In Isolation, page 9
But the language of diplomacy spoken by European leaders to the boss in the Kremlin has only now begun to produce any results—after eight months of endless attempts to normalize the situation. Still, there has been no major breakthrough to this day and the conflict looks frozen rather than resolved.
This raises an interesting question. In possibly the most critical dialogues in contemporary history, are all the participants speaking the same language?
Once, on a Ukrainian talk show, well-known Spanish journalist Pilar Bonet 62 asked Ukrainian politicians a rhetorical question that, unfortunately, failed to get the necessary attention. Analyzing and criticizing Europe’s response to the diplomatic moves “Great Russia” was making at that point, among other things, Bonet asked: “Could it be that Mr. Putin is the only thinking politician in Europe?”
When it comes down to it, clarity of messaging, an uncompromising stance toward Putin, and comprehension of his position could become the main means of disentangling of what’s going on in the Donbas today. Bonet’s thinking seemed to be that all of modern Europe’s diplomatic moves were based exclusively in pragmatism and market economics—dry budgetary calculations. For European politics, diplomacy has long since been transformed into just another form of business, one in which minimal risks are figured out on a calculator. The future of European lands is discussed in terms of German pedantry and the cold logic of numbers.
The man running the Kremlin thinks entirely differently. Ever since the concept of russkii mir and “Great Russia” began to become tangible thanks to the actions of its primary proponent, an abyss has emerged that separates modern, civilized Europe and this man, whose ambitions do not fit into the simple logic of enrichment or territorial interests. Russian political and psychological reality is clearly taking on elements of fascism—the same fascism that the Kremlin has long been blaming on Ukraine’s army and leadership.
Let us look at the key themes of russkii mir:
the idea of the “special, historical mission” of the Russian people;
the opposition of its cultural and spiritual environment to anything Western or European, as manifested in the idea of “Great Russia”;
the rejection of a number of international norms and conventions, and a challenge to the global system of collective security by the occupation and annexation of a range of territories.
All this points to the reality that the Kremlin is not focused on trying to avoid sanctions or save the domestic economy, let alone to worry about the Russian soldiers dying in the Donbas.
We’re talking about something fundamentally different—a difference that allows Putin to continue his devastating foreign policy and not consider any personal financial benefit or the reasons why outside forces are putting pressure on him. After all, a person who is standing at the pinnacle of modern geopolitics and sharing that spot with maybe five or six others like him is unlikely to care about adding a billion or two to his multi-billion-dollar personal wealth by shipping and selling coal from the Donbas or the remnants of scrap metal left from the factories here. Nor will he be especially bothered by his extremely low rating in Western countries.
The simplest calculation shows that constantly funding a huge army of militants, spending on social benefits for the “republics” far beyond what can be covered by local taxes, and even just a single day of Russia’s presence on Donbas territory cost much more than any financial gain Moscow could possibly extract from this region. This was really Bonet’s point: Putin’s actions needed to be seen through the lens of history rather than just through the kind of business calculations that underpin the “deep concern” of his European counterparts.
Obviously, the war in the Donbas and Russia’s policy of supporting the militants are politico-ideological choices springing from an idea, not pure pragmatism. But the question is, what is this idea leading to?
For now, Russia’s entire propaganda machine, including elements that operate through local TV channels in the Donbas, is indoctrinating the Russian people and the local population here with an idea that is far removed from pragmatism. Nazism, fascism, and the illegitimacy of the Ukrainian government—all covered by Russia’s “junta” rhetoric—are merely the visible markers that register Russian aggression and provide an image of the enemy’s face.
The key idea is this: linked by the chains of russkii mir, the Russian people, in the broadest sense of the term, play a unique historical role as a counterweight to “decadent” Western society, which has been corroded by the ideas of sexual freedom, consumer economics, and distorted religious ideals. The image of Russia as a great state with a strong, intelligent “protector” like Putin holds minds captive from the top to the very bottom of Russian society, where the ratio of pensions to grocery prices is not much better than it is in Ukraine. This spurs ordinary Russians to think, condescendingly and disparagingly: “Without us, Ukraine is worth nothing.”
With a nonstop flow of propaganda, Putin has created, effectively, an artificial media language, which is now spoken by the 140 million-odd people of the Russian Federation. The Kremlin’s puppeteers have successfully ingrained a thinking in the masses that was previously cultivated by the founders of the Third Reich: “us vs. them,” “friend vs. enemy,” and “Russians vs. everyone else.”
Why are we so shortsighted as to not notice this on the diplomatic front, as the enormous efforts of the German and French leadership fall apart when met with the cynical smirk of the Russian president? Perhaps he really is the only one today who understands that the various parties to this dialogue are speaking very different languages.
August 21, 2015
Ukraїnska Pravda
“Immortal Regiment” at the Victory Day parade in Donetsk.
