Ukraine in Winter: War and Cold

Pocketful of Stories

It is very cold in Ukraine in the winter.

Image: mbfitzmahan, Winter in Lutsk, 1997.

Today was cold here in the Hudson Valley. It reminded me of how cold I felt in September in Ukraine. Winter is coming to Ukraine. What impact will this have on the people of Ukraine and the Russo/Ukraine War? Many homes have been destroyed and has led to women, children, and the elderly leaving and becoming refugees. Some have traveled to western Ukraine and found places to stay - see my articles on Personal Accounts - and there are up to 10 million refugees that have been forced to escape Ukraine - that is 1/4 of the population of Ukraine!

But, what about those people who remain in the country? I read an article in the New York Times that reported on a humanitarian crisis related to the fact that there may not be enough glass to cover windows that have been blown out of houses and apartments in bombed areas of Ukraine. And what about the concern about nuclear plants? 55% of Ukraine‘s energy comes from nuclear plants. It is no accident that we keep hearing about Russians attaching nuclear plants - the Kremlin is trying to make it very uncomfortable or even deadly for Ukrainian civilians this winter. The issue of ‘nuclear terrorism’ will be a good topic for a later article.

NPR reported that there is a fear that the Russian’s will target the cities’ centralized heating systems. In cities over 1 million, apartment buildings get their heat from heating systems developed during the Soviet Union and all heat comes from heating stations within the city. In Kyiv nearly 600,000 kilometers of pipes warm Kyiv residences in the winter. These central heating stations are vulnerable to missile attacks. Kremenchuk, Okhtyrka, and Kharkiv, already had their central heating stations attacked. Attacking these heating systems would lead to a mass exodus of the cities and potentially result in many deaths.

So, what about this winter? Will the Ukrainians have enough warm places to live? Will they have glass on their windows and get heat from their heaters? Will their heating systems warm their homes?

Lutsk in 1997

Temperatures should reach well below zero degrees Fahrenheit, probably as low as –20 to -30 degrees Fahrenheit. Last year they had snow from November to April.

The early entries of Don’s journal abound in stories of how cold it is. We were cold from the first day we arrived on September 26th. The heat in our apartment did not turn on until October 15th, the date it turned on for everyone in the city. We also were not well prepared. We didn’t know what kind of clothes to take to Ukraine. I am a big fan of the warning, “there is no such thing as bad weather, just bad clothes,” attributed to a Welshman, so we asked what kind of clothes to take to Ukraine. An American wrote to us from Lutsk advising us to bring the same kind of clothes that we would wear in Seattle in the winter. That was wrong. Duane was from North Dakota and never had been to Seattle in the winter where the winters, though rainy, are decidedly warmer than the steppes of Lutsk, Ukraine in 1997.

My happy temperature range is somewhere between 68 to 78 degrees. I know! I am a wimp. I remember being very cold in Lutsk in late September - I would go to bed with all my clothes on. Feeling sorry for me, one of my Ukrainian friends took me to the Bazaar to buy me a fur coat - yes, a real rabbit coat. Katie and I both got one. I would be horrified in the States to walk around in the skins of a poor little bunny, but in Ukraine after I bought my fur coat I finally was warm - warm for the first time in months. My friend Valya told me that during the Soviet Union, everyone was guaranteed one fur coat. Not as a fashion statement, but as a necessity.

From Don Fitzmahan’s Lutsk Journal - 1997

Thursday, September 26, 1997 - the date of our arrival in Lutsk.

It is cold in the apartment. The windows and door to the balcony have been open to air out the paint smell. The university kindly repainted our small apartment for our arrival. Volodymyr assures us that the heat will be turned on October 15th. We crawl into bed under two wool blankets and good firm down pillows.

September 27

We passed the night fairly easily. Maureen was quite cold during the night and vows to layer-up tonight. We have noticed that everywhere we go it is cold. There is no heat anywhere. It turns out that all of Lutsk is heated by one main source of steam, piped through the city’s radiator system. Therefore, nobody gets heat until the city fathers say so.

October 1

Only 14 more days until heat. Speaking of heat, let’s talk about the weather. First, it is colder than home. Daytime temps are in the 40s to low 50s. Night time must be 10 degrees colder. Today is sunny, but everyday up until today has been cloudy, very much like home. It rained Monday, quite hard. Our apartment is in a ten-story, 150-unit building. Our building is one of fifteen such buildings in this area. It is not what we would call an apartment complex, more like a collection of college dorm buildings. In between these buildings are open spaces. They contain playground equipment and a quasi-grassy area. These areas are crisscrossed with walking paths. Some are paved, most are simply worn areas in the sparse grass. I mention this because the rain causes these paths to become muddy. It is a different kind of mud, only an inch or so deep, but very slippery. This mud dries quickly, once the rain stops, but instantly becomes reactivated in the next shower. Cold = holodno and rain = douzhe.

Everyone goes to sleep and I am cold. The tap water is scalding hot, so I sit under the shower until I am sweating from the steam. The bed is my friend.

After class I stop at the main department store in Center to buy a comforter. Both Maureen and Katie have been unable to sleep, being cold and generally uncomfortable. Our sleeping arrangement may need some explanation at this point. We share two rooms, with the three girls in one room and the parents in another. We each have a single bed, with the parents beds pushed together. Each bed came with two thin sheets, two thin, yet heavy, wool blankets, a large feather pillow with a pillow case. The sheets are both flat sheets, not fitted, and are very small, allowing almost no surplus for tucking them in. As a result, they come loose nearly every night; ending up either wrapped around your feet, or on the floor. The blankets are also a bit small, leaving little overhang on the sides. This becomes quite apparent at 3:00 AM when you roll over, tying your ankles up in the disconnected sheet, and exposing your backside to the cold night air. I, the ultimate tosser and turner have learned to sleep as still as possible. We did manage to acquire a few extra blankets. These all-wool blankets, although quite warm, are very heavy. That may explain why I sleep so still at night. It isn’t so much that I don’t move; it’s more that I can’t move. The end result of this is that we have decided to buy one comforter and one large sheet as a test project. Maureen and Katie will test these, and a decision as to what to do for the rest of us will be made as a result. The comforter and sheet cost a total of 64 Hryvni ($38).

