Ukraine: The sense of History in an asleep Europe — The War told through women’s voices (part 3)

The first time I set foot in Ukraine, it was during the Euromaidan. As a graduate in Political Science and EU studies, the experience hit me like a lightning bolt—a true epiphany. For the first time, I understood what it means to witness History with a capital “H” in person.

I was a child when the Berlin Wall fell, yet I still remember the emotion, even from the safety of a television screen. That, to me, was the last historic moment in Western Europe that truly felt alive. The Balkan wars? They existed in the distant realm of politicians and journalists. NATO? Yes, I remember hearing about that too. But Kyiv during the Euromaidan—there, history was breathing, pulsing, and shouting on the streets.

Khreshchatyk Street was alive with energy. Young people filled every corner, faces bright with hope, eyes fixed on a future they were determined to shape. I had never seen that kind of vision in the wealthiest corners of Western Europe. A year later, I returned. The situation had changed, but the people—their pride, their awareness, their unshakable sense of history—left a mark on me that words can barely capture. 

I am grateful that, even for a few days, I could witness this transformation firsthand. That is why I love Ukraine, in all its contradictions and idiosyncrasies. Of course, there are many—but where aren’t there? I promised myself that I would do my part, however small, to help this remarkable people claim the dignity they deserve. 

Disclaimer: This is not an editorial. This is not a chronicle. These interviews are my tribute to a people who went from shopping in malls to watching tutorials on how to make Molotov cocktails overnight. A people who forged a common identity and resilience that stands as an admonition to all of us.

These stories may not be politically correct. They may make us uncomfortable. They may even seem exaggerated. But they are truth—the raw, unvarnished truth rarely seen in the media: the truth of people living through a war on Europe’s doorstep, a war that speaks to all of us and will shape Europe’s future, whether we like it or not.

History is not over. It is ours choice to join—or to ignore.

I had the privilege of meeting two extraordinary Ukrainian women: Olesia, is an artist, a warrior, and a mother. She left Ukraine for the love of her children, but she returned for the love of her people. Her story, below, is one of courage, resilience, and hope—a story that belongs not just to Ukraine, but to anyone who believes in the power of ordinary people to shape history.

Alla is a determined, successful woman who has spent more than half of her life in EU countries—from Italy to Belgium—where she works and feels somewhat at home. Working for the EU institutions, she is a natural bridge between the European Union and the Eastern frontier, grounded in a deep, strong, and proud Ukrainian identity.

They remind me of the Mother Motherland—the triumphant, monumental sculpture in the heart of Kyiv. She embodies the archetype of all Ukrainian women.

Four years have passed since the war began. No one could have imagined it would last this long; no one would have dared to bet a single euro on Ukrainian resistance. And yet, they are still here—brave, steadfast, and standing—not only for themselves but as a reminder to the world of the price of liberty.

So, take a cup of coffee or a glass of wine and stay with me until the end of this journey. This path has accompanied you for a few days (this is the last part), and reading this article will be a small act of resistance. Slava Ukraini!

Olesia, you relocated to Brussels at the onset of the war with your young child while expecting another. Could you describe how you managed this transition and reflect on your experience? And for your kids?

