A Russian-Americans' Thoughts on the Ukrainian Invasion Essay Example

Day 1:

“Why are they doing this? I do not understand why they are doing this.” These words come from my mother, 20 years an American citizen, but born and raised in Kirovograd, Russia. She looks over at me through the rearview mirror of the car. It is February 24th, the day Russia invaded Ukraine.

I am about 10 feet away from the shore. It could not have been a better day to swim at the lake. The sun shone lazily on the trees as an occasional breeze stirred the leaves. The ground below my feet was soft and mushy. My grandfather and mother are on the shore as my sister is a few feet behind me. I waded my way further in and came across something poking out of the sand. I prodded at it and then decided, as any logical six-year-old, to stand on it. Immediately I knew something was wrong. As I reached the shore, my mother asked me what the matter. I didn’t respond but looked down. My foot was in blood. There was no noticeable start or end. All I could see was red. I started screaming and wailing, becoming inconsolable for everyone around me. I got put in the car, and my memory went black.

Day 3:

It’s 10:30 in the morning. I quickly made myself breakfast, got dressed, and got in the car with my mother and sister. The air is brittle and thin, but the wind is sharp and violent. It’s an awful day to go and stand outside. The 8-minute commute passes in a blur, and I’m standing at the park next to my elementary school. A few children are playing in the park, but more importantly, a group of people holding yellow and blue stands off to the side. Signs and posters are being held, the Ukrainian flag is being flown. My mother walks up to the people that she knows. The grief in the air is palpable. A woman talks about how her family and friends aren’t safe, that nowhere in Ukraine is safe. Her family is hiding in a bunker. Another says that even though she grew up speaking Russian, she will no longer converse in the language. Another talks about how proud she is of her brother for enlisting in the Ukrainian army. A little boy asks why his Granny is being attacked. I wonder why my country is doing this. 

If you sit on cold cement, you will become infertile. If you drink dairy right after you consume seafood, your intestines will clog up. If you go out with wet hair, you will catch a cold. My grandmother loves to chastise me about these things. She doesn't want me to become a typical American. The type of American who wears shorts in the winter does not eat soup and does not know Russian. My grandmother wears fur coats and fur hats during the winter. She swears by 4 meals a day and something sweet with tea afterward. She is the most Russian person I know. As we came back from the rally, my grandmother is standing outside our front door. “They’re saying Russia invaded Ukraine!?” She says with disgust. She and my mother get into an argument, my mom replying with “Russia did.” Soon my grandmother walks off, cross and angry. 

Day 5:

I was about 5 years old when I first started going to Russian School, taught by the wonderful Oksana Vasilievna. Many of my mothers’ friends’ kids also went, so I felt at home. One day in class, when we were learning the alphabet, I was given the letter ж (Zh). We had to choose a Russian word to go with the letter. When my turn came, with no hesitation, I yelled out Жопа! (Zhopa)! Oksana Vasilievna paused and looked at me funny. Жопа? (Zhopa)? I nodded. When she recounted this to my mom, she burst out laughing. Жопа (Zhopa), unknowing to me, meant ass in Russian. I had just yelled out "ass" to a classroom full of 5-year-olds. 

No matter where we went, we were able to find a Russian community. Most of my friends growing up were a part of Russian families. I got to participate in Russian celebrations, like kid's New Years - Утренник (Utrennik) and Russian pancake holiday - Масленица (Maslenitsa). I made Russian dumplings - Пельмени (Pel'meni) with my grandmother, as she talked about growing up in the Soviet Union and her life in Russia. She taught us Russian playground games, which we played with other kids in our neighborhood. We watched the Russian channel on the TV and Russian movies from the ’60s. We sometimes went to the small Russian grocery store and bought kielbasa and candy. Russian culture has been one of the most important aspects of my life, of my identity. It is a vital part that can’t be forsaken. 

