Upheaval in Ukraine: A Year of War

This is Part Three of a series of articles featuring a Ukrainian Territorial Guard’s experience in the Russian-Ukrainian War.

“There is no flag large enough to cover the shame of killing innocent people.”― Howard Zinn

Oleg Kaschenko, Fall 2022

When I started writing this column back in the fall of 2022, I felt like a child who procrastinates before every assignment, feeling the stress of the impending deadline hovering over me like the proverbial black cloud. What would I write about this week? What would I write about every week?

Now I have files with ideas, story starters, and slivers and snippets of conversations and anecdotes, all at the ready for a fully actualized column. 

I sat down time and time again this week, mulling over my options for today’s article, but nothing felt right. Every article I began felt like a betrayal as I realized the source of my unsettled feelings. 

This week marks the one-year anniversary of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. February 24, 2022 ushered in a new era in global politics, and even now we are hard-pressed to grasp all the implications this war holds. 

I had to write about Ukraine. 

The students I teach know all about Oleg. They’ve read many of the articles I’ve written about him, they’ve contributed to the GoFundMe page that I created, and they’ve shown genuine concern for his well-being. 

Many times I have little to report to them except that Oleg has spent his time patrolling the forest, setting up training for his Territorial Guard unit, listening for air-raid sirens, and so forth. Amazing that these activities have become almost commonplace. How soon we become desensitized to the harsh realities of war! Is it a defense mechanism to protect us from the horrors of the conflict? Is it a result of media oversaturation? Hard to say. 

My classes made cards for Oleg today; his birthday is next month, but it takes 3 -4 weeks for any mail to arrive in Ukraine. We’re sending a care package to him with civilian clothes, the kids’ cards, and gifts for his mother. 

Today, I had news for them. Oleg, who had spent the last year as a volunteer member of the Territorial Guard, was drafted two weeks ago. Soon, after he undergoes formal military training, Oleg’s compulsory service will begin and he will become a First Defender, an official member of Ukraine’s army. 

My students had lots of questions for me as they worked on the cards. 

“Why do I see Ukrainians on TikTok posting videos like nothing’s happening?”

“Where is most of the fighting happening? Will Oleg go there?”

Unsplash

I am no expert in military policies, war strategies, or weapons details. But I’ve learned so much over the past year, thanks to Oleg’s reporting on his experiences. I know enough to tell my students that for now, the “front” is on the east side of Ukraine and that, yes, it’s likely Oleg will end up there. I let them know that many days in western Ukraine, people may actually go about their business and live their lives, similar to how they used to, but always with the threat of attack looming on the horizon. 

I tell them that there are days when Oleg takes care of the livestock and garden on his mother’s property and, for the briefest of moments, lives in a pre-war past. Rarey, he may eat at a restaurant. 

But I also tell them that just this week, Oleg and his mother were in the town center when they heard air-raid sirens and feared a strike. I remind them of the New Year’s Eve attack when he messaged me from a police car while rockets zoomed over his head. 

To the best of my ability, I explain that this war is an anomaly, a mixture of World War I trench warfare and 21st century hyper-modern fighting with suicide drones and the threat of nuclear war always in the background. 

What I don’t tell them is that Oleg and his squad recently conducted a raid in a monastery of a Russian Church. They found  grenade parts and discovered that one of the monks has Russian Special Ops papers. According to Oleg, there are many monks who work for the Russian army. Oleg and his men called in the Ukrainian Security Services who took the monk to prison and asked him“many, many questions.” So churches, former places of respite and comfort, are now compromised. One more component of their previous lives stripped away. 

I don’t tell them that I call Oleg “David Copperfield” because every time he relates news, rumors, or murmurs of impending initiatives, I hear them on national US news the next day. 

I also keep to myself the fact that Ukraine is the poorest country, economically, in Europe. Teachers make only $100 to $200 a month and make ends meet only if they happen to live in a Soviet-era apartment with no mortgage. 

I refrain from telling them that I nearly got in a fight with a dear friend’s son as he parroted talk radio propaganda that paints Ukrainians as “Nazis” and “corrupt,” unworthy of our aid. I thought of Oleg in that moment, whose main desire is to let the world know that his people are warm, open, innocent, and giving. I protested and tried to explain our personal angle and connection.  Alas, it was to no avail. 

Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe I should have this difficult conversation with my students after all. Maybe I underestimate them, and they are, in fact, ready to hear it all. 

But on this first anniversary of the Ukrainian War, it’s time to take stock of what side of history we’ll find ourselves on when all of this is over. And the more information we have, the better equipped we are to make the difficult decisions and choose our sides. 

One year in, we can’t stop our conversations. Even if we don’t know all the answers, we need to share our questions and insecurities. Otherwise, we will become numb to these horrible atrocities and lose a piece of our humanity. The best scenario we can hope for is one in which our world leaders realize their vulnerabilities and flaws and admit that the lives of innocent people carry more weight than the imagined value of future conquered territories. 

May it be so.