It was a surreal moment yesterday when I walked into my local bank and wired some money directly to the Bank of Ukraine to help in their effort to defend themselves against Russian armed forces who’ve come across the border to destroy the very idea of Ukraine. 

Scan any Prairie province phonebook, and you’ll see it littered with last names that end in “sky” “ski” “chuk” “ko” and “yk”.  Canada has the largest diaspora of Ukrainians in the world and Ukrainian culture is embedded into the very fabric of the prairies. Borscht and beet rolls, holubsti and kutia are still standard table fare throughout the prairies. There’s a giant psyanky in Vegerville, and Edmonton’s premier restaurant has perogi/varenyky on the menu. If you attend the Alberta Ballet’s performance of The Nutcracker, be prepared for an eruption of applause worthy of an overtime hockey goal, when the shumka dancers hit the stage.

My maternal great-grandparents were Ukrainians and somehow survived the holodomor. They saw the writing on the wall with Nazi Germany on one side of them and the Soviets on the other-side, they fled to Canada during the war. The horrors and hardships they had to see and endure, were rarely spoke of, they hoped to leave all that behind. When my great-baba was in her later years and in a retirement home she still hid food throughout her tiny little room. Rolled up in socks. Underneath mattresses. Every nook and cranny you could imagine. When you would leave she would stuff hidden oranges or dried fruit into your pockets. As a child I always thought this was just old-age. It wasn’t until I was older that I learned of the holodomor. It was then I understood why she did that. She was still worried some authority would come and take her food, still terrified of starvation. 

My fraternal grandfather was Estonian and imprisoned by the Soviets when they entered Estonia and fled when he got a chance during the war. He too preferred not speak about what happened over there but until the day he passed, he worried about the communists coming for him.

My ancestors have known Russian aggression and I wonder how they would view this latest instance. I doubt they would be surprised?

I know conflicts are complicated and messy, very rarely are they black and white, but in this instance it’s easy to see that if the Russians stop fighting, there will be no more war and if the Ukrainians stop fighting, there will be no more Ukraine.

I’m inclined to tell everyone to “Make borscht, not war.” but in the meantime, while we wait for peace . . . Slava Ukraini!! Heroyam slava!!