October 20

Weather – The past few days have been splendid. It is decidedly cool to cold, but the sun has been out, and the afternoons are almost warm. We frequently ask about the kind of weather to expect this winter. Opinions vary widely, however, this we are certain of - it will be cold and it will snow. Temperatures should reach well below zero degrees Fahrenheit, probably as low as –20 to -30 degrees Fahrenheit. Last year they had snow from November to April. We had a brief snow two days ago. It was very wet, lasted about 15 minutes and did not stick. Even though we brought some cold weather gear, we are already checking out clothing for winter, just in case. (Note: Not much is sold here in Lutsk. There are not many stores - the main location for buying anything is at the outdoor Bazaar.)

The heat – It is now five days since the official “turn the heat on” date of October 15th. In our apartment, the radiator in the kitchen is slightly warm to the touch. In the two bedrooms, there is no sign of heat. We hope this will improve, but as the weather has been mild, we haven’t inquired yet…A nice man stopped by the apartment just before dinner. He brought five additional blankets for us. The heat in our apartment is slowly increasing. All the radiators now feel warm. Nothing is anywhere near hot. Today I was told that last year they closed the university for two months due to the cold winter. My oh my!

November 4

Maureen and Shauna spent the day with Leela, a law student, shopping for warm coats at the big Bazaar, with no luck. The warmest coats seem to be fur coats, costing $400 and up. They returned from the experience discouraged, but mostly cold. A chilling wind had blown through the Bazaar, numbing them to the bone. Back at the apartment, they sat huddled around the oven, shivering and drinking hot tea.

December 19

Cold weather and snow has descended on Lutsk, and it seems that winter is here to stay. The temperatures recently dropped very low (-28C). All the girls now have warm coats. As many as half the female population of the city sport fur coats of some kind. The traditional Russian fur hats are also seen everywhere. They have pull-down ear flaps, but no one pulls them down.

Music and Ukraine

mbfitzmahan. Shauna 1997. Photo negative.

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July 2022 - After 5 months of War, it feels like you’ve had enough. Check the front page of the newspaper, Ukrainian news that in March had its own section at the top of the page, has been relegated to a single article at the bottom. Inflation, pandemic, war, Democrats v. Republicans, assassination, shootings… it is too much. Ack!

And, I wish I could tell you that the Ukrainians are going to defeat Russia in the next few days or months. I cannot. But, let’s give the Ukrainians more time to act as our agents, to fight the war for us. Ukraine is worth fighting for. And the Ukrainians are fighting harder than ever to save their homeland. And, it is a home worth saving - it is a culture that enriches all of us worldwide. And, don’t forget that we are fighting a dictator that has his eyes on more than just Ukraine; he smacks his lips looking beyond.

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1997 Lutsk.

Without movie theaters, a TV or a computer - an evening of making music was the most entertaining part of our week. A troop of students appeared at our door holding gifts of food - baked chicken, Ukrainian bread, and pickles made by grandmother. We didn’t have much room so we gathered in the largest bedroom. A smattering of American music joined our playlist, but most of the music came from Ukrainian and Russian hits. Shauna, having brought her Lyle guitar all the way from Vashon to Lutsk, played Counting Crows’ “Raining in Baltimore” and Lyle Lovett’s “She’s No Lady.” Max took the guitar and all eyes turned to the singer, completely attentive as if he were the most cherished soloist at the concert hall. There was little talking, it was all about music. One evening, a voice cried out, “Tanya, recite Pushkin!” Cheers rose up from the party, “Yes! Yes! Yes!” Tanya shyly looking at her admirers, stood up and began a recitation in Russian. Suddenly, she stopped and looked at me, “Maureen, would you like me to translate?” “No, just continue in Russian.” Tanya recited Pushkin for 30 minutes.

Shauna learned a few Ukrainian songs to play on her guitar. I still ask her to play Vona. “Oh, Mom, I don’t know if I remember it… OK. Let me think...” And, then our memories of Ukraine - of our friends - come strumming out of that old guitar. Out come memories of being stuck together on the Ukrainian-Polish border where Shauna serenaded tired travelers.

Listen to a version of Vona below.

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The lyrics of “A Vona” by Plach Yeremiji seem to apply to feelings of wartime Ukraine.

****

not today for sure tomorrow

friends will share the joy and sorrow

that's the time to drink some wine and chill

some will bring white-petaled asters

life is more than charms to master

yes the life is beautiful and real

and she will

and she will

be sitting sad and still

won’t get drunk

from cheap wine drinking

making sense of what is real

I will sing for her and crystals

shall vibrate not knowing how

with my voice in silent distance

overcome this sadness now

so it happened God knows where

I love her free flowing hair

I love her thin lips and know them well

soon enough the leaves will fall and

we’ll disperse while cities calling

with the voice so Russified like hell

so she will

so she will

be sitting sad and still

won’t get drunk

from cheap wine drinking

making sense of what is real

oh my little girl with sad eyes

oh my golden fate and rest

I continue with my screaming

for the night is bare and vast

An Official Designee

Image: mbfitzmahan. Don Fitzmahan, 1997.

