The Right to Hate or Why It Is Okay to Cancel
Why every Ukrainian now has the right to hate and how Russia gives us this right with missiles and bombs.
It so happened that now I live in Turkey, the country of the sun, coffee, and baklava. I might as well live anywhere now. Many Ukrainians now live anywhere but at home. This is what happens when your country is attacked.
A few days ago, I was suddenly invited for coffee by the neighbors downstairs, the Turks. It is a habit in Turkey, and it is considered completely normal to suddenly invite strangers for coffee. It took about half a floor of an elevator ride to think it over — and I agreed.
You don’t visit people empty-handed. I was short on time, and I decided to take what was at home. So, an unopened box of legendary Polish chocolates “Ptasie mleczko” by E.Wedel was chosen. It caused some questions from the neighbors, and I had to explain how I got them. I said that a week ago I was in Poland to see my brother, who lives there, and my mother, who took a flight to England through Poland on a refugee program. I mentioned that I had not seen my mother for more than two months before that and that she, my father, and four cats miraculously escaped from Irpin (a city near Kyiv) literally two hours before the Kadyrovites entered it and began to shoot everyone who tried to leave. I also casually mentioned that my father was in the army, and Russian soldiers lived in my parents’ house during the occupation, so my mother does not want to return home alone. Because this is no longer her home. Because it was as if it had been defiled. In fact, this is quite a standard story for Ukrainians. We can even call it happy because we are all alive.
The neighbors expressed their sympathy for what is happening in Ukraine, we exchanged sad glances and began to drink coffee. After a while, the conversation returned to the topic of politics. They complained about the authorities in Turkey, talked about their small seasonal pizza and kebab restaurant in the South of France, and about their dreams of moving to a place “where there is democracy”. Suddenly Alpay (that’s the neighbor’s name) asked:
— In Ukraine, one half of the country is for Ukraine, and the other is pro-Russian, right?
At this point, I choked on my coffee. But they do not follow the political situation in Ukraine, nor should they. I explained that this is not true at all. That, undoubtedly, there are similar sentiments, but these are either elderly people who lived under the Soviet Union, or people saturated with Russian propaganda. However, in any case, their percentage is very far from half. Ukraine and Ukrainians want to be a part of Europe (according to the latest polls, 87% of Ukrainians support joining the EU, and 76% want Ukraine to join NATO). That part of the country has been occupied by Russian troops, and stories about the oppression of Russian speakers are nothing more than fairy tales inflated by Russian propaganda to create the image of an enemy and justify a war of conquest. That no one in their right mind wants to return to the times of the Soviet Union, as well as to live in a place where the “Russian world” came. Look at Transnistria, Abkhazia, Ossetia, Chechnya, Syria, and more recently Donbass and Crimea. These are the places where life has stopped, the mafia and lawlessness flourish, and only the mafiosi and those who are outside the law are good there. Russia is erasing their past, taking their future as well.
Then the conversation turned to the unique climate and nature of the Anatolian region, about Antalya — a city filled with history and oriental flavor with a touch of antiquity. We live in a central but rather quiet area — Zerdalilik. No tourists, no hustle and bustle. No Russians. The latter has become very important for Ukrainians. It is worth mentioning that there is a huge Russian diaspora in Antalya. There are entire areas where you almost never hear Turkish but can hear Russian on every corner.
— But not all Russians are like that, — says the neighbor. — We have Russian friends, and they don’t hate Ukrainians.
Then I realized how difficult it is to explain to another person, out of context, why for any Ukrainian the phrases about “good Russians” or about the fact that “many Russians are also victims of the system” sound at least strange. Probably because their houses are not bombed by Russian missiles, they did not go through the nights with tranquilizers and worry for their parents in a besieged city. Dozens of stories of eyewitnesses who survived hell did not pass through them. They didn’t hear the tremble in their mother’s voice when she says, “Everything is fine,” but you understand that no, everything is not fine. And then, when your own mother says that in the moments between constant explosions she prayed that death would be quick and from a direct hit, there are no shades left in you.
I repeatedly read articles and opinions, especially here on the Medium, that it is wrong to cancel Russians, not all of them are like that, or that they are also victims and they need to be understood and forgiven. Imagine a situation — you are being raped, and someone is sitting next to you and says something like this: “Well, he just has evil parents. It’s not his fault he’s like that. You need to be able to forgive and eradicate hatred from yourself, it devours you. He, too, is a victim of the system. And besides, it’s not always like that. Sometimes he gives flowers. Well, with you too, you know, not everything is so simple. Maybe you offended him with something?” Absurd, right? I must remind you that since the Dark Ages there has not been a single generation of Ukrainians whose life has not been spoiled in one way or another by Russia. And that it's not Putin but Russian soldiers — someone’s brothers, fathers, sons, and husbands — kill, torture, and rape Ukrainians right now.
