraine vs abroad
I live abroad, and I am the first one to admit that from afar, it’s too easy to habituate to the war. From afar, the feeling of “this could have been me / my mother / my best friend / my child” gets lost amidst the daily hustle of work, life, inflation, petrol prices, daily news, and shopping for food with zero risk of a missile strike.
I’ve sat in online meetings with Ukrainians participating alongside with international colleagues from the World Bank, academia and more. In the first few meetings like that, I’ve been overcome by the feeling of surreal — grotesque even — gap between the two realities of war: on the zoom screen vs on the ground. What hit me most was the void between the abstract words like “damages and losses”, “risk perceptions”, “Russian propaganda” and so on — and the reality of suffering and death that everyone in Ukraine is experiencing everyday.
To be clear, I am not trying to criticize. It is natural and human to not think about matters that do not affect us directly, and to use abstract words that describe concepts not experienced first-hand. And yet, I do think there’s at least one thing to learn here: priorities.
The war is a master priority setter. I wish more of Ukraine’s international partners took this to heart, and set priorities in the Ukraine cooperation by this principle: in following every action, request, document and procedure, to ask — does this action help Ukraine win this war?
Empathy and compassion, or getting a step closer to understanding
A friend recently told her story of volunteering on the Ukrainian-Polish border. She said most volunteers would come for a few weeks, and stay for months. “I understand why… It’s surreal to go back to my report-writing today when just yesterday I was helping real people, with real problems.”
The feeling of urgence, purpose — and impact — is what makes volunteers stay on. “I’m not surprised this French guy about to open an upscale restaurant in New York, — decided to postpone the opening and rather feed the refugees…”
The reality of war sobers up and catalyzes action, stripping life off noise. Sometimes, it takes showing up in person to feel what it feels like — a war over your sky. I hope that feeling is our guide to fighting for Ukraine.
