This week’s bombardments of Kyiv, the ancient city of my birth, have been so severe that a piece of ceiling fell on a loved one’s head. She says she’s fine, but then again, she always says that to me. I have spent many happy days and nights under her roof, in our past life, when we were yet untouched by war. I know that old paster, those high ceilings, the view from the tall windows, the way the trees whisper at night.
Elsewhere in Kyiv, a building where one of my oldest friends has her home was rocketed. The state of her family apartment is bleak. Like me, this woman once had many Russian friends, most of whom are silent about what Russia is doing to Ukraine. Some are silent out of fear, yet some demonstrate tacit approval.
Our own building remains standing, for now. I try not to think about the possibility that it too might take a hit. What’s the point? Russians want me to fear this scenario, and countless worse scenarios, but why should I give them what they want?
The war goes on.
Vladimir Putin is banking on being able to exhaust his victims, and hoping his de facto allies in the Republican Party will do the rest of the job for him by ensuring that Ukraine doesn’t get the funds and equipment necessary to emerge victorious from this unprovoked conflict. He wants apathy to set in, so he can go ahead and destroy a democratic neighbor.
I keep telling people that should he win in Ukraine, Putin will come for others next. Fascism is voracious and needs a steady influx of violence and destruction. We’ve seen this movie before. Only time will tell if we have learned anything from history.
I spent a big part of the winter holidays helping a good friend, an American volunteer in Ukraine, to raise money for equipment to smoke more Russians.
Recently, someone I used to know from back home got in touch after seeing my posts and asked me if I ever “feel bad” that the money I funnel to the cause results in “loss of life.”
It struck me as a very odd and manipulative question, but I’ve seen many people ask such questions since February 2022, when Russia first launched its mass-scale invasion.
The truth is, war is ugly. But what’s even uglier is shaming its victims – again, Putin’s aggression is unprovoked, a vestige of Russia’s old imperial ambitions; an act similar to an abusive husband’s vengeful attempt to kill his wife for finally trying to leave – when they must defend themselves.
I wish I could tell you that this war could be won without further loss of life. I wish I could tell you that people’s choices in war are easy. That would be a big fat lie, of course, a lie specifically calibrated to assuage people who have never had to make the sort of decisions that Ukrainians make daily.
Far away in my adopted American homeland, my life is much simpler by comparison. I suppose in the eyes of some of my fellow Americans, I could just turn away. Pretend it’s not happening. But while I don’t have exceptional courage, I like to think I’m not that much of a coward.
Because I experienced violence at an early stage in life, long before Putin decided to invade, I know a simple truth: there are times when war is the only answer. I wish it wasn’t the case, I wish there were always better ways, but I’ve seen enough murderous, unprovoked violence up close to know otherwise. It can be hard for other people to accept this, but it’s a cold, hard truth buried underneath our daily comings and goings.
I always considered my memories of violence to be a burden, but in the darkest of times, they have turned into a blessing. They have made my days a little easier.
2024 marks a decade of Russia’s violent aggression against Ukraine. The war many think started in 2022 started in 2014, and what happened in 2022 was the natural conclusion of appeasement, of thinking you could reason with the thug.
It didn’t work out before, it won’t work out again.
Ukrainians didn’t start this fight. But they must finish it.
Image: Magnus Hagdorn