On the night of Oct. 7, I sat in front of the Ukrainian Ministry of Foreign Affairs with hundreds of others, and I cried. No one noticed, I’m sure; they were too transfixed by the stories being told at the MFA’s documentary performance “Me, Veteran.” The MFA joined with a number of public and private partners, including the Ukrainian Ministry of Defense, non-profits, and cultural leaders to tell the story of veterans returned from the war in the Donbas. Accompanied by the President’s Special Honor Guard Orchestra, veterans stood and described their experiences battling two fronts: one in the east, and one back at home, after their return. On every level, what I witnessed last night was a manifestation of the resilience and commitment to freedom of the Ukrainian people.
As the clock stuck six and the concert was due to begin, the brown-tinged sky unleashed a furious autumn thunderstorm on St. Michael’s Square. Those gathered to watch the performance in the uncovered standing areas popped open their umbrellas and stood by resolutely, as if to say “we know you’ve been through much worse. We can stand a little rain.” As the night wore on and a chill settled in the air, people wrapped their scarves a little tighter and bore down. They were there to bear witness to an act of bravery.
In a country and a culture where weakness – particularly in men, and especially in soldiers – is traditionally frowned upon, veterans who had dealt with devastation at every level stood on a stage in front of diplomats and foreign officials. Voices wavering and sometimes breaking, they told their stories humorously, plainly, painfully.
It was not the stories of lost limbs or of watching in horror as separatists looted the bodies of your fallen brothers that challenged the typical conception of a Ukrainian veteran. It seemed the veterans relayed these experience with a relative amount of ease, as you might expect from someone “hardened by war.” It was in re-acclimating to civilian life and retelling of these stories that the soldiers struggled.
A female veteran described her love of Kyiv. Many of her fellow soldiers resented city residents for their parties, their bars, and their decadence. They resented them for going about life as if there wasn’t a war going on in their own country. But she said it was this freedom and ease that inspired her to become a soldier. “This is exactly what we’re fighting for,” she said. When she returned from the front, she bought herself a pair of sparkly Ugg boots as a reminder of her inspiration.
Despite buying her Uggs and coming home from the war seemingly intact, she still paid for her service, she said. She paid with her self-confidence, her sex drive, her ability to tolerate loud noises, and her ability to love herself. Only when she realized that she was no longer the 19-year-old Caucasian-dance-loving woman who left for the war and came to terms with the stronger, older, wiser, more beautiful woman who came home was she able to gradually work toward loving herself again. “I’d like to sing you a song,” she said. “My mother says this isn’t a song, but complete torture. But this torture gives me strength.” The audience sat silently, transfixed, as she let loose a raw and unadulterated traditional Slavic melody, her breath visible around her face. “Don’t wait for me, Mama,” she sang. Tears slid down my cheeks.
I cried again as another veteran described his reinvention of himself upon returning from the war. From the time he was a child, his kindergarten teacher told him he should become an actor, but when he came home, he couldn’t find direction. “I just wanted to live a full life,” he said, haltingly. “I’m sorry, I’m a little nervous right now.” The audience broke out into spontaneous, sustained applause.
At the end of the concert I let the evening wash over me with the sound of the crowd’s minutes-long standing ovation. I couldn’t help but think of my father, a half-Ukrainian, half-Polish American veteran of the Vietnam War. It happened that the concert coincided with the anniversary of his death six years ago from complications of cancer contracted as a result of his exposure to Agent Orange during his service. When I was growing up, and even after he fell ill, my dad didn’t talk much about his experiences at war, probably due to the stigma attached to being a Vietnam vet. Though he had many stories similar to those shared by the veterans onstage yesterday, they died with him.
As Ukraine inches down its development path, undertaking difficult and unpopular market and democratic reforms, the government would do well to continue to tell these difficult stories and to support and embrace those who have made visible and invisible sacrifices in the name of their country’s freedom.
Watch the webcast of the event here: http://mfa.gov.ua/en/press-center/news/51474-nazhivo-mzsopenair2016–dokumentalynij-performans-ja-veteran
Nina Jankowicz is a 2016-2017 Fulbright-Clinton Public Policy Fellow in Ukraine. Follow her on Twitter @wiczipedia. The views presented views and information presented are the author’s own and do not represent the Fulbright Program or the U.S. Department of State.