Olesia: I didn’t want to and didn’t plan to leave Ukraine, but my husband forced me to do it for the sake of the child. It felt like you were being pushed out of the house and the door slammed behind you... When we decided that Hordii and I would go to Belgium, we didn’t know if we would ever meet my husband again. I was pregnant, traveling into the unknown with a child who didn’t have time to realize the events that were happening. I was tired of constantly telling my son that we were ‘going to visit our friends’. And how could I answer his questions: ‘When will dad come to us?’ ‘Will the Russians kill dad?’ if I didn’t know what would happen next? Hordii began to have a nervous tic - he constantly blinked his eyes and almost never smiled; he became quiet and thoughtful. In Belgium, volunteers helped us, they took us into their home until we found new housing. They helped us a lot… Our second home is the home of Madame Marino, who found one of the best schools in Brussels for Hordii, permanent housing (then we lived in the family of Louis-Marc and Dorothee before returning to Ukraine), arranged a rendezvous, helped us adapt and draw up all the necessary documents, even gave me some of her clothing, because I took almost nothing with me. If it weren’t for these kind people, I would probably have broken down and never got up again… Dorothee and Louis-Marc took us into their hospitable home, although it was not convenient for them. They took care of a bed for Hordii and the necessary furniture, on the day of our move, they put a plate of fruit on the table, put toys for Hordii, and their children signed a card for us with warm words… Hordii was very well received at school, the children and teachers helped him learn French. The school staff introduced me to other Ukrainians - and it was incredibly supportive! For several months, my son was very nervous - another country, different rules, everything was new, his father was not around, he did not know the language, he really missed his friends, toys, and his father. Over time, the nervous tic disappeared, new friends appeared, and in 3 months he was already speaking French fluently. When Faddii was born, it was very difficult for me. I will not describe in detail the life of a mother with two small children. You simply do not belong to yourself 24 hours a day. You have no right to be sick, sad, tired, sleep, sit alone in a cafe for even 15 minutes... But, thanks to the children, I found the strength in myself to live again and smile. In addition, I remembered that there were millions of women left in Ukraine, whose husbands were far from home, defending the country in extremely difficult conditions, and they themselves were raising small children under constant shelling... I could not afford to complain. It was much harder for them than for me. On the very first day of the start of the Full-scale War, my mother was taken prisoner by the Russians for her pro-Ukrainian position (she was then in occupied Gorlivka). And so, - two Worlds live in you at the same time: horror, explosions, the sounds of air raid sirens, which, apparently, have already been stuck in your ears forever, news from the front, your brother went to war, your mother is in captivity, you are married, but the family is not together, you are alone, responsible for two children... And, at the same time, - peace, care, peaceful sky... You worry about all your friends and relatives, and this peaceful World cannot comfort you, because you are not next to your love ones now, your heart is not in the right place. From the first weeks of my stay in Brussels, I found an association of Ukrainian volunteers, who, just like us, left for the war. We went to French courses, someone already worked, and in our free time we wove nets and collected aid for our Defenders. This helped a lot not to go crazy and supported morally.

I really liked Belgium, its friendly people and traditions, the green parks of Brussels. I really liked the social rules.

I am very grateful to Belgium and all the people of this country for helping our people. Your support and warmth were constantly felt! Thank you to everyone in this world who is helping our people! I remember everything and everyone who did it so delicately!

Alla, what made you move to Brussels? Your family relocated due to the conflict—how has this experience been for them?

Alla: I have been living in Belgium for many years, and I did not come here because of the war. But my mother and my sister came to stay with me for a period of time after the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine. My mother has a health condition and requires constant care, so we decided—given that I live in Belgium on a permanent basis and that the situation in Ukraine is extremely dangerous and difficult for someone like her—that it was much better for them to join me.

We are truly grateful for the support European countries provide to Ukrainians. Still, it took my family more than a year to adapt to life in Belgium. It is, after all, a different country with its own rhythm and its own way of life. Their overall experience here has been very positive, but there is one point I feel compelled to emphasize. I often sense, here and there, an assumption that Ukraine is an undeveloped country and that Ukrainians should feel fortunate to have finally arrived in a ‘developed’ Europe. This is a misconception.

Many Western Europeans believe that everyday life in Western Europe is unquestionably better, yet in reality there are numerous areas in which Ukraine is far more advanced and comfortable. I am referring to the banking system, the government’s digital platform that unifies documents and public services online, the general efficiency of the service sector, mobile services, and much more. All of this profoundly shapes daily life and directly influences its quality. Labeling Ukraine as a country with a low level of modernity is simply inaccurate.

What is the experience/feeling thing that you will keep from this pain?

Olesia: I realized how little a person really needs to be happy… And one more thing: you shouldn’t be afraid of death. We will all be there someday. But it’s important how and what kind of person you go there. What will you do for this World?

And if they are already trying to take your life away from you, you shouldn’t give it up without a fight. In general, you should never give up.

Alla: When this war ends, I will carry with me a far deeper understanding of how strong, enduring, and powerful the Ukrainian people truly are. I always knew this, of course, but the Russian invasion sharpened that awareness and expanded it in ways I could never have imagined. It brought me to a profound realization of how extraordinary and unique Ukraine is as a country — how beautiful our culture and language are, how resilient and principled our national character remains. Throughout these years of unimaginable hardship, every element of our identity has revealed itself with absolute clarity: the courage of ordinary people, the quiet dignity of those who endure loss, the unbreakable will to defend freedom, the creativity and warmth that continue to shine even in darkness.

