I spent Christmas Eve huddled in an unheated Lada, just west of
Russia’s border, reflecting. Much of what I had just seen and
heard was difficult for me to accept, let alone understand.
Yesterday, as I sipped on my venti latte from Starbucks, I
reflected again, but this time I was filled with hope.
Over the holidays I traveled to Ukraine as one of 12,000
election observers for the Dec. 26 presidential elections. Before
arriving I didn’t know much. I knew there had been a round of
rigged elections that led to general strikes. I also knew that the
leader of the “Orange Party,” the party that requested
the recount, was Viktor Yushchenko, because I had seen the scarring
effects of dioxin poison on his face on CNN.
When I arrived in Ukraine, they began assigning observers to
different areas. Being 22 years old, I wanted to go to where the
action was. I asked for an assignment in the city of Donetsk, the
home base for the corrupt “Blue Party.”
We traveled from Kiev to Donetsk on a bus. On the outskirts of
the city, we saw several mansions ““ houses that you would
expect to see in the Hamptons, or maybe the French Riviera, but not
in Ukraine. Puzzled, I asked the bus driver.
“Ukraine is a very rich country,” he began,
“But the wealth is isolated in the hands of few.” He
went on to tell me stories of government officials raiding the
coffers of the Ukrainian people to further their personal
wealth.
One example was of Pavlo Lazarenko, a politician who left the
country after stealing over $100 million from the government.
Another was of Victor Pinchuk, whose investment group bought a
government steel company for about $700 million less than that of
the highest bidder ““ presumably because he was married to the
president’s daughter. The bus driver raised his hand and
pointed. “That is his house.”
I unpacked my bags and walked around the city with a translator
named Roman. He was a student from a very “Orange” area
of Ukraine. When we got to the center of the city, in the center of
the main plaza, something caught my eye. In the middle was a
40-foot-tall statue of Lenin.
I looked to Roman for clarification. He told me that during
Soviet times, this was a very Russified area. “The history of
this area is tied very closely to the history of the Soviet
Union,” he explained. “Living under Soviet rule for so
many years brainwashed them.”
And the government was still trying to rule over a brainwashed
people. The media was government-owned or regulated, and was only a
mechanism of propaganda. Journalists who did rebel were killed, as
were dissenting political figures.
The day before the elections, Christmas Eve, we were to make our
rounds to different polling stations in the area. We approached a
small town very near the Russian border. As we approached the town,
three tall nuclear reactors dominated the skyline ““ a mark of
the centralized planning that took place here. It was eerily
reminiscent of Chernobyl.
At the polling stations themselves, the people were all very
polite. They had nothing to hide ““ they were not the ones
orchestrating the corruption. Many invited us for a cup of coffee
to get to know each other.
We accepted some of the offers. After some small talk, our
conversations were almost always driven to politics. One man told
me that “it is well known that election observers are the
instruments of the American government.”
After vehemently arguing that it was my role to ensure the
objectivity of the election process, but getting nowhere, Roman
pulled me aside and told me, “this is what brainwashing does
to people.”
On our ride back to the city, Roman explained why these
elections were so important. Between 1930 and the end of World War
II, 12 million people, possibly more, died here. More than 60 times
the direct death toll of the tsunami, and about twice the number of
Jews that died in the holocaust, this was the number of civilian
Ukrainians that were killed struggling to maintain their heritage.
Prior to 1930, this struggle had waged for over 200 years.
This struggle was about to end.
With the inauguration of Viktor Yushchenko, Ukraine would have
its first president to come from the people. It would also have its
first president that rejected the corrupting incentives of the
Soviet power structure.
As evidence of his legitimacy, 200,000 people lived for weeks in
a tent city set up in the center of Kiev. They braved sub-zero
temperatures and wore orange to show their support for Yushchenko
and to protest for free elections.
When all of the votes were counted, Yushchenko won the election
by a clear margin. I returned to Kiev, and made my way to see
Yushchenko’s victory speech.
Standing in the middle of a packed square, I could feel the
entire crowd moved almost to the point of tears. “For 14
years we have been independent and now we are free,” he said.
It was then that I understood the distinction between independence
and freedom.
Lives have forever been altered. There is a sense of awe in the
people that they have undergone a metamorphosis. And I can attest
““ I am a new person myself.
Between Ukrainians, there is a bond that can’t be
described in words. They understand the responsibility that has
been passed on to them by their ancestors, and they are not willing
to let go of the past. The shackles of totalitarian rule have been
lifted, and it is with pride that they look to the future. They are
finally free.
And so it is that yesterday I sat at Starbucks, part of my usual
Sunday routine. Looking through the news, I saw hundreds of
thousands of people crowded in Independence Square in Kiev for
Yushchenko’s inauguration.
Some critics argue that this was not a revolution, but a mere
transition. Whatever the case, if you still don’t believe
that the world has changed, I urge you to read the reports of the
many people who attended the inauguration.
And if you were to stand in Independence Square, on that day,
surrounded by all those people, in a sea of “Orange,”
reflecting on the costs paid for this freedom, I promise ““
you would be a changed person too.
Semotiuk is a fifth-year psychology and business economics
student. He can be reached at [email protected].