Day 10: 

Russia arrests nearly 4,500 anti-war protesters in a Single Day, Russia intensifies artillery shelling on Kyiv, Russia attacks Ukraine nuclear plant as invasion advances. The violence, death, destruction. I stare in horror at the headlines, trying to make sense of what is going on. There is no use in making sense of it. I think of my grandparents and cousins in Russia, I think about my great Aunt and cousins in Ukraine. This is not the Russia I remember. 

My grandfather's garden, the mall with the plastic ice skating rink, visiting the Romanovs grave, cheap ice cream, markets, mushroom picking, sleeping on a screened-in porch, carnivals, the copious variety of juice, and playing on the playground. These are some of the many things I remember from Russia. The air smelled different, people carried themselves differently. I loved it all. Walking down the street was a different experience. There are other aspects I remember as well. I was told not to speak English in the tram since people knew we were Americans, they would act stingy around us. The woman at the airport questions if we were actually my mothers' children, going to Russia because my great-grandmother was dying. It is impossible to keep some memories and disregard the others, but no matter, I have an unbreakable fondness for them.

Day 12:

One day, my mother was reading the newspaper and read the headline “American Men looking for Russian Wives.”. She decided to go to the convention. She met my father there and immigrated in 2002. I haven’t been told much about those first few years, but once she remarked that when she first arrived, she noticed how American highways looked like rivers of red and yellow. 

There came a time when I wanted nothing to do with Russia. I learned of sexist, racist, and homophobic cultural aspects and wanted nothing to do with them. I stopped speaking in Russian to my mom, I stopped trying to be a part of the community. Being told to “be tidy” because “how would my husband feel if he came home to a room that looked like this.”. My grandmother did not speak to me for days after I told her I didn’t want children. I wanted to alienate myself from Russia, live a more “American Life.”. I wanted to have Lunchables instead of rice and sausage for lunch, I wanted carpools and football games, caparisons, and uncrustables. 

Day 15:

“You need to call your grandma and Grandpa before Russia shuts down the internet.” My mom says over the phone. I think about my Dedyshka Sasha, who likes drinking kvass and going fishing. My Tetya Natasha, who makes the best pancakes and soup. How did this happen? From protestors being arrested for holding up blank posters to being arrested for calling the invasion a war, Russia has substantially tightened a grip on media censorship and their people.

There is a difference between supporting a country and supporting its political leaders and positions. Russia is my country, but I stand with Ukraine. This ongoing war starting with Russia capturing Crimea in 2014, has been horrific, destructive, and disgusting. 2.8 million

Ukrainians have fled their homes because of the invasion. Others are staying and taking shelter in metro stations and churches. The casualties are devastating. My entire life, I grew up surrounded by Slavic families. Latvian, Maldivian, Lithuanian, Kergiztanian, Ukrainian, you name it. In my head, there has never been a divide between us. It’s difficult to comprehend the fact that somehow the Ukrainian families I had playdates and birthday parties with are somehow different. That we are now pitted against each other. It’s an abrasive concept.

Day …:

The war progresses with little sign of peace. Russian forces bombard Kyiv, the sky turns red, hopelessness overrides any other emotion. There is no longer day or night, there is just war. But hopelessness can be converted into hope. Hundreds of rallies, go fund me’s, petitions, and organizations raise money and advocate for Ukraine. My mother and I are currently making stickers and selling them to raise funds for Ukrainian refugees, and for Ukrainians staying in their home country. My mother is organizing a baked goods sale to raise funds, making traditional Ukrainian pastries and dishes to sell. It isn’t enough to deter the war, but it is something. 

From the scar on my foot from where I stepped on the bottle in Russia to the dual passport that I hold, my ties with Russia are everlasting. And I am glad that I am Russian. I would not be who I am today if I wasn’t. These past few weeks have been a rollercoaster, through hell, and I can hardly imagine how Ukrainians everywhere are feeling. We can only hope that these next few weeks are a step in the right direction.

Slava Ukraini.