Lutsk, Ukraine. November 1997.

Ukraine Journal by Don.

Today I began the day with a visit to the University Concilliary. This sounds like the role that Robert Duvall played in the Godfather movies (consigliere), however it simply means the administrative secretary. Here, I asked for help in ransoming my two packages from the post office. I explain, in marginal Ukrainian, my situation and then show them a note the post office worker had given me on Saturday. The postal worker had told me to show this to the University staff, that they would understand and comply by giving me the appropriate papers authorizing me to obtain my goods.

It isn't that easy. Some Ukrainians who speak no English seem to enjoy the challenge of the language barrier, but not these ladies at the university. They talk to each other, avoiding to have to talk or even look at me. They don't think I need any such authority, but uncertain of how to explain this to me, they decide to give the papers to me anyway. We walk down the hall where I wait outside a different office while papers are prepared, signatures gathered, stamps stamped, and the fate of Ukraine hangs in the balance. I wonder if they are calling President Kuchma (Ukrainian President 1994-2005). One more trip down the hall and the deed is done. Paper in hand, which I of course cannot read, I exit the University and aim for the post office, confident that I am now an official designee of Volyn State University and the Ukrainian government. I am giddy with power.

Leaving the building, Natashya (Psych Department Natashya) begins to argue with Volodimir (translator/passport agent Volodimir). She is upset about the article about me that appeared in the newspaper this weekend. The editor is a friend of Volodimir's and he, Volodimir, had arranged the interview. Natashya feels that I am due greater respect than this rather frivolous piece, and that my professional status has been undermined. She demands a second article. I explain that it is not important to me, but she is undaunted and leaves in a huff.

Taking the short walk to the post office, I stride in waving my University papers, and my two post office notices. The postal worker takes my two notices and looks at them and then she hands back the neatly completed, boldly stamped, dually signed, nicely-folded official University authorization. "Ne treba," she says. Not needed? How could my neatly completed, boldy-stamped, dually-signed, nicely-folded official University authorization, which took me four trips back and forth to the post office, not be needed? It is a dazed, confused and humbled shadow of a power broker who walks out of the post office with his two packages in hand.

My mom loves anyone who will play cards with her

Image: Carpathian Mountains - Hobbit, Shauna, and Erin. 1997.

1997. November 30

Erin’s journal.

Last night Vasil came over.  We played guitar and ate the varenicky that he brought with him. Varenicky is one of the traditional foods of Ukraine. It's like potstickers but not fried.  My mom love's Vasil.  He played cards with us and there are two major ways to win my mother's heart.  One is to play cards and the other is to discuss learning and philosophy.  I'm sure Vasil would have obliged in the second if there had been time.  Well the card game we played was spoons.  You know when you get four cards of the same number and then you put your finger on your nose and the last person to put to their finger on their nose loses.  Well he had new rules and it was hilarious.  The person to get four of a kind says a word, any word, and then everyone else has to say a word that starts with the same letter that their word ended with. 

TELEPHONE TRAUMA:  To use the telephone I must go downstairs because we don't have a telephone in our apartment.  We have two friends in the building who have phones.  However, Miraslava's phone only works from 7:00 p.m. to 7:00 a.m.  A pain. Nadia's phone works at all hours, however, for a simple phone call to a friend it is too much to ask.  Hence I am forced to use the phone in the downstairs office.  When I get to the office (no- we don't live in a hotel, but our hostel has an office for security reasons or for questions, who knows why), I must ask to use the telephone - in Ukrainian, moshna telephona?  But, the bad thing about this is that once when Shauna asked, the grumpy lady said ‘NO’.  I have never been denied access to the phone, but I have gone there and it doesn't work and have had to wait several minutes while the ladies fiddle with the cord until a dial tone is obtained. Then I dial - it's not a push button, but a turny thing and when I push on it to turn the dialer the wimpy phone starts slipping and sliding everywhere so I have to put both of my arms inside the little window thing and hold it still.  Then when I hear the dial tone, I pray that my English speaking friend is at home.  If they are home I have to listen very carefully 'cause the line is really dirty and there is lots of static. AND, when I start talking in English the ladies that work in the office laugh at my strange language.  But, oh gosh, if my friend isn’t home… Problems.  I have to first of all establish with the person answering the phone, usually the mother, that my friend is not home.  Then I have to figure out when my friend will be home.

A Typewritten Letter

Vashon Island, 1997.

Shauna, long black hair and passion to match, could hardly stand still. Jumping up and down and pacing back and forth, she said, “But, Mom, what do you think Daddy will say?” Shauna was the first of the girls to come home from school. Nearly 16, and bubbling over with excitement, Shauna was my compatriot in lobbying for a new adventure.

“OK. OK. Let’s be really calm when he comes in. Let’s let him tell us about his day, and we can smile and play it very cool. Let’s don’t scare him,” I warned.

“Ok, but what do you think he’ll say?”

We stood in our kitchen looking down over a sweeping grass meadow. Built for our three daughters, five dogs, many cats, and a bunny - Don and I designed this home together. Taking us many years to save enough money and find the right property, we built the house on 10 acres of pine and evergreens in a community we loved more than any we had ever known before. Don and I were the co-producers/directors of this beautiful home. We put all of our dreams in her with a pottery studio in the garage and a darkroom in the large laundry room. Reflecting our love of Japan, we designed half of the house with Japanese shoji and tatami looking out on a manicured Japanese garden. We designed every window, every bookshelf, every wooden cabinet, and every drawer pull. It was a piece of art.

