Слава Україні!

Artist Statement

While attending the Ukraine Solidarity Campaign panel on March 7, I related to the statement of Panelist Stephen R. Shalom who shared that “It seems inappropriate to even be having a conversation about Ukraine at a time when civilians are being blown apart” (Ukrainian Solidarity Campaign). I have often felt conflicted working on this project, oscillating between feeling too emotional to convey my emotions in an organized manner while feeling conflicted on the ethics of writing about the war while being located in the United States. For context, my father is from Kharkiv, the second largest city in Ukraine located near the Russian border that has been continuously under attack since the start of the Russian invasion (Dorogoy). Kharkiv is still in Ukrainian control, despite heavy shelling and air and rocket attacks which have destroyed much of the infrastructure and displaced many (“Ukraine Conflict”). Throughout this time, I often check the news and pray that the war ends soon, that NATO positions enough troops or Putin suddenly has a change of heart. I frequently call my father to hear updates of the situation, as news stories filled with images of war-torn Ukraine have proved too much for me while I try to be productive and stay in Dartmouth. In light of this, I have found that the only way I have been able to process the current situation is by creating art and poetry. Below, I have included a series of four poems, attempting to explore the topics of the complacency with the war in the United States, my personal identity crisis with being a Russian speaking Ukrainian-American, and comprehending violence against loved ones while remaining safe.

“Welcome to Hell” and “Joy”

In my first series of poems with artwork, “Welcome to Hell” and “Joy” I discuss the bombing of Kharkiv. The bottom of the painting shows the cityscape of Kharkiv painted in blue and yellow, traditional Ukrainian colors. At the top, I illustrate the Russian missile strikes with red drops of watercolor. One of these strokes bleeds into the yellow Sun, which overlooks the entire city and yet “didn’t say anything” about the horrors it witnessed in the city. The lights in the city buildings are drawn as still on as the city gets bombed, representing the destruction and deaths of innocent Ukrainians unable to evacuate. The title of the first poem, “Welcome to Hell” or “Добро пожаловать в ад” is a phrase that has been used by Ukrainians to describe how Kharkiv looks and feels right now (Министр Обороны и Главком Вооруженных Сил). At the end of this poem, I include the common Russian saying “А на войне как на войне” which directly translates to “And in war as in war.” The phrase initially comes from the French saying “a la guerre comme a la guerre” and attempts to convey the reality of war, with all its hardships and consequences and how in these difficult conditions, people must be able to adapt to them. The phrase was popularized by the anti-war revolutionary song “Как на войне” by the Soviet rock group Agatha Christie (“Как на войне”) and I included it at the end of the poem in hopes of conveying the contrasting reality that I live in with the reality of an all-encompassing war that Ukrainians are living through. In the poem “Joy” I attempt to portray the perspective of a Kharkiv soldier while also referencing the greater implications of Russian drone warfare. The one-sidedness of drone warfare and drone’s ability to “project power without projecting vulnerability” (Chamayou) makes them an especially dangerous weapon, endangering soldiers and civilians alike who remain powerless to their “godly” power. The poem was also inspired by a passage from Wafaa Bilal’s book Shoot An Iraqi where Bilal speaks on U.S. drone strikes from the perspective of Iraqi soldiers (Bilal).

“Російський”

In my second set of poems, I consider the impacts of the erasure of Ukrainian culture and language by the Soviet Union. Before I speak about the poem, I think it is important to understand the history behind Soviet language laws. The Soviet Union, diverse and vast in size, had over 100 nationalities and ethnicities, both large and small. In the 1920s, the new Bolshevik government headed by Lenin advanced policy that allowed for the use of local languages in schools with the goal of securing the loyalty of ethnic groups and teaching socialism (Schwarz). However, with Stalin’s rise to power, education in Russian became obligatory in 1938. As Russian became the language of instruction, many grew up not speaking their ethnic language, particularly Ukrainian. In 1956, out of 5,982 titles published in the country, only 2,673 were written in Ukrainian (Ornstein). In 1961, Russian was recognized as the universal language of international communication and education in local languages was completely halted. The Russian language became glorified, seen as the language of socialist construction and of educated elites (Low). Currently, 30-40 percent of the Ukrainian population is Russian-speaking (Hrystak) with Russian as their first language, like my father. Unfortunately, to this day, the language is being used to subjugate and justify war in Ukraine. Just last week, President Putin justified the war by citing the “historical unity” of the Ukrainian and Russian peoples, in part through their language (Bermel).