A Letter to My Country
They say that humans do not exist outside of time. I would like this letter to be not some general impression of things, but a reflection of the time in which it was written. Because, just a year ago, these words would have been impossible, and one year from now, God willing, they won’t be worth the paper they are written on. Allow me, as a person who has, in the process of making peace with war itself, mastered the art of war in its ugliest form—allow me to put together a few statements that most clearly express what is going on today in the minds of people who are Ukrainian citizens on the inside but who live surrounded by the ugly landscape of the DPR on the outside.
1. Nothing has changed in my country.
It’s hard to say this but, I’m sorry, that’s how it is. The country’s façade—redecorated with nice new police uniforms and the ever-present blue-and-yellow colors of our flag on everything but people’s underwear—is not something that is worth giving up your life for. The only incontrovertible thing is this: pathways have opened for us but, so far, no one is taking them. After years of straining to reach the light, my country seems to have frozen in it. Corruption, obvious lies, protection from above, fisticuffs in the parliament, judges who can be bought off, and arbitrary laws—none of this has disappeared. But now it is “us” doing it. It would seem that the time that went by as we struggled will require more patience of us than the changes we fought for.
I can’t help but feel that this could become a widely shared opinion for the next few years, during which our honorable political class will always use the need for more time as an excuse. Of course, here, under the occupation, the sense of justice is sharper; sometimes the few who today view the Ukrainian “mainland” solely on their TV screens desire to eliminate all kinds of things that someone in Kyiv or Ternopil might not even have noticed. We see yesterday’s patriots being used to cut deals as those in power play with them like a child with matches. It’s worth asking if there is a public desire for freedom as a goal, but no consideration of the means necessary to achieve it. If that is the case, then this is the worst dictatorship—one that no longer cares about those who are still alive even as it hides its nature under the sheet covering the dead—those same dead who gave their lives on the Maidan, and the living who remain here in the Donbas. Frankly speaking, though, most of you, my fellow Ukrainians, have already thrown your handful of dirt on us, as mourners do on a grave, which brings me to my second statement.
2. My country is more likely to give up its citizens than its territories.
Again, let’s be frank: the Donbas is just a mirage, while most of you are throwing stones of blame at those who leave the grey zone of the steppe. In the eyes of the rest of the country, we are already guilty, we have all been condemned to a certain degree, because we were unable to keep the Ukrainian flag flying over our land or prevent the deaths of thousands. We are guilty that someone in Cherkasy is shedding tears for a father or son, while those same deaths here in Donetsk are worthless because they are only imitations of the real thing—just phantom pain.
My fellow Ukrainians, be honest: Who among you has not had such a thought cross their mind at least once? We are afraid of them, afraid to say them out loud, and so the machine-gun fire says them for us. Between the young guy writing this letter in Donetsk and Ukrainian soldiers crouching in their foxholes there will always be a dozen excuses found to throw stones at each other. In this case, I ask you: What is the Donbas, after all? Because I don’t believe that you just need our slag heaps, our huge manufacturing plants, the ideological rust that teaches us to love an abstraction of a country without a face or a language, a country that is deaf and mute. But who knows? Maybe that is precisely what Russia wants for us. Maybe they want even more hostility between us, who have a common goal: to see Donetsk Ukrainian. A state can think that way, but we shouldn’t.
I don’t want to compete in counting coffins. I don’t want to know whether you fought at the front or once held a machine gun in your hands or slept in a basement to save yourself from whistling rockets. I don’t give a damn about this. So much time and blood has flowed that death is unlikely to surprise anyone. That may be why I’m not that far from the truth when I present my third statement.
3. My country needs forgiveness; it needs to forgive itself for itself.
We have an external enemy. That much is unquestionable, clear, and understood. But are we going to continue to pretend that geographic origins are just points on a map and that a Donetsk coal miner is the same as a manager from Lviv? No. Cities determine ways of thinking, produce their own heroes, and shape different worldviews. To deliberately ignore this reality all those years was a huge mistake. Now, on pain of death, may God forbid anyone from suggesting that “one country” is just a slogan on a map and that we are actually so different that a map is the only thing to make us one in any way. After all, it is a disadvantage if we are afraid to acknowledge our difference. More than anything else, this fear is the “commodity” that has been traded on and successfully used against us by politicians for a long time now.
In the end, I want to say: Why don’t we start by forgiving each other, without asking “what for,” “why,” “who’s to blame,” and so on? Why not start by forgetting who is a westerner and who is an easterner and start living in a new way, not on billboards with smiling paper faces, but in a truly unified country, where people are so different that they have succeeded when they are able to make themselves one? I would like to start with myself and apologize to all those who still have the honor of calling themselves Ukrainians, because I have a dream (with apologies to Martin Luther King, Jr.): I have a dream where I arrive in our country’s capital and the word “Makiїvka” doesn’t mean anything, or it means no more than “Lviv” or “Frankivsk.”
September 27, 2015
Tyzhden
At a base near Slov’iansk, members of the Ukrainian National Guard carry munitions as they prepare to move in the direction of Donetsk.
