My Observations on Ukraine as a Traveling American
Everyone is aware of the beastly trench warfare taking place on the eastern front.
Flying from Warsaw into Rzeszow is only a 40-minute flight. The regional airport is now of global stature. The majority of military supplies from the US and NATO are landing there, then being transported by train and truck to Ukraine. All the visiting world leaders land there, too. Upon landing, there was something profound to contemplate: WWlll.
Why? Because the runways are ringed by Patriot antimissile batteries. Poland is a NATO member; if Russia attacked Rzeszow, that would trigger Article 5 and a full defense by NATO. Game over. Hopefully these batteries will not be used, but the military necessity that they might is sobering.
The Polish towns on the Ukrainian border are orderly and prosperous. Most of the houses are newish, spacious, and very tidy. All are of the stucco over brick variety with slanting roof lines from a second floor jutting out at various angles. Every now and then, an old wooden peasant house appears as if placed there by historians to remind everyone of what used to be. They are all one-story with log and cement siding. The one common thread between them and the newer ones is the use of wood as heat. Huge wood piles are in many backyards and the slowly rising smoke trails from chimneys are the tell-tale giveaway that wood is being burned.
The actual border at Budomierz is a study in economy. There is no buffer between Poland and Ukraine. As you clear one, the next is a car length away. Our driver explained that this was a “modern border” -- no need for the formalities of a no man’s land. There is something vaguely Cold War about this crossing. Humorless guards perform silly tasks like looking under engine hoods and lifting up tire covers in already open trunks. Of course, all documents need to be presented twice. Clearly, no one in either country’s IT department was consulted, because it is obvious that the document scans could be instantaneously shared…but then sovereignty always comes first, even before efficiency.
The Ukraine did not appear that much less prosperous. The houses were a little smaller, a bit less polished, the cars older. It was not until we drove about 15 minutes into Ukraine and turned into a small village that we understood we were not in an EU country. The road became dirt and mud and the many potholes were filled with water. The village’s inhabitants were just finished with church and the mostly older women were short and stooped over. Long gone, however, were cloth coats, as everyone appeared in downy ski jackets. There was a very new, bright and shiny church, right next to the old classic one. In a way it was reassuring that nothing had changed in Ukraine. Rather than pave the road, a new church was the priority.
The Polish charity we are helping, the Folkowisko Foundation, was operating, and even expanding, a clinic for the town and any internal Ukrainian refugees that needed medical care. They had taken over the top floor of what was an industrial or warehouse building, and a first-class renovation was underway.
A few minutes later, a horse drawn cart with two man drove down the street. Our culture shock reached its climax. It looked like a scene out of “Fiddler on the Roof.” Our Polish hosts were totally blasé about it; they assured us it was normal. Of course, real cars drove by and the clinic, while sparce, was clean and had up to date diagnostic equipment.
We drove further into Ukraine heading to Lviv. As we did, a graveyard appeared on our right. Numerous new blue and yellow Ukrainian flags flew in the cold wind. They marked the fresh graves of the town’s young soldiers. These decomposing young bodies are only the latest reminder of why these lands are known as “bloodlands.” Every inch of Ukraine has been fought over for thousands of years. The endless slaughter of both armed defenders and innocent civilians has no end. On the way to this graveyard our host pointed out all the front lines that existed in WWl, then the berms dug by Jewish forced labor in WWll, then a field just outside of town where the Nazis shot all the town’s Jews and threw them into pits. Since there are no ravines on this flat land, I guess any field sufficed.
Onto Lviv, the countryside gave way to suburbs. There were quite a few McMansions; they appeared almost Tony Soprano style: just a bit too garish and large for normal use. The road near Lviv seemed like any other. All the accoutrements needed for modern life: tire shops, fast food, electronic stores, and warehouses of all types. Nothing appeared out of place, except there was some sort of checkpoint/roadblock that everyone was required to go past. The inspection was beyond cursory, just a glance at our car as it slowed to pass.
Lviv was lively. The streets were full of cars and pedestrians with no signs of destruction. As we entered the inner historic core, the familiarity of European cities came alive. Classically-proportioned buildings with ornate facades, wrought iron balconies, and Greco-Roman decorative finishes were all familiar. Because Lviv had no military infrastructure, both the Germans and the Allies left it alone. Something like four percent was destroyed, so it seems to be surviving yet another war intact. Except for the usual great fire that destroyed all the medieval wooden buildings, Lviv has been a continuous home to humanity for thousands of years, tearing down and modernizing along the way, but the DNA of multi-cultural national commerce, education, and culture have remained.
There are plenty of draft-age men here. We learned that the Ukrainian army is now over a million men strong, and at the moment, they do not need any more. They simply cannot train, arm, or deploy any more. (Contrast that with the Russians who are now conscripting women prisoners). So lots of very fit men are walking with their girlfriends or hanging with their buddies. There are soldiers on leave in uniform and they tend to walk around in small groups. There is also a curfew and an alcohol cutoff. Again, we’re told to make it easier for the police to discourage sabotage after dark. Other than that, no observable shortages exist. Restaurants are full and menus are not shortened. Stores seem well-stocked and people are trying on glasses and discussing the merits of this or that handbag. People meet in the fancy hotels and have animated business conversations.
It does seem a bit surreal, as we have an air raid app on our phone in case of incoming missiles. Everyone is aware of the beastly trench warfare taking place on the eastern front. Everyone knows someone in the army that has been killed or wounded. Our tour guide yesterday told us of several friends that are no longer alive.
Lviv is a city for old souls. One can feel the Eastern European sense of tragedy. The poets, artists, intellectuals, people with political and social aspirations who had hopes for a better world, all of which were repeatedly destroyed, shot down, crushed and often violently murdered. Everyone is aware that in days past, the Poles butchered the Ukrainians and that they returned the favor. There is an Armenian presence here too, another reminder of bloodshed and genocide. Lviv was once refuge to Jews they made up a third of the population. They were well integrated into professional and social life. All gone, the ghetto a reminder of Christian intolerance before modern times.
Most of the people we meet are surprised we are here. Very few Americans are in Lviv now. We gently try and explain that we are realists and understand that Lviv is not Bakhmut. That we understand not all Ukraine is a war zone. That we judge the mathematical risk of our being blown up to be near zero. We tell of a head on car crash a few weeks ago on a country road near our town that killed four people probably coming home from dinner out. Life has risks, intelligently judging them is something we have done well…so far.
That’s it for now, more to come as we go back to Poland tonight and work some more with the foundation on refugee relief.