When I was in early middle school I would watch whatever appeared on Netflix in my free time. Looking back on it there was a lot that I watched for seemingly no reason. I watched all of Futurama, which I remember very little of. I also watched all of the 1970s sitcom M*A*S*H, about the Korean War (which I’m still very fond of). However, most of what I watched were documentaries. It wasn’t tied to any one topic, but I watched all of Ken Burns’ documentaries, which were on Netflix at the time. One of the documentaries I watched, and still don’t remember why I did exactly, was Winter on Fire: Ukraine’s Fight for Freedom, directed by Evgeny Afineevsky.
The documentary is centered around the Maidan Revolution, the 2013-2014 winter revolt against Ukraine's pro-Russian government. Shortly after the conclusion of the Maidan Revolution, Russia invaded and illegally annexed Crimea. At the same time unrest in the eastern Donbas region escalated which culminated in Russia invading Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts late in 2014 in much the same way. The documentary was very influential on me and throughout highschool I’d frequently make reference to it, and to the conflict in Ukraine in relevant essay assignments.
I’d like to begin talking about the topic at hand in earnest by recognizing the slight issue with the title. Ukrainian sovereignty has been questioned by means of war for much longer than just a year. Rather, it's been closer to 9 years. Additionally, Ukrainian culture and identity has been under constant threat for centuries. During the Imperial and Soviet eras Ukraine was subject to both the standard authoritarianism felt everywhere the Russian boot fell, as well as special measures meant to impose Russian culture on Ukraine.
The first I heard that something unusual was happening was in December of 2021. It was reported by most major outlets that Russian troops were massing on the Ukraine border. I didn’t exactly know what to make of this, and that was the same for a lot of people. Even if Russia’s dedication of resources that were being reported were taking place, it wasn’t at all clear that the outcome of it would be war. Over the months of January and February the situation didn’t become any clearer. The State Department and President Biden released statements continually indicating that by their intelligence, Russia was going to invade imminently. President Zelenskyy, of Ukraine, downplayed those reports. We have built a myth in our culture that the kind of thing that we feared, at that time, cannot happen. In the nearly 80 years since the end of World War II, there have been very few wars between two sovereign nations. Though no less important nor devastating, it has been a period defined by civil wars, proxy wars, and rebellions. The low-intensity rebellion in the Donbas was not an aberration from this precedent. However, to think prior to February of 2022 that a high-intensity war in Europe would break out seemed unpredictable. But it did happen, and it happened, in the words of Hemingway, “Gradually, then suddenly.”
Up until the day Putin effectively declared war on Ukraine, I did not think an invasion was going to take place. In the early hours of February 24th fighting escalated in the Donbas, which was followed by Putin’s infamous video announcing the “special military operation.” For me this was the evening of February 23rd. I was with my girlfriend at my subleased apartment just off-campus, from the stoop of the house you could see Norman Hall. Around 7 or 8pm the fighting was reported, and then close to 9pm was when Putin’s message was released. Immediately things had changed. I don’t know quite what it was like to be alive and cognizant during 9/11; but I felt that within an instant, similarly, the global calculus had changed completely. I didn’t go to sleep that night until it was nearly dawn, whatever work I had was postponed as I refreshed Twitter and read article after article trying to glean any new information I could find.
I have a great love for Americans generally, regardless of background or political leaning. Americans are, however, not typically the most globally aware people. The difference in the Russo-Ukrainian War was palpable. Overnight, wherever I went there were suddenly bands of yellow and blue showing solidarity. Marquee signage was changed to poorly written messages of encouragement to the “Ukraine people.” Bumper stickers featuring the flag or trident of Ukraine started appearing. Coffee shops would accept donations to different charities operating in Ukraine. Family members called me asking what I thought about it, and what they should do about it. When Americans catch wind of a global news story you can see it.
Shortly thereafter I heard about UF Ukraine, an organization created by Ukrainian students just after the 24th. They were holding a demonstration at Turlington on the 3rd of March, which I was looking forward to attending. When the day came I took my film camera with me. I only had 12 shots left on a roll of black and white film, but I shot as much as I could.
Ukrainians spoke about their experiences, their families back home, the history of Ukraine, and why Americans should care. Some had lost contact with family members. Others knew they had lost relatives. After people had spoken we marched from Turlington to the Plaza of the Americas. As we marched we chanted in call and response, “Slava Ukraini! Heroiam Slava!” (Glory to Ukraine, Glory to the Heroes). By this time I had run out of photos on my film camera; however, I did take this photo on my phone of Oleksandra Nelson, now the president of UF Ukraine, leading the demonstrators.
I’m not Ukrainian, but these are my experiences from that time a year ago, as someone who cares about Ukraine and the people in it. I count myself as fortunate that this year was merely a year of quiet witness for myself. To me, the Russo-Ukrainian War is merely what I read of it, what I hear of it, and what I see of it. The war has not been the feeling of an air raid siren so loud that you feel it within your body, the suffocating warmth of a fire which has destroyed your home, or the freezing from the lack of heating intentionally destroyed to break you.
For Ukrainians it has been a year of fear, uncertainty, and heartbreak. The Ukrainian Refugee Crisis is the largest European refugee crisis since the end of World War II. Eight million Ukrainians have become refugees in foreign countries (UNHCR). A further 5.3 million are estimated to be internally displaced (IDMC). The Russo-Ukrainian War has profoundly changed the world. Regional leaders have become folk heroes and household names half a world away, to people with no relation to Ukraine. We will look back on names like Zelenskyy and Klitschko in a similarly period defining way that we see names like Wałęsa and Mandela. Solemnity and tragedy have gained new names in crimes committed in Bucha, Kupyansk, Lyman, and dozens of other towns unknown to the world prior to the war.
As the war enters its second year, all that can be asked for is a quick resolution. A resolution with a minimum of bloodshed. And most importantly a resolution to the benefit of Ukraine and its people, and a triumph for international law. The war was one of my personal reasons for joining Gators for Refugee Medical Relief. There is a quote I often think about in relation to GRMR, to Ukraine, and my personal life. I’d like to end with that quote, by my favorite philosopher, Albert Camus.
“On this earth there are plagues and there are victims, and it is up to us, insofar as we are able, not to join forces with the plagues.” - Albert Camus, the Plague
UNHCR, Operational Data Portal, Ukrainian Refugee Situation. https://data.unhcr.org/en/situations/ukraine
Internal Displacement Monitoring Center, Ukraine Profile. https://www.internal-displacement.org/countries/ukraine