The Half-life of the Sovok
“How much longer are we going to have to schlep the Donbas on our backs?” The longer the war goes on, the more often this question is asked in Ukraine.
At one time, the war was like a headache that you hardly noticed because of the shock you were feeling as if from an open wound. Now, as things enter a quiet phase with a nominal ceasefire in place, the public, especially the thinking part, more and more often demands an answer to this question. Because the Donbas means daily spending from the public purse, uncertainty about Ukraine’s European future, and potential deaths and graves in possible future battles.
But the main thing is the uncertainty, especially with regard to those who still carry Ukrainian passports in their pockets while their hearts and minds hanker for the hammer and sickle and the red star. It is hard to quarrel with the fact that people with the mindset pejoratively referred to as sovok 63 reside mostly in the Donbas.
The uncertainty stems from the awareness of thousands of separatists with ideas of Communism, the Soviet empire, a massive revival of the Komsomols 64 in the occupied territory; and of the hundreds of people with Soviet flags ready to die in front of the Lenin monument on the eponymous square in downtown Donetsk just to ensure that it remains standing.
It is the streets named after Comrade Artem, the Red Army, the fiftieth anniversary of the USSR, the fortieth anniversary of the October Revolution, and the twentieth Congress of the Communist Party. It’s also the DPR Communist Party, a serious force here. And all of this on a small portion of Ukraine, twenty-odd years after the colossal “evil empire” seemed finally to have sunk into oblivion. Or did it?
The current war in the Donbas is certainly a war with the past, among other things. Whatever the Kremlin’s plans are, without widespread popular support at the initial stages, separatism would have been impossible. For instance, it’s hard to imagine someone like Hubariev getting on a central square in Lviv and talking about Stalin, Lenin, or Putin to a storm of applause. Moreover, it was not just the old and retired people who gathered in March 2014 for the separatist rally on Lenin Square in Donetsk, as many tend to think, but also those between the ages of forty and sixty, who had lived a big chunk of their conscious life in independent Ukraine.
So what is going on? What does this term sovok really signify, as it drags Ukrainian society down today and tilts it to the southeast?
The infamous Lenin monument probably best illustrates how the words “Stalin” and “Putin” work on people, and explains the red-flag euphoria. This is the monument that some Donetsk locals have passionately protected from removal since February 2014.65
It is important to understand that, when people talk about Lenin and Donetsk, they aren’t talking about Ulianov, the historical Lenin.66 A quick survey on Donetsk streets would show that most residents know about as much about Ulianov as most Ukrainians know about Stepan Bandera—never mind Artem or the Baku Commissars after whom the city’s streets have been named. Ninety percent of what they know is based on clichés found in the media; the rest they learned in school.
The Lenin that proudly towers over the main square in Donetsk and is now beautifully illuminated on the orders of the local “republican” leaders is not the Ulianov who founded the first concentration camps in Russia, presided over the Council of Soviet Commissars, or was the tyrant guilty of the deaths of hundreds of thousands.67
No. For them, Lenin is Kashtan ice cream for 28 kopeks and a warm May rally with their dads in 1979.
In other words, it’s a deeply intimate personal past that has nothing to do with historical truth or reflections about civil war. Yet therein lies the deep connection that works so well in propaganda in the republics today.
Ideas have a limited shelf life, and they are easy to replace. Just like an isotope, all grand notions have a half-life. If all this propaganda had only been about promoting socialism or democracy with a Russian face, it might well have failed. But it is much harder for people to renounce a big part of their personal past when a huge hammer smashes down on the familiar stone image with a cap on its head.
Sovok is more than values that live in our subconscious and present a danger to the unaware. Ideologically, it manifests in a focus on the “bright future”; the less effort it takes to get there, the brighter that future is. In this respect, Ukraine is united in waiting for that future to be brought to us.
The Soviet Union passed on two national ideas to the citizens of the “Great Russian” successor states: “Moscow is the Third Rome” and “I’m getting the hell out of here.”
The former doesn’t threaten us because that place doesn’t exist on the map. As for Ukraine’s EU membership, the impression is more and more that most Ukrainians consider it to be an exit door.
Should it then surprise anyone that even a Soviet people looking around bitterly at their surroundings always looked at the West through rose-colored glasses? Enemies could only be the people who lived in the apartment next door, not “over there,” in the West, with all those Parisian promenades.
The ontology of the builder of a “red future” immediately switches to a ready-made object that has long passed the building inspection. The question then becomes, in this light, has the “civilized” part of Ukrainian society moved that far from the Donbas “savages” who hanker after the sovok?
Not really.
It’s true that you are less likely to meet someone lamenting over the demolition of a Lenin statue the further west you go from the Donbas. But while those in Donetsk see paradise in the past, with its cheap sausages and inexpensive travel, those in Kyiv wait expectantly for paradise in the future, harboring a dream of Europe that is something close to a national neurosis. Europe, with its clean streets and decent health insurance, has become so desirable that the “European future” has taken on the shape of a halo, replacing the hammer and sickle with a circle of stars.