My poem “Російський” which translates to the word “Russian” in Ukrainian was inspired from a conversation I had during a Ukrainian solidarity rally. After locking myself in my room for two days after Russia’s initial invasion, I exited to go support the rally hosted by the Dartmouth Ukrainian Alliance. The group of students and adults that had gathered on the Green all stood in the snow and chanted various phrases, including “Block the sky!” and “Stop Putin!” as well as traditional Ukrainian phrases such as “Слава Україні!” (Glory to Ukraine!) and “Героям слава!!” (Glory to the Heroes!). The event left me feeling uplifted and hopeful to make a change in the time of a global crisis. I felt grateful to the organizers– many of whom were from Ukraine themselves– for finding the strength to organize a rally in these challenging times. So when I came up to the organizers to express my thanks, I said “Дякую” (thank you in Ukrainian). Because I have no accent and look very much Ukrainian, I saw the students’ eyes light up. They started talking to me in Ukrainian, thanking me for coming to the rally and asking me which region I was from. Being that I only speak Russian and my dad also only speaks Russian, I then responded [in Russian] that my dad was from Kharkiv. As soon as I spoke, everyone fell silent. I had not meant to offend anyone, but I immediately felt the ice. Speaking Russian showed our divide. The students then transitioned to speaking English. This situation, along with other experiences I have had in Ukraine more recently, remind me of the implications of language and the history and evolution of the Russian language as oppressive. As stated by Ukrainian TV host Maria Efrosinina in an interview, “in the past, there were never any issues with speaking Russian, but after this war… it will be shameful to speak Russian” (Rostyslove Production).

“Pride”

For my third poem, I explore where my loyalties and pride lie regarding my heritage as a Russian-Ukrainian American. Until about two years ago when I visited my family in Ukraine, I identified myself as Russian-American (even though I am genetically half Russian and half Ukrainian). What I failed to realize until recently– as I went to Russian school, and a Russian church, with Russian friends– is that being Ukrainian was completely erased from my upbringing. Only later, once my immediate family started visiting my dad’s side of the family in Ukraine, did I get introduced to Ukrainian or “hohol” culture. It is during this devastating time in the world and through this project that I have understood the intricacies and layers of my identity, and my shame in not feeling like a real Ukrainian while claiming Ukrainian ancestry. In “Pride,” I write about the Ukrainian language sounding ugly and seen as less-than Russian, something I discussed in more detail in the last poem’s analysis. When writing about my mother’s actions in the poem, I wanted to emphasize that it was not her personal malice against Ukrainians that she ‘assimilated’ my father’s speech and mannerisms. Instead, my mother, a stately and educated translator raised in St Petersburg, is a byproduct of the systems of Russian hierarchy and oppression against other Soviet republics. My father too, raised in rural Ukraine, is guided by fear and shame, wanting what's best for his children in their upbringing. And their upbringing and experiences culminate in my self identification throughout my life, telling my peers in elementary school in California that I was Russian-American for those reasons and for simplicity's sake. In the conclusion of the poem, I write about being “prideful.” In the two phrases that touch on pride, I attempt to share my disdain and conflicting feelings about how my family and I (and my friend in the poem) subsumed the identity that was more advantageous to us at the time– being Russian then, and now with growing tensions with Russia, identifying with being Ukrainian. For the last line of the poem, “Yet we never were хохлы,” I attempt to express my conclusion that I have never felt like a true Ukrainian.

In the center of the artwork behind the poem is the spirit of Ukraine itself, represented by a Cossack with the traditional “хохол” hairstyle. Хохлы pronounced “hohol” (singular) or “hohli” (plural) technically means “crest or tuft” as in the long sidelock that the stereotypical Ukrainian Cossack hair style features, commonly sprouting from the top or the front of an otherwise closely shaven head (“Хохол”). To Ukrainians, the word is appropriate and used amongst themselves as a form of ethnic self-identification, in order to visibly separate themselves from Russians. However, if not used by Ukrainians, hohol can be considered an ethnic slur which has oftentimes been used to demean and humiliate (Наконечний and Дашкевича). In the background, I also painted the geographical features of Ukraine, including the Pontic–Caspian steppes and St. Michael's Golden-Domed Monastery in Kyiv, the headquarters of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine (Borovkova).

“National, Global Treasure”

For my last poem, I jest about my experience as a fictional representative for Ukrainians and Russians alike during the war. The poem is supposed to be funny and sarcastic, quoting some stereotypical phrases I have heard from my American peers. I attempt to relay that simply having a certain blood and heritage does not constitute me as an expert in foreign relations, and that most of the time, I know way less than expect me to. The line “For my mom is here and not in Russia, Brainwashed like the others” is ironic, both satirizing the fact that all Russians are automatically brainwashed, while also referring to sad truth that many actually face. I decided not to include the nuance that my brother and extended family in Russia have stopped their communication with my family in the states due to ideological differences regarding the war in Ukraine, in hopes of keeping this poem light-hearted. For the artwork, I painted the melding of my heritage’s three flags. Starting from the left side are the Ukrainian colors of blue and yellow which transition into the American flag with the red and white stars and finish with the blue and white Russian flag colors. The blue strokes symbolize the Russian flag and also appear on corners of the Ukrainian flag, showing the imposition of Russian culture onto Ukrainian.