14.02.2024 / Kyiv

In Kyiv, leaving the house means encountering people in uniform—along with all the difficult feelings that arise. My eyes tear up at seeing three boys (boys!) in uniform hurrying down the street outside the bus window. Inside there's an older man in uniform sitting nearby, head bent over his phone, fingers moving with purpose. Those three boys are too young to have been drafted for mandatory service. Are they cadets—or volunteers? Before getting off the bus I turn to the man in uniform and say, "I thank you for your service." Our eyes meet for a moment and I think, how nice to exchange a few words with a nice-looking man.

The russian missiles, on the other hand, come to you: you don't have to leave the house (or even your bed) to hear their booms outside, breaking your slumber prematurely. The chance that you'll survive the missile strikes unscathed—just like all the previous ones—is great. But there is no guarantee.

From my diary, January 23:

I was woken up this morning by a sequence of over 10 (i lost count) loud explosions outside my window instead of my alarm clock. i don't get stressed about it cuz Kyiv has excellent anti-aircraft defense (though that might not last long) but I WAS WOKEN UP BY THE SOUND OF AT LEAST A DOZEN RUSSIAN MISSILES EXPLODING OVERHEAD.

This happens often enough that for me, this is normal. THIS IS NOT OKAY.

The "emergency" phase of the war is over. It's in the past. I've published a book about it. Meanwhile the war is still on and it's HOT. People—our people, i.e., we—are still dying every day. Last Friday a russian missile strike on Kharkiv ignited a blaze that burned an entire family—including children aged 7, 4, and six months—alive.

There was a time when Ukrainians living at home, keeping on with their civilian pastimes—cafes, concerts, kids, etc.—was a form of resistance. If russia is trying to make our home unlivable, then we refuse to stop living… here, at home. Now Ukrainian schools are equipped with bomb shelters so children can keep learning underground whenever there is an air raid alarm. Domesticating a war zone only makes it easier to pretend that you can live under perpetual military assault. Until russia is defeated, every child in Ukraine is a potentially dead child.

From Kevin, an American medic now evacuating wounded Ukrainian warriors, February 8:

Two DOAs. One of them was my son David's age. Whatever hit him blew a chunk of bone right out of his leg—it was lying there in the body bag. His pants were blown apart. They were really wonderful insulated winter pants—much too expensive for a soldier's salary. I thought: somebody really loved this guy.

***

In late 2023, PEN Ukraine and The Ukrainians Media began publishing stories about People of Culture Taken Away by the War. Each portrait is a life in concentrate: compiled from the person's own words, public artistic achievements, and the recollections of their loved ones, it conveys a distinct and irreplaceable human spirit. Perusing these online tributes is like wandering through a cemetery. It reminds you that human lives are not something to be counted. Lives are to be enjoyed, experienced, and shared.

There is something tragic in discovering the passionate patriotism of a composer and orchestra conductor from Kherson or the quiet courage of a nature photographer from the Mykolaiv region through their obituaries. Like in the Greek plays where the hero discovers vital information only after he's made a fatal mistake. This project introduces the world to Ukrainian cultural figures, previously known primarily in their local communities and specialist circles, only now that these lives are complete, their potential extinguished by russian fire.

***

Explosions are a recurring theme in A Kind of Refugee. I write about what they sound and feel like, about the destruction they leave behind. Their sensory residue inhabits my physical memory, making me jolt when I hear a loud sound or exploding in my imagination when my nerves are frayed.

If people need context to appear in a story, then explosions create context. Witness, victim, or casual reader of the news, you are in relation to the explosion. It connects you, halfway round the world, to us in Ukraine.

Technology is often celebrated for its powers to connect you to people, places, and experiences that are elsewhere (you can even exchange flat representations of genuine smiles in real time across oceans and time zones). Though technology's real purpose is to protect you from actual contact. My life is now an assortment of different channels (think TV channels or Telegram channels or channels of water—they don't intersect or flow into one another, they don't see each other, you could only see them all at once from a meta-position). Orientation is a matter of knowing: Which world am I appearing in now?

Explosions bring us back into the same world. They are what we have in common. Not a belief that all sorts of people can love one another and declare their partnership publicly—though why not? Not a fear of future environmental catastrophe (we can hardly agree on observable facts that have already been recorded). Not the battle against Covid—for wars are fought between equals: state against state, groups of humans against groups of humans. Explosions—military ones—are political.

