The wall
Honest thoughts from a Belarusian who lives in the West and is married to a Ukrainian, and a new poem.
I’ve been talking about Russian colonialism and violence nonstop for three years, during which my words were read by millions of people all around the world. In an attempt to show the truth, I shared personal experiences of my husband’s family, who became refugees because of the Russian invasion. I translated the stories of Ukrainians who survived the unthinkable horror and those who didn’t. I wrote poetry, trying to reach people’s hearts, and shared facts and statistics to appeal to people’s minds. While I met many supportive and kind people along the way, most of the time, it felt like banging my head against a giant concrete wall. The wall consists of all kinds of “what about,” hypocrisy, ignorance, and petrified beliefs in Russian greatness and victimhood. As the first shock of the invasion faded and people moved on with their lives, the wall only grew bigger, and it becomes taller and thicker with each day. This week, I found myself looking up at this wall and feeling very small, bitter, and tired.
If, in the third year of the genocidal Russian invasion, people expect those affected by it to debate with them about the greatness and importance of Russian culture — I can’t fix their moral compass. If, in the 11th year of the horrific war, a Russian actor who supports it and doesn’t recognize the sovereignty of Ukraine is nominated for an Oscar, and people don’t see anything wrong with it — I can’t make them see. If people who are not Ukrainians and have never lived in Ukraine have unlimited audacity to explain to Ukrainians their own country, history, experiences, and feelings — I can’t make them stop. I can’t do all of that, nor do I want to sacrifice my sanity and health by doing it. I want my Ukrainian family to live in peace in their home. I want Russians to bear the consequences of their actions. I want justice. I want peace. I want to stop being disappointed in the world and humanity. Yet, there is a wall that separates me from that, and most of the days, it seems unbreakable.
Tomorrow is the presidential election in my native Belarus. The results are grimly predictable. After the last election, my family became refugees and fled abroad. Neither of us can go back home, and it's uncertain if we ever can.
A few days ago, I read that a Belarusian girl who was severely beaten during the protests in 2020 and became the hero of the Belarusian uprising was killed on the front in Ukraine. Her name was Maria Zaitzeva. She was only 24 y.o. When Russians invaded Ukraine in February 2022, she joined the International Legion Battalion and trained to be a sniper. Russia helped Lukashenko to stay in power in 2020. Russian riot police were sent to beat and torture the Belarusian protesters, and they did it with unimaginable cruelty. Russians invaded Ukraine. Russians killed Maria because she dared to resist their abuse and fight back.
Last year, I wrote a poem — A letter to reread during difficult seasons in life. I reread it yesterday and felt as if me from the past hugged me in the present. I extend this hug to you:
A letter to reread during difficult seasons in life. Take a deep breath and exhale. I know there are so many things you are worried about. If no one has told you it will be okay, I’m telling you now — you will be alright. You’ll pass through this storm as the smoothest of boats, and dark, murky waves will stay behind. Yes, you will get wet, and you will get cold, but I promise you will see the sunrise. I know it’s scary when you have no control. When you don’t know the next right step. Sometimes, the best you can do is let go. And watch life unfold itself. When you can’t fight anymore — hide. When you can’t give anymore — stop. It’s okay not to be strong all the time. It’s okay to ask and receive help. You are not perfect. You will make mistakes. But remember: You can never fail. You can only learn. And no matter how much the wind made you bend, You will never break. You will only grow. If the season is cruel and you shed all your leaves, If your rivers froze and your heart got cold, Don’t you blame yourself for any of these things. Do what’s necessary to survive. You will bloom in spring.
I can’t break this wall alone, we can only do it together.
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Warmly,
Darya
Email: daryazorka@substack.com
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Extending a huge virtual hug to you, Darya. 🫂🫂🫂 Thank you for your honesty and your beautiful poem.
A question for you about the wall: where does it lie? Is it between you and a cowardly, corrupt, and complicit world? If so, then maybe that wall serves to protect you from people who are not worthy of your time. You have integrity, dignity, and compassion. These traits, I have come to believe, are inborn. You either have them or you do not. (Compassion, though, can perhaps be learned over time and through experience, but usually not through someone else’s words.) Sadly, much of the world is showing us that they prefer corruption, cowardice, and complicity to integrity, dignity, and compassion. Let them be who they are. Your gift lies in your ability to hold light for those who are on the free world’s frontlines. Your physical safety in the US creates a thread of hope for those who fight under unsafe skies and dictatorial regimes. What the western world needs more of today are examples of people who materially thrive *and* have moral compasses; people who are happy *and* treat others with dignity; people who are safe *and* extend a helping hand to those struggling to be free.
You are a bright, warm light in the world. Keep feeding that light and forget about the ones in the dark. They need to find their own way to you. You cannot pull them to you through your actions. Let them go and be the most amazing exemplification of all that is good and positive in the world. Let beauty fill your tank to the point of overflowing. As others have noted, change will come achingly slowly and then all at once. Hold fast and feed your heart for the long haul.
Hugs. It was a long time ago that my family came here, to the USA, from Belarus, Ukraine, and Lithuania for freedom. I'm glad they're not still alive to see this.