Don and I had developed a law practice on this little island, with me as the attorney and Don as my legal assistant. And we had been able to build a big enough clientele to pay for our extravagant home and to care for our family. We worked out of our home.

But, this bucolic life was going morph into something very different.

Don walked in followed by Robert Redford, our long haired golden retriever who filled with doggy smiles and a wagging tail came to my side to get some attention. Don was full of stories of taking the ferry to the mainland, going to Costco, and eating free offerings of cheese and crackers. “And, then the lady handed me a cup filled with chocolate ice cream and told me, ‘this isn’t just any chocolate this is chocolate from Belgium! Can you taste the little bits of chocolate?’”

Shauna and I stood listening, leaning against the the long kitchen island where the family gathered for making food and sharing tales.

Don, not born into the family yesterday, looked up. He noticed our uncharacteristic silence - a silence seldom heard in our house filled with love, laughter, and energy. “Hey, what’s up with you two? What’s going on? Why are you so quiet?”

Shauna looked at me, and I looked at her. And then it all came spewing out. No self control here. No playing it cool. “Daddy, look what Mom got in the mail. Look! It’s from Volodymyr. It’s from Ukraine. Here read it!” She pushed the creased yellowed envelope across to her dad’s waiting hands.

Don took it and looked over at me. “Go ahead, Honey. Read it,” I said softly. He looked down at the yellowing paper - a typewritten message that he suspected was going to disrupt his peaceful island life.

And after what felt like many years, Don looked up to find two very expectant faces peering at him. Shauna said, “Well, Daddy, what do you think?”

Don, who was used to the passion that only his 4 women could give - his wife and three daughters - smiled and said, “Oh, Sh%#&*%t! We’re going to Ukraine, aren’t we?”

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2022 Lutsk in War: Photos

2022 Lutsk Ukraine in Wartime

Photos by Volodymyr Khomik.  March and June 2022.

Lutsk, a three hour bus ride to the Polish border, appears untouched by the war that is raging in the east.  A pleasant woman merchant sells socks that are scattered on a luggage rack.  The market is filled with produce from the Carpathia to the south and merchants wait for customers.   The woman shopping in the market with her ubiquitous white plastic bag looks similar to someone I might see in Seattle in the summertime.

Underneath a peace, lies the beast of fear.  Metal barrigades that line some of the streets are in wait for the enemy.  People stand in line to pray to their saints for protection.  It is what is hidden that is the most revealing.  The prices of the nice red tomatos are high, the streets are empty, and that pain you feel in the pit of your stomach terrified by the invading Russians. Will the government be able to still send you your pension next month?  Will you have enough food for the rest of the week? Should you escape across the border to Poland or stay hunkered down in the safety of your claustrophobic 500 sq ft apartment?

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Flashback - 1997 in Lutsk

Although there are a few inside ‘grocery stores,’ most people shop at the neighborhood "bazaar." This is equivalent to summer farmer markets, only on a much smaller scale and operated year round. 

Photo: mbfitzmahan. Bazaar, Lutsk, Ukraine. 1997.

1997 September. Lutsk Ukraine. Don’s Journal of Lutsk.

In a brick and mortar store, products are displayed behind a counter where you can see but cannot touch the merchandise.  You must ask for everything from a clerk, who will hand it to you for inspection or purchase.  In many cases an item on the shelf is the only one they have. When you buy it, there is no more "in stock."

Although there are a few inside ‘grocery stores,’ most people shop at the neighborhood "bazaar." This is equivalent to summer farmer markets, only on a much smaller scale and operated year round.  Some vendors may have a wide variety of sodas, juices, candy, magazines, etc. while another may have only a small paper bag of mushrooms.  At present, there is lots of produce in good condition.  We wonder what things will be like in December.

At the market we buy some bread, onions, garlic, milk, salt, pepper, and margarine. These, combined with the farm fresh potatoes we received from Volodymyr will make a fine potato soup. With that we head home.  The soup is great. We sit in our little kitchen, eat our dinner and discuss our first day in Lutsk.

Volodymyr Khomyk

May 28, 2022 - News from Volodymyr.

I receive news of life in Ukraine from our friend, Volodymyr Khomyk. We met Volodya 37 years ago when he came to Seattle on a Gorbachev sponsored program to study Don’s program on alcohol abuse prevention, “Here’s Looking at You.”

That was in the mid 1980s - it was a hopeful time as Gorbachev negotiated with Reagan for a nuclear arms reduction and Gorbachev attempted to bring reform to the Soviet Union with glastnost and perestroika. Unbeknownst to all, those would be the last years before the collapse of the governments of the Soviet Union and its Satellite states. Ukrainian independence came on August 24, 1991 - starting with its exciting and hopeful Declaration of Independence and moving through the rocky early years of inflation and attempts to create a liberal democracy. This was followed by the Orange Revolution in 2004 and the Maidan Protests in 2014, which led Ukraine to lean away from Russia and face toward the West. In retribution for turning away from Russia, Putin attacked Ukraine in 2014, occupying Crimea and sending troops to eastern Ukraine. And, now in 2022, Putin has invaded Ukraine with an existential attack that threatens the very survival of the newly formed state on the eastern border of Europe.

Volodymyr lives in Lutsk, a small city of 200,000. That is where we lived, worked, and studied for a year in 1997-98. Volodymyr was our sponsor who was instrumental in bringing us to Ukraine. A professor of psychology, he recommended to the Dean of the Law School that he hire me to teach comparative law at the Lesya Ukrainka Volyn National University.