***

We are all in a new phase of the war. It seems to be everywhere—in Ukraine, in Israel, in the Middle East more broadly, in American politics, and onscreen—no matter which channel you're tuned to. But the fight happens at the point of contact—where something touches you. The fight is always much closer to home.

My building Coop in Kyiv has a new Governing Board, officially registered by the state of Ukraine, and I am one of its members. For the past ten days we've been embroiled in a very local war—fought in parallel with the other, big war—with the former Head of the Board and her cronies, who refuse to transfer power. They've asserted themselves through shouting, threats, obstructing access to the Board office, refusing to hand over administrative documents and the keys that provide access to the buildings' water pipes and heating systems. I am getting to know my neighbors.

Did I expect that the hysterical, 73-year-old former Head would literally use her teeth to try and force her way out of the office with a handful of documents as the police stood by? I was even more surprised that our newly elected Head of the Board, a skinny activist who works at a dusty scientific institute, succeeded in physically barring her way. My next-door neighbor, an elderly woman with a youthful spirit, was injured when the former Head of the Board shoved her against the wall. Two days later the police showed up with a report filed by THAT woman claiming that my neighbor(!) had beaten her up.

You can give people the benefit of the doubt as long as they maintain the common rules you've both agreed upon. When you've witnessed a violation of that common ground, and especially when you've witnessed repeated, ongoing violations, then how can you go on acting as you had before? How do you live with your neighbors when they treat you as nothing but a means or an obstruction to their personal gain? How do you live with a neighbor set on destroying you?

***

In a recent essay for The Guardian, Olesya Khromeychuk—author of a memoir about her brother's death while defending Ukraine—shares an uncomfortable story. Once, in front of an audience of a few hundred people, a journalist asked her, "Why don't you join the Ukrainian army?"

It's a question that I've asked myself. Of course, I'm afraid. Even before the fear of losing my life or limbs I am afraid of giving up my freedom.

But those russian missiles are still exploding in my city, waking me up before my alarm clock. Then all day I'm out of sorts. How free am I? I don't even want to talk about the morning explosions, I want to be tough, keep on with my civilian responsibilities without complaining. After all, I've chosen these responsibilities.

Here I am making a personal effort to compensate for losses caused by russia's war on me, my compatriots, and our country Ukraine. I am making an effort to offset the effects of russia's unlawful and unjust actions instead of making an effort toward defending justice, law, and the right of the sovereign nation Ukraine to exist fully and freely within its internationally recognized borders. Instead of making an effort to really make my country livable. THAT is the choice I am making.

Think of those Ukrainians in uniform: When you give your freedom to the Armed Forces of Ukraine to defend your home against attack, you are not leaving it up for grabs for russia.

***

Never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined hearing the history of Kyivan Rus' narrated in English on American television. Prince Oleh, who settled the land where I live now in the 9th century, and Prince Volodymyr, who adopted Christianity in 988 AD, were figures in a secret history I learned as a child in Ukrainian Saturday school. And here I am sitting at home in the kitchen, witnessing a retelling by the president of the rf—in the midst of his country's ruthless war to eliminate Ukraine—to an American media celebrity, all on my computer screen. This is no dream.

And if I change the channel?

Home is something you always need to protect and to defend. When and how did we come to think that we could delegate that constant task to concepts and promises, technology, nuclear weapons?

I do not want to wish for NATO troops on the ground. Is that the only way that Americans will stop playing pretend?

PS There are many things you can do to help Ukraine resist russia's ground attacks and to bolster international political support for Ukraine's fight to uphold its sovereignty and protect its people from russian assault and occupation.

1) US citizens, contact your representatives in Congress and urge them to vote for the 2024 National Security Supplemental Appropriations Act — today and every day until the bill is brought up for a vote. Find your reps' contact info here: www.house.gov

2) Help my medic friend Kevin, who knows which supplies medics and soldiers on the front need most, purchase those supplies in the US to bring to Ukraine. Paypal: kevin.cohen@gmail.com

He's also made a moving video to bring home his point. Watch and share with your communities! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Bb04iRM7_Pg

3) Support the Zli Ptakhy (Angry Birds) combat drone unit, which is simultaneously fighting occupying forces AND advancing Ukraine's domestic defense capabilities, by making a donation to Hero of Ukraine. Paypal: heroesukraine.org@gmail.com (Illia Shpolianskiy) / Other methods: https://heroesukraine.org/en/donate/