It became easy for me to cancel the Russians. No, I don’t hate them. Hate is a strong and important emotion that has helped me survive these few months, but this is different. I don’t care about them. I just don’t want to have any contact with them. I don’t care what they think or feel. Perhaps there are those who empathize, protest, or are against the system, but I just don’t care. It is difficult for others to understand, but I have a right to hate and to be indifferent. Just like me, Georgians, Chechens, Syrians, and residents of Donbass and Crimea, many of who have already lost their homes twice, have this right.
I didn’t come to this right away either. I went through a certain path, which can be roughly divided into stages. Apparently, many of my acquaintances, if not most of the Ukrainian society, have come the same way.
The stage of denial
At first, it was hard to believe that this was actually happening. I was looking for justifications. Then there was the idea that these were poor Russian soldiers who were sent to the military exercises and they themselves did not understand how they ended up here. Now we understand that this information was coming from the Russian side. The losses of the Russian army at that stage were colossal, and I really felt sorry for them. At that time, I talked with my friend from Russia, told her what was happening, and urged her to come out and protest. At that time, many people addressed the Russians with similar appeals — Ukrainian and world stars, bloggers, and politicians. Even the president of Ukraine recorded addresses to the Russian people, urging them to stop this and to go to rallies.
At this stage, the dialogue with a friend from Russia looked something like this:
— We are being bombed! A missile hit the house next to mine! Take to the streets! They send Russian guys here, they are very young. An awful lot of them are being killed.
— Terrible. I can not believe it.
The stage of frustration
Needless to say that all this had no result. Rare attempts to protest in Russia quickly came to nothing, while rallies in support of the “special military operation” in Moscow attracted crowds of people. Why did we expect otherwise?
There are two problems here — we judge people by our own standards and we underestimate human weakness.
- On the one hand, I expected from the Russians what I would do, and what the Ukrainians would do. But they are different. In my life, I lived through at least two revolutions and one war. They took away the place where I was born — Crimea. Many of my friends had their houses in Donbas taken away. We, Ukrainians, have a strong sense of justice and we are ready to fight for it. We know that it is the people, whether successfully or not, who govern the country. But not in Russia. They have a different feeling — fear. Their way of solving problems is, at best, to crawl into a shell, tremble and put up signs “everything is not so simple” and “I am apolitical”.
- On the other hand, we underestimated how much they hate us. 83% of the Russian population supports the tyrant’s policies, and most of the opposition simply believes that he is not effective enough in killing Ukrainians (even Russia’s main oppositionist supported the annexation of Crimea in 2014). Another small percentage grieves and worries, but prefers to do it quietly.
At this stage, the dialogue with a friend from Russia looked something like this:
— How are you?
— As before. They’re bombing. Parents cannot leave Irpin. They say it’s not safe. There are more than a thousand victims among civilians already.
— Horrible. I was at my psychotherapist and worked out why I can not come to terms with what is happening.
— …
The stage of anger
The stage of anger came during the occupation of the Kyiv region — Irpin, Bucha, Borodianka. It was then that information about the sadistic violence against civilians, the torture and executions of tied up and unarmed men, about the rape of women and children became public. My parents were almost killed while trying to evacuate.
At the same time, the first victims appeared among my acquaintances, I took the first interview with an eyewitness from Mariupol, and interceptions of conversations between Russian soldiers and their families began to appear. Their wives supported the actions of their husbands, urging them to use protection while raping “Khokhlushkas” (this is how Russians depreciatingly call Ukrainian women) and to kill more children so that they “do not grow up to be Nazis.” At the end of March, I wrote a Facebook post to my future self:
At this stage, the dialogue with a friend from Russia looked something like this:
— Today I spoke with a therapist who works with victims of rape in the Kyiv region and arranged an interview. There are a lot of cases — children, pregnant women, girls, and these are just a few cities. This is terrible. I am shaking.
— Well, it’s understandable, it’s a war. This happens in any war.
— …
— Well, I mean…
— It’s not just any war. This is a war in my home. It could’ve been me.
The stage of acceptance
At some point, I just had to admit that this nation consists of fear and hatred.
