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Jatternack's avatar

"They also called Mykola Leontovych a Russian composer, despite the fact that Russians killed him for being a Ukrainian."

And this sentence alone is the epitome of russia, over and over and over again. What they cannot destroy in whole or in part, they claim as their own, and the world eagerly and readily believes it, even as our continued fight for existence proves otherwise. Even as I recognize the same struggles played over and over again today, I did not know Shchedryk was written in Pokrovsk, and every new realization is a stab in a heart I didn't know had enough flesh left for new wounds.

Thank you for this piece, Darya. I have heard various histories of this song many times before, but the strength in your voice and in your writing is in the simple humanity of every single story. Stories others would relegate to the dry definition of "history", something to be studied and not something that was, and continues to be, lived. It's easier to dismiss something as "history", when you don't need to take accountability for living in it now. The daily individual and collective hardships, courage, loss, love. Always I wonder what my family's stories are, but because of russia, I do not even know their names - and it's preserving each and every story you can, like you continue to do, that proves "I sing, therefore I exist".

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Chris Werner's avatar

This was beautiful and heartbreaking. I wept.

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