Time to remember

The trouble with living alone is there's no one around to pull you out of a funk, or to make you laugh when you feel like crying. You have to do it yourself and this week that's been hard.

I speak of course of Putin's insane attack on Ukraine. Like most I thought it would be a matter of days before it was over, that Russia's military was so powerful, and Putin so without a drop of human kindness, that it would be a kind of blitzkrieg. But here we are, with the Ukrainians holding Putin off with citizen soldiers and moms making Molotov cocktails. 

I've had a long relationship and love for that part of the world so it's probably not surprising that I've found myself glued to the news the last few days. I vividly remember the people we met in Kyiv, the doctor who examined Ray in the back seat of our van and the young couple who shared cognac and love for Americans as we drove through town. They would be in their late 60s or early 70s now and I wonder how they're doing. My late friend Anne was of Ukrainian descent and I remember her love for all things Ukrainian and Russian, her trips to that country, and her marble izba* that sat in our entry hall while she traveled and taught abroad. 

But those days are long past, and now the world cheers for this distant country and the people who are so willing to risk death to defend it. They speak for all of us who want only peace, to live under rules we make for ourselves supported by the government we chose. 

Putin will never understand this. Democracy seems chaotic to him, something too random and fractious to control, and control is vital to this former KGB agent. He is deeply devoted to the old USSR and relishes its days as the superpower that made us all shake in our boots. He is icy cold, aloof and isolated, and now I fear, increasingly out of touch with reality. 

But there is good news here, and many have recognized it. Ben Rhodes, a former national strategic advisor under Obama, wrote this yesterday:

"In Ukraine, people are showing what it means to risk literally everything for self-determination, sovereignty, and a refusal to be subjugated. We owe them our support in every possible way we can to help them and hurt Putin. But we also owe them the support of changing our own priorities, and making this the moment that Ukrainians and their President forced the world to finally take a long-term course correction."

And Heather Cox Richardson wrote yesterday:

"We are in what feels like a paradigm shift. . . . The Ukrainian people have done far more than hold off Putin's horrific attack on their country. Their refusal to permit a corrupt oligarch to take over their homeland and replace their democracy with authoritarianism has inspired the people of democracies around the world."

To read such words is inspiring, to see the photographs of citizen soldiers awkwardly carrying new and unfamiliar weapons, or newborn babies sheltered in an underground garage, is heartbreaking in its exposure of humanity in crisis. The bravery we are seeing is astonishing and gutting. People who only a few days ago were simply living their lives, are now faced with unspeakable horror, but they move ahead, not shrinking from whatever needs to be done. That is inspiring. It is also very human.

Over the last few years—since Trump was elected—I'm not the only one who has thought and written that we are at or approaching a critical intersection, a turning point. So I agree with Richardson and others who are saying this. The Ukraine invasion is such a clear, indisputable example of evil versus right that it cannot be ignored. Zelensky and the country he leads have shown the world what it takes to be a democracy. Americans shouldn't need that lesson but our prosperity, hubris, and apathy have led us into forgetfulness. It's not too late to remember.

Слава Україні! 

* Izba means room in Russian. Anne's izba was a snow-covered, one-room peasant's cottage made of white marble, about 12" wide and 12" tall with an interior light that made it glow at night. She found it in a junk shop in Leningrad (St. Petersburg).