Still standing A year post-invasion, defiant Ukrainians have truly come together to build something, even in the face of Russian atrocities and destruction By: Sarah Lawrynuik Posted: 3:00 AM CST Saturday, Feb. 25, 2023

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 25/02/2023 (1246 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

The images still feel fresh in my mind — of bombs falling on Kyiv, of people crying as they sheltered in the metros, of millions of people boarding trains to flee, kissing their fathers, brothers, husbands goodbye, not knowing if they would ever see them again.

But those images from one year ago, I watched from a distance, on TV and computer screens from the safety of my home in Winnipeg.

This year, on the anniversary of the Russian invasion of Ukraine, I will stand in Kyiv’s Maidan (Independence) Square and take a deep breath in — savouring the fact this country still stands.

Make no mistake, this country stands because of the strength of its people, not because of gaffes and miscalculations made by the Russian invaders, though there were many of those.

Worse than those images of bombs falling in the first days of the invasion were the ones that came months later. The people with hands tied behind their backs and executed in the streets of Bucha and Irpin. The mass grave of Izyum. This immense pain and sadness should have been enough to swallow the country whole, but Ukraine has seen worse, and its people are stronger than hate.

Bearing witness to this chapter in Ukraine’s long and winding history has both broken my heart, and made it completely whole, renewing my faith in the goodness and strength of humans. The Ukrainians who shared their stories through me this year are the epitome of resilience, and defiance.

In the midst of an attempted genocide, Ukrainians have worked to build a stronger country and to care for one another more deeply than ever before. But the immense pain cast on the people of this country will have ripple effects for generations.

Last year, as Russian tanks rolled towards the capital of Kyiv, I wrote in this paper about my fear that Ukrainians would be plagued with the intergenerational trauma that has plagued my family that fled Ukraine for Canada after the Second World War.

That fear, I know now, was justified and has been realized. Nearly every life here has been irrevocably changed.

Kate, 33, a digital design artist living in Kharkiv dreamed of starting a family before the invasion, but is now too afraid to be in such a vulnerable state. She says she is afraid of her phone ringing because she has received too many calls this year of lost loved ones.

Illia, a soldier recovering in the now-overflowing rehab hospital in Lviv, will spend the rest of his life being reminded of this war every time he looks in the mirror as his face shows the burns resulting from the explosion of an anti-tank mine. But he hopes to represent his country one day in the Paralympics.

Nastia, 28, while she raised her infant daughter, watched from central Ukraine all year with the hope Ukrainian forces would liberate her home city of Kherson. But when they did, Russians began shelling the city to such an extent it has become far more dangerous now than it ever was under Russian occupation.

Nastia, this month, made the same decision my grandparents did and she stopped waiting for peace in her country and instead came to Canada.

One soldier told me this year that while both sides of this war have soldiers, one side is building while the other destroys, that’s how Ukrainians differentiate themselves, he said.

That is what I have witnessed in Ukraine this year — the building up of that shared national identity. It’s been an honour of a lifetime to document this chapter in this country’s history. For me, it had the added benefit of helping me to better understand my own family’s history in a deeper and more meaningful way.

I always knew I had Ukrainian roots, but two generations removed, I’d never taken an active role in engaging with that cultural background. This year, I was inspired by the actions of Ukrainians to change that. I’ve begun language classes. This summer my brother and I got tattoos to remind us of where we came from. Sunflowers now dance across my shoulder while the Ukrainian tryzub (the country’s coat of arms) was the national symbol he opted for.

I very selfishly hope to earn the right to truly call myself Ukrainian one day.

This year has changed every Ukrainian — and the country’s identity. I hope they continue to use this horrific destruction to build something beautiful, something even better than before. I hope the world will continue to take notice of this resilience, and I hope to be here to document every step of that effort.

Sarah Lawrynuik is a Canadian-Ukrainian freelance journalist, and former Free Press reporter, who’s reported extensively on Russia’s war in Ukraine.