This weekend I drove home to Ohio from the Appalachian Studies Conference in mountainous Morgantown, West Virginia. Conference-goers enjoyed warm hospitality and spring sunshine along the banks of the Monongahela River, gathering in-person for the first time since the pandemic. But for those attuned to distant news, the war in Ukraine furnished a troubling backdrop to an otherwise uplifting conference. For several years now, the Appalachian Studies Association has hosted international scholars—geographers, historians, artists, and sociologists—from the Carpathian Mountains. Carpathia is a land of striking physical and cultural similarities to Appalachia. Its landscape even stood in for North Carolina’s Smoky Mountains as the location for the 2003 Civil War movie Cold Mountain. Carpathia’s coal-rich mountains extend from Poland, Romania, and Slovakia, through sections of western Ukraine, now trapped in the crosshairs of Vladimir Putin’s military aggression. This year’s Appalachian Studies Association included the late addition of a roundtable discussion: “Appalachians/ Carpathians: Mountain to Mountain Connections During the Russian Attack on Ukraine.” Panelists from the United States and Romania were joined by Dr. Roman Poznanskyy from the Precarpathian National University, Ivano-Frankivsk, Ukraine, to discuss cultural connections and support for Ukrainian scholars, students, and citizens. Symbols of solidarity were visible throughout the conference, notably the blue-and-yellow of Ukraine, displayed on badges and clothing. The bright, unfussy primary colors of the Ukrainian flag represent clear blue skies and golden fields of wheat, the produce for which Ukrainian agriculture is famous. They stand in poignant contrast to lurid atrocities being committed by Putin’s armed forces. Though I have no immediate connections to Ukraine, this war has felt strangely personal. Since the invasion began on February 24, its horror has been flashed by on reflections from the handful of Ukrainians I’ve known in life. I think of my brilliant grad school friend from Kharkhiv in eastern Ukraine, a city reduced now to rubble. Or my wonderful colleague at Miami University—a fellow naturalized US citizen. Her 83-year-old mother has been trapped in the port city of Odessa. Such experiences are too common, patches in a quilt of human suffering.
Like many friends of Ukraine in America, I have watched the war coverage with growing alarm. As the brave resistance of Ukraine’s military has stalled the invasion, Putin has resorted to increasingly desperate and barbarous tactics, bombing and shelling apartment blocks, schools, theaters, and even maternity hospitals. Whatever comes next, we must insist that this is Putin’s war, not the Russian people’s war. Thousands of Russian citizens have already been arrested in anti-war protests. These numbers will only rise as the carnage filters home in ways the Kremlin will be powerless to control. More Russian soldiers—often teenage conscripts—have died in the first three weeks of this campaign than combined US deaths from twenty years of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. They did not choose this war. But the real victims are the ordinary Ukrainian people. At the time of writing, some 10 million Ukrainians—one in four—have been driven from their homes. Over 3 million have already fled Ukraine to neighboring countries, which are struggling to cope with Europe’s greatest humanitarian crisis since 1945. What can we do to help? In the 1930s, thousands of foreign volunteers joined the International Brigades fighting the fascists in the Spanish Civil War. Reportedly, thousands of foreign volunteers—including hundreds of Americans—have already joined the new Ukrainian International Legion, joining ordinary Ukrainians defending their homeland. But at a time when fewer than 1 percent of the US population is active duty or reserve military, such drastic measures are hardly to be recommended for those without the proper training and skills. More realistically, we can offer support with solidarity and generosity to the Ukrainian people. Numerous reputable agencies, including UNICEF, Médecins sans Frontieres, and the Red Cross welcome your donations to help the growing refugee population. And when you tire of images of destruction on TV, consider joining or organizing a vigil or demonstration, such as the one that gathered in West Chester’s Union Center on March 7. Despite the freezing cold weather that evening, dozens of local citizens and interfaith leaders turned out to express solidarity with the Ukrainian people, including Ukrainian Americans who testified before the gathering. Although such displays of solidarity might be dismissed as mere rhetoric, words assuredly do matter. And demonstrations of action are the foundations on which healthy democracies are built, at home and abroad.
1 Comment
Honi Cohen
3/22/2022 03:52:42 pm
Beautifully said, sadly true, helplessness real…
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AuthorMatthew Smith, PhD (History). Public Programs at Miami University Regionals. Historian of Appalachia, the Ohio Valley, & the early American republic. Archives
February 2024
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