For an expat, the best experience from life abroad is when you meet a local who acts as your conduit to life in the community. It doesn’t happen very often, but when it does it brings to you the joy of living in a foreign place and feeling like you belong. Volodymyr was a guide to the practical things like where to buy food and where to pay your bills. He showed us how to use the local transportation - how to get to work and to school. He introduced us to our neighbors who took us out to the forest for a lunch of shashleek. He introduced me to some artists in town who took me into the Volyn Studio where I developed film, and made friends where we drink lots of vodka, laughed and shared stories. He introduced me to dissidents and judges. And despite not speaking Ukrainian or Russian, we made friends and got to know Ukraine.

As of the end of May 2022, Volodymyr wrote to me that he receives a small monthly pension, $150 - well below what he needs to buy basic goods. He writes that the value of the Ukrainian currency, has gone down considerably. Food prices have gone up and he must pay public utilities for his apartment. Factories and other industries are “constantly reducing,” he writes. “We are getting many products - foods from Western Europe - but I now have almost no food.” He wrote that he was writing “under the loud sound of an air raid warning siren.”

It is particularly hard for the elderly in Ukraine, especially the elderly like Volodymyr who have no family. The only family Volodymyr had when we first met him was his elderly mother who lived alone in a small village, “the Great Out of the Way Place,” near the Chernobyl nuclear plant. In 1997 Volodya made regular trips into the village to see his mother and then he came back with bags of fresh produce and meat. She died a few years ago leaving Volodya alone.

On the good side, Volodymyr lives in Lutsk, not in eastern or southern Ukraine which has suffered terrible losses. Some of the elderly in the east have been unable to get pensions and their neighbors have left them behind. Sometimes, families have even had to leave their disabled elderly. Medical facilities closed.

Volodymyr fears the invasion of the Russians. Who will take care of him?

A week ago, Volodymyr wrote, “But in relation to my own health I am still feeling well. Thanks to God.”

Open the other door

Pocketful of stories

A broken lightbulb, a shortage of bread, a corrupt leader…these were things that just were.

1997 Lutsk, Ukraine

Large buildings in Lutsk had massive double doors and though the doors were impressive, inevitably one door was always locked. Lesa Ukraina University had eighteen foot double doors and no matter how many students crowded in and out, they squeezed through one door.  I assumed this was a good way to save heat in the very cold winters.  However, this theory failed in light of the fact that only one door opened even in the hottest summer months.

I asked a friend why the university, the banks, and the department stores always locked one of their double doors.  Looking puzzled, he answered,  “Hmmm.  That is a good question. I have no idea.  We just know that one door will be always be locked.”

The one locked door, a metaphor for life in Ukraine in 1997, is the way things were.  That is the way they have always been.  A broken lightbulb, a shortage of bread, a corrupt leader…these were things that just were.

The Soviet government recognized that people needed a time to complain; complaining was seen as a part of life. And realizing that their oppressed citizens can be a fussy bunch of troublemakers, the Soviet government institutionalized complaining.  The Communist Party set up a regular time for meetings where citizens gathered to complain about the government and their life in the Soviet Union. No one expected change, the people just needed a place to vent. Without a place to complain, the people might revolt.

The Russians made complaining a whole genre of humor and Soviet anecdotes were still apropos.

“A Frenchman, a Brit, and a Russian are admiring a painting of Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden.

The Frenchman says, “They must be French, they’re naked and they’re eating fruit.”

The Englishman says, “Clearly, they’re English; observe how politely the man is offering the woman the fruit.”

And the Russian notes, “They are Russian, of course. They have nothing to wear, nothing to eat, and they think they are in paradise.”

Waiting for someone else to fix a problem was not invented by the Soviets.  Generations of Ukrainians and Russians were oppressed and raised to believe that problems were to be endured. The Tsars did not encourage individual initiative.  A well educated, self starting population might ‘self start’ a new and different government.  If the people could solve their own problems, they might wonder why they still tolerated their repressive Russian, Lithuanian, Polish, and then Soviet governments.

With independence in 1991, the people in Ukraine found less and less comfort in the leadership of the Party (which no longer existed) or the Leader (that was not much different or better than the Soviet one). When the dead Soviet system was replaced by a system of private property, the new state failed to come up with a modern infrastructure, and the old infrastructure decayed.  Apartment buildings crumbled, lights didn’t work, streets were cracked, towns ran out of gas, parks became overgrown.   Hunger, low wages, poor health, mediocre education systems, and corrupt governments were things to be expected.  

What if an individual or a collection of individuals said to the university president, “Why don’t you unlock the second door so that more students can easily come in and out of the university.  It would be safer and easier for all.”

The closed door is a fear of being judged, of being mistaken, of being viewed as different.  The closed door is a photo of the mind of a victim.  Dark and helpless. It is symbolic of a fear to try something new.  To say something different.

The Open Door is open to new ideas.  Sometimes ‘crazy ideas.’  Sometimes dangerous ideas.

Ukraine’s President Zelensky, a former actor, got his start in politics by playing the president of Ukraine on TV. In 2015, Zelensky created and starred in “Servant of the People,” which told the story of a high school history teacher who gets elected to the country’s highest office.

You can watch the show on Netflix. The show highlighted many of the same problems I observed in Ukraine. It is these real problems that the real Zelensky was elected to combat. Now, he has to lead the country in a life threatening defense of his homeland.

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News update. May 23, 2022. Day 89 of Russian-Ukrainian War.

Though it is sometimes difficult to know what news out of Ukraine and Russia is accurate, we know this.