They are afraid of everything, and especially of thinking. When they try to open their eyes and analyze the situation, they become frightened and uncomfortable. So they prefer the cozy lie that everyone is the enemy and they are the lifeguard superheroes. The truth is so horrific and detestable that it triggers a defense mechanism. Either shut yourself off or believe in something that will make you feel better.
They hate everyone — each other, the West, sometimes Chechens, sometimes Ukrainians. Depends on who they are told to hate. Opposite things easily coexist in the head of a Russian. They can live in Brighton Beach and hate the Americans, or live in Switzerland for years and praise the Soviet Union while cursing the decaying West. They have been living for decades in a country that regularly attacks other countries and kills tens of thousands of civilians, explaining this by “saving the Russian-speaking population” — and they are comfortable with that. It is normal for them to be a loving mother of three, to be fond of macrame, and to wish “that everyone there in Ukraine would be razed to the ground”. Faith in the rescue mission of Russian troops in Ukraine is easily placed next to the idea of killing Ukrainian children and raping minors. The main thing is to bring a washing machine home or a toilet bowl. Curling iron, panties, dog house.
I have come to terms with the fact that sanctions and McDonald’s closing down worry Russians much more than missiles falling on the heads of newborns. The life of Russians, for the most part, is already similar to life under sanctions, they have nothing to lose. Under the Instagram post of one of the Ukrainian clothing brands, announcing the exit from the Russian market, the Russians were actively indignant — what does the “ordinary citizens” have to do with the war? I politely explained that, in fact, the missiles that kill children and the bullets that kill civilians were bought with the taxes of the people of Russia, who concluded an unspoken agreement with the state “we keep quiet — you don’t touch us.” A certain irakrass125 was outraged that I dare to write something like this in “her great Russian language, desecrating it”. irakrass125 was so outraged that she came to my Instagram account and wrote what she wrote under the post with a photo of a child wounded by shrapnel, adding emoticons to it all.
Every Ukrainian has such examples of communication with the Russians. On social networks, they promise to wipe us off the face of the earth, trample us to ashes, strike us with nuclear weapons, and enter Kyiv with tanks and other attributes of a victory. But at that moment I was struck by this — I was not at all surprised by her behavior. “She’s just Russian,” I thought. I can’t imagine that someone else — a Pole, an Englishman, a Japanese — could calmly react like that with laughing emoticons to a photo of a bleeding child. Even I, with all my right to hate, would not do such a thing, would not be able to gloat over the suffering of a child or justify mass rape, even of an enemy.
At this stage, the dialogue with a friend from Russia is non-existent.
The right to hate and cancel
For myself, I came up with such a thing as the right to hate. I do not know who should officially issue it, or who can determine its boundaries, but I know for sure that every Ukrainian now has this right. I am not calling for hatred or inflicting reprisals, I just ask you not to forget about this right when you talk about “good Russians”, about “victims of the regime” or try to seat a Ukrainian and Russian director somewhere in cultural circles at one round table. When you praise repentant propagandists like Ovsyannikova, when you write about “Russians hurt by sanctions”. And especially when you call for peace and friendship between our peoples.
It is important not to forget that our right to hate has a very strong basis. It was launched into the sky by two thousand Russian missiles fired at peaceful Ukrainian cities. It was provided to us by thousands of child deaths, tens of thousands of peaceful lives taken away and millions of broken, crippled destinies. Our right is nourished by the tears of mothers and loved ones. As much as we would not like to, we have been fighting for this right to hate for centuries.
The hatred of Russians is soulless and groundless. They do not have this right. This is just a way to distract people from their own poverty and emptiness, to consolidate around the idea of an external enemy. Power is built on soulless hatred when there is nothing else — no national idea, no moral guidelines, no future. Make people stupid, deprive them of humanity, make them hate and be afraid to look at themselves in the mirror — and you will get silent accomplices in crime. Oh, Orwell, I’m sorry, but then again you come to mind.
I did not say all this to the neighbors then, I just smiled. After all, it’s really hard to explain. The conversation went on — about cats, dogs, and indoor plants. I would like to come to them for coffee again, as well as to write another article. About the right to love what they are trying to take away from us — for my country, the salty sea air of Odesa, the fragrant herbs of the Carpathians, the smell of a fig tree in the Crimea, and the chirping of wild pigeons outside the window of my house near Kyiv.
But more about it will be later.
Someday.
P.S.: Huge thanks to Nadia Ladna for helping with the translation.
