Vyshyvanka Day 2023
A Ukrainian Perspective by Yana Ledviy
On Vyshyvanka Day, the third Thursday in May, I sat in a chic sidewalk café in Odesa surrounded by fellow Ukrainians wearing the traditional embroidered blouses we call Vyshyvankas. During the Russo-Ukrainian War in 2014, the holiday took on new political significance after all Ukrainians were encouraged to “Give the Vyshyvanka to a defender.” This was the first time I had stepped back onto Ukrainian soil since Russia invaded. The purpose of my journey was to investigate the fate of Ukrainian children who have been illegally displaced to Russian territory. You can read Yana’s report here.
I was moved by the sight of so many people in this predominantly Russian-speaking city, wearing traditional Ukrainian clothing. This was a powerful gesture of defiance to our historical foe who has spent centuries attempting to eradicate the Ukrainian people and culture from this region.
I felt like I was playing a role in a silent film. The street beneath our feet was paved with cobblestones like Paris, while the surrounding buildings exuded the dignity of the European Renaissance. In this movie devoid of any sound, playful smiles adorned the faces of the crowd gathered in the cafe. You could almost hear their cheer echoing through the air as cocktail glasses clinked together in a toast. Just across the street, lavishly decorated horses carried youngsters back and forth, creating a sense of timeless elegance. Several tables away from us, a street band captivated passersby and the surrounding multitude with soft and joyful jazz.
Everyone looked impeccable, and for a moment, I felt both a sense of belonging and warm optimism. This feeling quickly passed and was replaced by irritation. Why was this city so bizarrely cheerful? Nobody seemed to notice or care that only minutes earlier air raid alarms had sounded. It would never have occurred to you that Russian missiles were headed our way, or that we were in a country a year into a brutal war, and there was no end in sight.
In the late-night haze, I spotted a ten-year-old boy with short, blond hair and piercing blue eyes. His dark jeans and colorful hoodie were impeccably ironed and his vibrant purple cap was spotless. Why was the boy alone? Where were his parents? Why he was out only an hour before curfew time? I wondered. I was slightly relieved when he approached our table because he exuded such self-assuredness and confidence. My British colleague and I stopped eating and, with a certain measure of curiosity, gave him our full attention.
“Can I read you a poem about the Ukrainian Armed Forces?” he asked politely.
“Sure,” I said over the music, laughter, and loud conversations. The boy gazed at the floor and began to recite his poem, his weariness was evident. “Courage”, “hope” and “victory” were the only words that I was able to catch over the noise. After he finished, the boy stood in front of us and did not say a word.
“Do you need money?” I asked.
“Yes,” he replied, then added, “I am raising money for the Ukrainian Armed Forces.”
I smiled and translated this to my colleague. Now understanding the boy’s request, my friend’s eyes instantly lit up, a genuine smile graced his face, and emotion welled up in both of us. It seemed that at last, someone not only remembered, but also cared about the courageous soldiers, a world away from this modish sidewalk café, selflessly sacrificing their lives for the greater good of our nation. I reached into my purse and handed him some money, which, in retrospect, wasn’t enough.
“Thank you so much,” he said coolly. The boy took his job very seriously, and while his adult-like demeanor inwardly amused me, it also filled me with a profound sense of pride.
“Where are your parents?” I asked.
“My parents are at home,” he said, as he skillfully swatted the mosquitoes that buzzed around our table with his left hand.
“Where do you live?”
“I live out of town, in Tayrova.”
“Do you need money for the bus home?”
“No, I do not need money. My bus ticket is free.”
As I laughed at his battle against the mosquitoes, he pointed proudly towards a nearby table where a woman, accompanied by her dog, swayed to the music.
“I managed to catch countless mosquitoes over that table,” he said matter of factly. “They are everywhere.”
After we praised his work and the importance of the job he was doing, the boy nodded obediently and went on his way. We watched him approach a dozen other tables and not one of them gave him the time of day, much less a chance to recite his poem. This really got to me, because these were the same people who were proudly wearing their traditional Ukrainian costumes and taking pictures of themselves, supposedly embracing their Ukrainian identity on Vyshyvanka Day! Wasn’t this holiday meant to raise the spirit and morale of our Ukrainian soldiers by boldly proclaiming to Russia that we are indomitable! Yet these people’s commitment did not extend to taking a moment to listen to a heartfelt poem honoring those carrying the weight of our nation on their weary shoulders.
I remember wishing, as I do now, that the people in the café understood that if it wasn’t for our soldiers holding the line in battles far away from this peaceful city, they would not have the luxury of leisurely sipping their cocktails and remaining blissfully ignorant of anything and everything that did not revolve around them, including the moving poem recited by a young boy. It was a bittersweet evening, but that little boy gave me hope. This crowd’s indifference didn’t bother him the slightest. He simply would not give up! This boy, after all, is the future of Ukraine.
Yana Ledviy is originally from Bilhorod-Dnistrovs'kyi, Ukraine. She holds degrees in Law and Intelligence Analysis from the Autonomous University of Madrid and LISA Institute. She has worked as a translator for the advanced force elements of the Ukrainian Armed Forces and a Legal Advisor in Madrid, assisting Ukrainian refugees.