I was 14 years old when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989 and 16 by the time the Soviet Union collapsed in 1991. These events marked a massive shift in the zeitgeist and the only time in my life that it felt like the world was starting to move in the right direction, which was short lived, but the hope was pervasive. I still get choked up when I see the film footage and I have yet to be able to listen to the "Winds of Change" by the Scorpions without crying.
Today, I am reflecting on this anniversary, and the impact it had on me. My experiences are from the perspective of a third generation Ukrainian in America and in no way meant to minimize or overshadow the experiences of those who lived behind the Iron Curtain under Soviet Communism. I hold space for that every day.
The formative years of my life were lived under the threat of nuclear war during the Cold War era from Russia. Watching The Day After even now fills me with dread and panic. Its deeply instilled in my psyche. Perhaps, this is why my generation is the way it is. I certainly never expected to live past 21 and here I am at 51 still alive watching the world crumble as Russia keeps up its reputation of authoritarianism, misery, and destruction in their culture of suffering and death. I have no love lost for Russia, yet hope someday that someday they can experience freedom and democracy, but until that day comes, it is what it is.
I was a bit young to understand the full spectrum of global geopolitics and in-depth history. What I did know is that we were Ukrainian and Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union - the enemy. As a child, I often wondered was - if Ukraine is part of the Soviet Union and Russia is the enemy -- are we too the enemy by proxy? I never even considered what happened to the family that stayed until I started doing genealogical research.
I can only suspect that after World War II and the beginning of the Cold War and Red Scare that much of the family assimilated into American culture publicly whilst we were Ukrainian in our homes, social clubs, and churches. My great grandparents from Ukraine lived with my grandparents and my father. I always wondered why he never spoke Ukrainian - he understood it, but could not speak nor write it even though his parents and grandparents spoke the language. Our side of the family may have stayed more connected to our ethnic and cultural heritage as a result compared to my grandmothers siblings. I didn't know my grandfathers side of the family as well.
After the Berlin Wall came down and the Soviet Union collapsed, Ukraine was an independent country and no longer part of the Soviet Union. I knew this was significant in the geopolitical spectrum, but it also meant that I didn't need to hide our cultural heritage and that we were Ukrainian NOT Russian. I am not going to pencil in the entire history here, just my observations and experiences. It was an interesting time to be alive.
A few years later when I was in college, I worked in the library with two Ukrainian women and a Russian woman. They taught me the good swear words and important things like how to order a beer or vodka and that Ukrainian and Russian are different countries and different languages -- Ukrainian being a language that has at present been banned by Russia more than 130 times. It is wild to me that I grew up with a language in America that had been banned in Ukraine.
our family kept up some traditions especially around food and the holidays. It’s not a holiday without halupkis and kiffels at the very least. My father got a kick out of teaching me how to properly roll halupkis. I remember my grandparents home was always had polka music and Cossack folk songs playing. They were very skilled polka dancers and I have fond memories of Jolly Joe Timmer’s Polka Show and the Festplatz polka tent at Musikfest.
I assimilated more when I was married into a bougie academic family that melded British and American cultures. It was always clear to me that "I married well" and that we were not the same. Even though my former father-in-law is from England, it was still clear to me that I was of a different class that kept trying to play along and pretend that I was a Westerner, but my roots run deep into the perceived wilds of Eastern and Central Europe. It's one of those things that was unspoken, but I never fit it. I tried even though I didn't necessarily want to.
I remember when Russia annexed Crimea in 2014 that is sparked the fire from within. That became more prevalent in 2016 when my grandmother passed away and I became the holder of the family archives -- all the photos, documents, and cultural heritage items in addition to my former mother in law gifting us 23andme ancestry testing for Christmas. A year later, I was divorced and on my own rebuilding my life and reconnecting with and embracing my cultural heritage.
I put together my first ancestor altar in 2019 when I reconnected with my witchcraft roots and was learning about ancestor veneration -- something that I would later learn was deeply connected to our cultural heritage. I started reading books and learning more about Slavic Paganism and I remember telling my parents that so much of the magic was baked into every day life from our Pysanky eggs, the cowbell on the front door, the patterns of linen and various dishware. We are of the Byzantine Rite (also called Byzantine Catholic, Eastern Rite/Catholicism, Ukrainian Catholic) and much of the pagan practices of the days of yore were syncretized and folk magic practices were perhaps forgotten from memory, but became part of every day life.
And then Russia invaded Ukraine in 2022 and the war began and the fire in my blood and that of my ancestors came back full force and its been a part of my daily life whether it be in the form of my ancestral veneration, connecting with creators and friends abroad in Poland and Ukraine, genealogical research, and reconnecting in every way that I can -- whether it be by learning the Ukrainian language, studying history, trying out my grandmothers recipes, and learning new ones. I have also done a lot of ancestral magical and protection work around this over the years.
This research has been enlightening, beautiful, and yet tragic. I have been trying to find the exact villages where my great grandparents lived and what happened to the family members that stayed behind. I remember my grandmother telling me that her family would send things back to relatives at home in Ukraine. I remember this because she told me they asked them to send a motorcycle at one point.
Several members in my great grandparents and great great grandparents generations came from Dźwiniacz Górny on the border of Poland and Ukraine which was later liquidated by the Soviets, burnt to the ground, and those who remained were moved further into Soviet Ukraine. It's wild to think that the house my great grandparents built here still stands when the ancestral village is gone. I am still working out details and tracking down more information and distant relatives abroad. I am stuck on tracking down anything about my surname relatives. I can't even find immigration records, only citizenship papers from my great grandfather. I know he came here when he was 18 years old, which would have put his arrival here around 1911. It has been challenging to find because as I discovered we are also Carpatho-Rusyn - basically indigenous Slavs from the Carpathian Mountains bordering Ukraine, Slovakia, Poland, Hungary, and Romania. I can assume that many records were lost between the wars and Soviet destruction.
Russia is a dying empire and will fall again and I keep a batch of Borscht in the freezer to celebrate that day and I know that what I felt when the Berlin Wall came down and later when the Soviet Union collapsed will come back full force. Until then, Слава Україні! Героям слава!