1. Russia troops and planes continue the assault on Ukraine.

2. The Russians were unable to take Kharkiv and the capital of Kyiv and have withdrawn. Though badly damaged, those centers of battle are being repopulated. The Americans reopened their embassy in Kyiv on May 18. For how long we do not know. The Senate confirmed Bridget Brink on May 18 as U.S. ambassador to Ukraine. The veteran foreign service officer was nominated to the position last month by President Joe Biden and she was confirmed unanimously by the Senate.

3. The Russians have shifted their concentration of their military efforts to the east and the south.

4. The Ukrainian city of Mariupol in the southeast has been taken by the Russians after two months of fierce fighting. Mariupol is located between Crimea, which Russia annexed from Ukraine in 2014, and the region of Eastern Ukraine called Donbas, much of which is controlled by Russian-backed separatists. Taking Mariupol is part of the Russian campaign in the south and the southeast to connect the Russian-held areas. By controlling Mariupol, Russia has solidified its land bridge to Crimea and now controls the north shore of the Sea of Azov.

5. The Russians are accused of committing war crimes of killing innocent civilians and raping women. The first trial for war crimes was conducted in Kyiv. A young Russia soldier was arrested by Ukrainians and is on trial for the killing an innocent civilian. The International Criminal Court (ICC) sent a team of 42 investigators, forensic experts, and support personnel to Ukraine to advance an investigations into crimes falling into the jurisdiction of the Court. This is the largest single field deployment by the ICC since its establishment.

6. Military and humanitarian aid continues to stream into Ukraine. On May 21, U.S. President Biden signed a $40 billion bill to send weapons and economic aid to Ukraine in its fight against Russia.

7. As of April 21, over 6.4 million refugees have been forced out of Ukraine. 1/3 of the people have been displaced.

8. Finland and Sweden applied for membership into NATO.

9. In response to American led sanctions on Russia, the Russian Foreign Ministry has drafted a list of 963 US citizens, who are permanently barred from entering Russia, including US President Joe Biden and Vice-President Kamala Harris. Neither Former President Donald Trump nor Senator Mitch McConnell is on that list. No journalists or hosts from Fox News were banned by Russia.

10. On May 15, the Ukrainian group, Kalush Orchestra won first place in the Eurovision contest for their song, "Stefania.” The Russian contestants were banned from the contest.

HIDE YOUR PAPERS UNDER THE POTATOES

mbfitzmahan. Volodymyr Kovalchuk. Lutsk, Ukraine. 1997.

FALL 1997

A man came to the KGB office.  He looked frightened.  ‘My talking parrot has disappeared.’ The agent was confused.  “That’s not the kind of case we handle here. Why don’t you go to the police?’ The man frowned, “I know that, but I am here to tell you officially that I disagree with the parrot.”  

Viktor was a man who liked a joke.  On my first day at the university, Viktor, the dean of the law school, took my hand and smiled,  “I am happy you are here to help us get a new perspective.  A class in comparative law is just what we need. I must warn you, though, we have no textbooks, no printer, and no computers.  Sometimes we don’t even have lights,” he laughed.   This time he wasn’t joking.

I came prepared to teach about American and European law, but I didn’t know anything about Ukrainian law.  There was nothing  written in English so I asked Viktor if he would introduce me to an attorney who could teach me a little something about Ukrainian law. “Hmmm,” he pondered.  “I know!  I will introduce you to Volodymyr.  He’ll know what to do.”

Volodymyr Kovalchuk was neither a professor nor a lawyer.   I wasn’t sure why I needed to meet him.  He  looked like an ordinary fellow.  About 5 foot 8 with greying hair, he looked a bit like Martin Freeman in The Hobbit.  He spoke English, but not fluently.  How was this kind, simple man going to help me?

A retired communist bureaucrat, Volodymyr was a member of the Communist Party, one of a chosen few.  In the late 1980s less than 4% of the Ukrainian population were members of the Party of the Soviet Union.  Membership in the Party was a hard sought after honor that brought guarantees for a better job, better living quarters, and a better life.

This unassuming looking man held massive power to decide who got a passport or who did not. Many people owed Volodymyr.  In Ukraine, who you knew and who owed you, were valuable commodities. A passport, a propiska, was a valuable asset when the State restricted personal movement.  A passport was needed not only to travel abroad (a rare privilege), but to travel within the country – to take a trip to Kyiv, Moscow, or even to your Aunt Natasha’s in L’viv.  To get a place to live, a job, or to attend a university, you needed to produce your propiska.   

Volodymyr Kovalchuk‘s Communist Party Membership book.

I shook hands with Volodymr and exchanged the requisite pleasantries.  Before I could explain what I needed, he looked directly in my eyes as if to weigh my commitment, “So you want to meet some attorneys.  Do you also want to talk to some judges?”  This would be more than I expected!  Of course I did!  “Do you want to know how the legal system works?” he asked.  “That is precisely what I need to learn. Can you help me?” I asked.  “Well, tell me.  Do you want to know how the system is suppose to work, or how the system actually works?”  He turned to me with that little Hobbit look, “If you want to learn how the system is suppose to work, this will take a couple of months.  If you want to learn how the system really works, this could take us years.”

My modest idea to interview a handful of attorneys turned out to be a complicated, sometimes unnerving, three-year journey into the bowels of Soviet and Ukrainian jurisprudence. When I needed information, Volodymyr knew who to ask.  When I needed to hear the truth, a more intricate and dangerous request, he knew how to find it.

Solely through the interview process with the help of Volodymyr, I gathered volumes of  information on the new legal system of Ukraine.  I ultimately compiled and analyzed the data and wrote America’s first piece of scholarship on the Ukrainian legal system, in particular its flawed court system.  Columbia University published my study under the long title, “Vestiges of Soviet Control Mechanisms in the District Court of Ukraine.”  

