The morning of February 24th, 2022, is etched into my memory. The news of the “special operation” in Ukraine left me speechless, a wave of disbelief, shock, and profound sadness washing over me. Tears came unbidden. Beyond the immediate horror of military action – the inevitable suffering of innocent lives, the displacement, the deprivation – was a deeper ache. Two nations, so deeply intertwined, two Slavic brothers, had reached a point of such profound misunderstanding and hatred. The bridges of friendship, of mutual understanding, seemed to have been utterly incinerated, destroying all the good that once connected them.
You might wonder why this hit me so hard. The answer lies in my roots, in the very fabric of my country’s history and my own upbringing. We are connected to both Russia and Ukraine not just by centuries of shared past, but by a bond of brotherhood, mutual aid, and support that felt uniquely familial. What truly binds us all, in a way many might not understand, is that we are children of the USSR.
I’m not one for politics. I confess I don’t fully grasp the intricate dance of global affairs, nor do I enjoy debating political topics. So please, don’t judge my perspective too harshly. I was only 12 when the Soviet Union dissolved, and perhaps my memories are tinged with a childlike naivete. Yet, I remember a time when people were genuinely kind and empathetic.
A Time of Shared Humanity: My Childhood in the USSR
I remember neighbors dropping by unannounced, not just to visit, but to borrow a cup of sugar, tea, or salt if they’d run out and it was too late for the store. If a friend or neighbor was in the hospital, people would visit with freshly prepared homemade food, lovingly packed in glass jars.
We built houses together, helped with repairs, planted and harvested potatoes as a community. And in the stores? There seemed to be an abundance of everything – food, clothing, appliances – all domestically produced. The ruble, surprisingly, was a stable currency; in 1990, its exchange rate against the dollar was 1:1.6.
Everyone worked together, rested together, and even participated in community clean-up days (subbotniks) with a shared sense of purpose. And perhaps most significantly, there were no beggars, no stark divisions between rich and poor. Everyone was, in essence, equal. Nationality rarely seemed to matter; if someone spoke Russian, they were considered “one of us,” family.
The Shadow of Change: A Future Marked by Fear?
It’s heartbreaking to witness how times have changed, and seemingly not for the better. It’s terrifying to imagine it could worsen, to fear for the future of our children. Will they be raised on a diet of hatred and anger towards one another, simply because the older generation failed to find peaceful solutions to their problems and differences? It’s a chilling thought that one might soon have to silence their own nationality for fear of condemnation or reproach in the eyes of others.
In recent years, it feels as though fear has become the dominant emotion of our existence. And while I desperately want to cling to hope for positive change, we remain, it seems, gripped by apprehension.