The price of freedom
A story of a Ukrainian house, my husband’s great-grandfather, and resilience.
Whenever I see destroyed Ukrainian houses on the news or in the footage I translate, my heart fills with so much sorrow and ache. Something deep inside me gets retraumatized again and again by witnessing it. I have a similar reaction when I see people throwing away or spoiling bread, which comes from the generational trauma of famine my relatives went through. Like bread, a house is sacred and means much more than just bricks and walls for people in Eastern Europe. I wrote an essay last year, “The meaning of home in Eastern Europe,” about how a house is the heart and soul of every family. When every generation was forced to start from scratch because of wars, oppression, communism, and Russian colonialism, it was almost impossible to pass on wealth. Those who managed to preserve their houses and belongings and leave them to their children were very fortunate. It is extremely painful to see these houses being vandalized and destroyed by Russians now.
A quote from my last year’s essay:
“Maybe because we’ve been through so much sorrow and grief and had to survive in the harshest conditions, we made our homes cozy, warm, colorful, and inviting. Homes where you feel welcome, where you feel that you belong. Homes that smell of fresh-baked pies, homes that wrap you like a cozy blanket. Homes where you immediately feel like part of a family.”
My husband’s great-grandfather, Mykhailo Kravchuk, was a famous Ukrainian mathematician. He lived with his wife and two children in a big apartment in the center of Kyiv, which he earned through hard work. In 1938, the Soviets (Russians) accused him of anti-government activities and sent him to Gulag. Because of the inhumane conditions and abuse, Mykhailo died there at the age of 49. Shortly after the arrest, his apartment was taken and given to Russians who held high positions in the Communist Party. All the belongings of his family were stolen. His wife and children were forced to move to a tiny room in a poor communal apartment and fought very hard to survive. Eighty-four years later, Russians chased my husband’s family from their home in Kyiv again. If Russians were able to occupy Kyiv, I’m confident that some Russian family would be living in my husband’s apartment as they did in the past and as they continue to do right now in Mariupol, Kherson, Zaporizhzhia, and Donetsk regions. It’s like a never-ending nightmare when different generations of Russians behave absolutely the same.
When I see Ukrainian houses lying in rubble, I see someone’s whole life desecrated and erased. Homes preserve memories, history, culture, and belongings that remind you who you are. By destroying Ukrainian houses and razing entire villages and towns to the ground, Russians wipe out people’s identity, experiences, and the fact that these people existed at all. It’s unbelievable that such barbarity happens in the 21st century and that Russians are allowed to do it again and again. When people look at destroyed Ukrainian houses, they see casualties of war, while in fact, they are looking at a deliberate erasure of Ukrainian history and culture.
I often dream about how everything will be rebuilt in Ukraine when the war ends. I envision the map of Ukraine, and, as if in a fairytale, destroyed houses start to rise from the ground, burned fields and forests come back to life, birds and animals return, and then, when I think about people, my heart drops. No one can bring back hundreds of thousands of those who were killed. Entire families were wiped out as if they never existed. Those who survived carry severe trauma caused by violence and loss. How can anyone rebuild this?
Today is the Independence Day of Ukraine. With each year, this day becomes heavier by the weight of grief and reminds us of the price of freedom – an insanely huge price that shows the bravery of Ukrainians and the cowardice of the world’s leadership.
Today, as the day before, as a century before, Russians continue to loot and destroy Ukrainian houses. Today, as the day before, as a century before, Ukrainians continue to fight and rebuild. Russians thought that my husband’s family would end with his great-grandfather, and they did everything to ensure it, yet his family managed to survive. Ukraine will survive as well, but it depends on all of us at what cost.
Email: daryazorka@substack.com
Follow me on Instagram
Follow me on Twitter
Shop my art on Etsy
Watch the “20 Days in Mariupol” documentary
Watch Frontline PBS documentaries on Ukraine
Donate to help Ukraine: UKRAINE DONATION GUIDE 2024
I don’t know how you, and the entire Ukrainian community can take such pain, over and over. I think some must go crazy, others find a little mental nook to survive in, others fight back with every fiber. I hope someday you can all live in peace, and houses will be homes again.
Another very powerful and poignant piece this week. Thank you Darya. Words do matter, and these bring home the generational cruelty and barbarity of the russian mindset. On my first trip to Estonia, in 1990, I went to find my grandfather's childhood home only to find its ruins. In my wife's home area of Estonia, the fields are dotted by piles of ruins and clumps of fruit trees which were the homesteads of familes deported to Siberia. These ruins are silent memorials to those victims of the Sovietization and rusky mir. We must do what we can to remember, honor and avenge them by supporting Ukraine in its battle today.