I did all my interviewing in the province of Volyn, primarily in its capital, Lutsk.  Between 1997 and 2000, I met with 100 jurists and attended trials and visited jails. I did all this knowing only bits of Ukrainian and Russian.

Volodymyr taught me how to “do business” in his culture.  He taught me to drink brandy in the morning with Judge Milishchuk.  Vodka in the afternoon with the prison superintendent.  “Chut, chut, just a little. Sto grams, 100 grams,” Volodymyr encouraged. He taught me that this was how trust and friendships were forged.  “You must bring a gift, befitting the importance of the official,” Volodymyr instructed.  So I took the de rigueur gift of Scotch whiskey to the judge and some cigarettes and vodka to the prison warden.

“Hide your papers,” he advised, “under the potatoes.” Volodymyr revealed the dangers to me that all Ukrainians knew. “Don’t carry around tapes of the interviews. Or your photographs. They will stop and search you.”   “Who will stop me?” I asked him.  “The KGB…I mean the SBU.  They are the same! Absoliutno!” he warned.

Volodymyr Kovalchuk of Lutsk, Ukraine, and my friend of 20 years, died on May 1, 2017. “Volodymyr thought you were a very noble person,” my friend wrote me.  “I saw him about 6 months ago.  We stood outside my apartment and reminisced about those years when the Fitzmahan’s lived in our town.”

Many of my friends from Ukraine are suffering.  Jobs have dried up and pensions are not sufficient to pay for retirement.  Many have left and moved to other parts of Europe. Those who could not leave, stayed behind dreading a Russian invasion and feared for their survival. I will miss my friend very much.  I will miss his humor, his fearlessness, and his devotion to the truth.

Since Volodymyr’s death, the Russians have invaded twice. In 2014, Putin’s troops invaded and occupied Crimea in the south as well as sent in troops to support separatists in the Donbas region in the east. This latest brutal incursion in 2022 comes as a result, in part, because the Ukrainian government has finally begun to move forward from the calamity left by the earlier Soviet/Russian occupation. Ukraine’s corrupt pro-Putin leadership was replaced in 2014 with pro-Europe leadership that made strong efforts to eliminate corruption and solidify a government committed to a liberal democracy including hopes to fix the judicial system. The latest president, Volodymr Zelensky moved to replace corrupt members of the Constitutional Court. Last year, the Prosecutor General indicted Viktor Medvedchuk for treason and attempted theft of government property in Crimea. Viktor Medvedchuk is a friend of Putin and has been identified as Putin’s choice for the next puppet leader of Ukraine.

Number 8 Bus

(mbfitzmahan. Hallway-Lesya Ukrainka University. Film Photo. Lutsk, Ukraine. 1997.)

“Just take the Number 8 bus,” the secretary said. “You’ll have no trouble getting home.” “But all the buses look alike,” I pleaded. “Don’t worry. You won’t get lost,” she said with a charming, yet dismissive smile. “Just look for the number 8 bus.”

Navigating the dark hall to the street, I pulled open the massive wood door. It was October and a freezing wind blasted in from the east seeking me out after its long journey from the Eurasian steppes. It found me unprepared in my modest wool coat.

I worked my way down the icy stairs, walked a block, and found the bus stop. Step one accomplished.

Next, I looked for the Number 8 bus. A gasoline smell sputtered to a stop. I ran to the front of the vehicle and on the pane above the windshield, I saw the important number. Number 8. Step two completed.

Following the dark coats up the metal steps and onto the bus, I put a handful of kopecks into the outstretched wrinkled hand of the driver. He didn’t look up. I didn’t look at him, either. A seat waited for me in the back and half lidded eyes watched me as I tripped over packages and struggled down the aisle to the rear.

“Please, God, let this be the right bus.” The Number 8 bus rattled. It rattled down the road shaded by canyons of five-storied look-a-like buildings.

Brown, black, and grey coats huddled over cracked leather seats. A chalky white knuckle held onto a monster burlap bag. The woman that went with the hand had a face that looked much younger, but her hand told tales of hard work – many washed dishes and many buckets of dirty clothes.

The bus stopped. Once. Twice. Three times.

And then the Number 8 bus turned. It turned left. What? The Number-8-real-bus should have gone straight, down the street toward my five-story building, the university’s Khrushchyovka.

Khrushchyovkas were buildings named after the former Soviet Secretary General, Nikita Khrushchev. Following World War II, with a shortage of housing, Khrushchev ordered that thousands of apartment buildings be built all over the Soviet Union. Elevators were considered too costly and too time-consuming to build. Soviet health and safety standards required all buildings over five stories have an elevator. So…all Khrushchyovkas had five stories, no more and no less. The buildings were re-fabricated concrete pieces of architecture that always looked broken down, but seemed to last forever. Each apartment was 650 square feet, and each unit was expected to share a bathroom with the neighboring unit. The Soviet people were promised that every small family would get one of these apartments.

“It’s true that all of us usually got one of those shabby apartments,” my friend Nora said. “But sometimes we were also ‘allowed’ to share with two or three other families. Everyone lived in one, except the bigwigs and the KGB officers. Those guys lived in much nicer digs with elevators. To paraphrase George Orwell, ‘All Soviet citizens are equal, but some are more equal than others.’”

The bus stopped. The coats and bags shuffled down the aisle and off the bus. I didn’t move. I would be OK, I told myself. I had a prayer pending that the bus would turn around and go back to my road. That’s what the Number-8-real-bus would do. I sat on my own cracked leather seat – in the back, trying not to look the driver in the eye.

The driver turned, in s-l-o-w motion as if he were in an old black and white Greta Garbo movie. Gravel and slush spilled from his mouth. What was he saying? Where were the subtitles? I thumbed through my small Ukrainian-English dictionary. Where was the: “I don’t speak Ukrainian.” But, then that wouldn’t be very useful, would it? How about: “I am lost. Do you know where the university housing is?” And before I could find anything vaguely useful, the driver motioned to me to get off the bus. Then, the empty bus rattled down the road. In the wrong direction.

That must have been the Number-8-look-a-like-bus.

---

In the mid 1970s, Ukrainian dissident, Ievhen Sverstiuk published by samizdat a copy of his book, Clandestine Essays. He wrote, “Before us lies a difficult road of progress.” In 2004, he told me, “I could have written that very same book today and it would still be true.”

The introduction to the book says, “Sverstiuk is aware of the complexity of modern society for which nationalism by itself offers no cure. Yet in Ukraine, argues Sverstiuk, no progress can be achieved unless and until national 'goals are fulfilled. To anyone in the West, these goals (the use of one's native language, freedom in the interpretation of history and literature) may seem minimal indeed. But to Soviet Ukrainian dissenters they are the most important of "non-negotiable demands." (Ievhen Sverstiuk, Clandestine Essays, “Final Plea Before the Court,” (1976).)

Sverstiuk was sentenced to 12 years of hard labor in Gulag Perm #36.

---

Ukraine suffered politically and economically crawling from autocracy to democracy from 1991 to 2014. Soviet dissidents fought for independence in ‘91, but Soviet Communist apparatchiks appropriated the symbols of democracy and were elected the new leaders. They controlled the courts, stole the state’s resources, and failed to build a strong economy or a healthy state. The people got poorer. Vestiges of the Soviet totalitarian state system beset by corruption haunted the inexperienced Ukraine for the next 33 years..

That Number 8 look-a-like-bus is a metaphor for the political system the former apparatchik built after independence. The people were told they were getting on a bus that would go straight to a robust democracy where they would prosper and enjoy the freedoms they watched Europeans enjoy. Unfortunately, the “bus” was driven by men who drove it into a look-a-like democratic system. Independence from an autocratic government does not guarantee that a sparkly new democratic system will replace it.

Lutsk was a poor town.

Lutsk had been the rising star in the West, about 180 miles north of beautiful Lviv. It had a national university, numerous factories, and a nuclear base. Lutsk was a pretty European town with a cathedral and a castle. The Lithuanian kingdom built the castle. The Hapsburgs built the cathedral. Charming Jewish villages once surrounded the town. But in 1997, on the outskirts of town we saw abandoned building projects that had been started by the Soviet government, but after 1991 the Ukrainians couldn’t afford to complete them. Car and bread factories were closed. Massive Soviet apartments had fallen in disrepair and their surrounding parks were barren. The streets were cracked and in 1997 the castle was in ruins, the cathedral needed painting, the factories were closed, and the nuclear base was shut. The Jewish villages had long ago been leveled and the Jewish families were massacred by invading Nazis.

Unemployment was very high. Hope was very low.

However, those people in that little town of Ukraine were a generous and kind people. A Sunday afternoon for a picnic in the forest, a ride on a nearby lake, lunch on the beach, and a trip to a nearby village because “my grandmother grows the best vegetables and she will feed us borsht and fried chicken.” This is how we spent our weeks. Singing and laughing were the appetizers. There was always vodka and dark Ukrainian bread. How we loved living in Ukraine!

That’s what friends do for each other.

mbfitzmahan. Lutsk Bazaar. Film Negative. Lutsk, Ukraine. 1997.

1998.

Pointing to her sketch of a pregnant woman sitting on a turtle, she said,  “See here. It’s my nose. I can’t paint without putting it in.” I bought that sketch, “The Spanish Lady.” For only a $100.  I smuggled the piece out of Ukraine, rolled up in my guitar case.   

On Wednesdays Nora and I would hang out at her studio, which occupied the top floor of an old Soviet government building. “The fucking Minister of the fucking Interior took his bribes right here, right in this room. What a piece of shit!  Of course, the minute the Soviets left, he took his money, in truckloads, across the border.  He went directly to his favorite bank in Switzerland and deposited millions. Very generous guy. He left us this lousy building.”

To get to her studio, I walked up three floors, carefully navigating around pieces of concrete chipped from the broken stairs.  The stairwell was always dark.  “There’s no use putting a lightbulb in the lamp in the stairwell,” Nora scoffed. “We Ukrainians can spot a free light bulb when we see one.” The former Minister had a nice office. Light flooded into the massive room through floor to ceiling windows. The windows looked down over a river and onto the 16th century remains of a castle, the last remnants of a king whose name no one remembers.

Nora and I always drank stale coffee. Thick enough to stand a spoon in.  “It’s Turkish coffee.  That’s what I call it,” Nora said with a half smile.  “It is an excuse for the terrible coffee I’m addicted to.” I brought cookies, from the kiosk around the corner.  The cookies were best dunked in Nora’s coffee.  The bad coffee disguised the even worse cookies.  

Nora smoked. I can still smell the smoke mixed with the smell of bitter coffee. “Here, Maureen, smoke this,” she said as she handed me a cigarette. “It is all we have. You smoke and then you will feel just as disgusting as I do. That’s what friends do for each other. We Ukrainians are depressed. So we smoke and we drink coffee. Unless we drink vodka. But, I don’t have any vodka today.”

Don wrote in his diary, “Nora and Maureen have formed the International Wednesday Art and Philosophy Club.  It is a secret group that does really cool stuff, but I am not allowed to attend.”  That was Nora’s idea, not mine.  But, it was best.  She was quite shy.