Is there a consideration you wish to express that might be valid for EU and your compatriots future?

Olesia: Never. Never trust the Russians. It’s not just about Putin. Putin didn’t force Russians to rape, torture, or steal toilets. Be careful of politicians who call for friendship with Russia. Be careful when casting your vote in elections. Politicians’ promises often have nothing to do with their plans: their deeds, already done and confirmed, speak much more eloquently.

Russia has so many agents all over the World that it is even hard to imagine. Information warfare has been going on everywhere for a long time. Believe only proven facts and always double-check. Believe me, if your country is not armed to the teeth, if the people are not ready to defend themselves, and politicians do not react to provocations - any high social standards and standard of living can instantly lose all meaning. And please don’ t call the War in Ukraine a ‘conflict’. This is not a misunderstanding between two sides. This is a unilateral armed aggression, A real War with thousands of civilian causalities and terrible destructions.

Alla: For political Europe, it is difficult to speak in this way, because it requires a different approach and a different dimension. But to ordinary citizens I would say this: you do not truly know Ukraine. Those who have visited several times, who have interacted with the country on multiple occasions, often leave genuinely and positively surprised.

Despite the challenges and imperfections that every country has — especially those emerging from the post‑USSR space — Ukraine is a modern European nation, and in many aspects of everyday life it is far more advanced than parts of the EU, as I mentioned earlier. Ukrainians are a highly educated people, carrying within them an ancient history and a culture as rich as the black soil of our land. Yet the world knows little of it, for too often our story was told not by us, but by those who were louder, more aggressive, more ruthless. By those who managed to seize power. Not because we lacked strength or courage, but because we were fewer in number and so often simply had no time to recover before the next struggle began. Our land has long been a battlefield — its geography and natural wealth have made it a prize coveted by many neighboring powers. These very blessings, sadly, have repeatedly stood in the way of our independence. Time and again, we have been forced to fight to defend our country, our identity, our culture, and our land.

Few in Western Europe realize that Ukraine did not simply appear on the map in 1991. Seeing us this way is both simplistic and uninformed. Even without delving into our medieval past — a period in which we can speak at length about medieval and early modern Ukrainian states and political traditions — one should at least remember 1918, when the Ukrainian People’s Republic was proclaimed. Many new states emerged after the collapse of the Austro-Hungarian and Russian empires, and Ukraine was among them. Culturally and in terms of mentality, Ukraine has always belonged to Europe. In recent decades, Ukraine has demonstrated repeatedly that the so-called European values are often more deeply rooted in Ukrainian society than in some EU member states themselves. Some years ago, a huge banner hung over Independence Square in Kyiv with a slogan that, to me, captured the essence of the Ukrainian nation: Freedom is our religion. If you truly want to understand Ukraine, read that slogan again — and take a moment to grasp its meaning.

So do not perceive Ukraine as something distant, alien, or difficult to understand. Learn about us, get to know us — and I am certain you will be positively surprised.

Щиро дякую!

President Of Ukraine from Україна, CC0, via Wikimedia Commons

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Ucraina: il senso della Storia in un’Europa addormentata —La guerra raccontata attraverso le voci delle donne (parte 3)

La prima volta che sono andata in Ucraina era durante l’Euromaidan. Da laureata in Scienze Politiche e Studi sull’Unione Europea, quell’esperienza mi colpì come un fulmine a ciel sereno: una vera epifania. Per la prima volta capii cosa significa assistere alla Storia, quella con la “S” maiuscola, dal vivo.

Ero bambina quando cadde il Muro di Berlino, eppure ne ricordo ancora l’emozione, anche solo attraverso la sicurezza di uno schermo televisivo. Quello, per me, è stato l’ultimo momento storico in Europa occidentale che sia sembrato davvero vivo. Le guerre balcaniche? Esistevano in una dimensione lontana, popolata da politici e giornalisti. La NATO? Sì, ricordo di averne sentito parlare. Ma Kyiv durante l’Euromaidan — lì la Storia respirava, pulsava e gridava per le strade.

Via Khreshchatyk era attraversata da un’energia travolgente. Giovani ovunque, volti illuminati dalla speranza, sguardi fissi su un futuro che erano determinati a plasmare. Non avevo mai visto una tale consapevolezza e visione negli angoli più ricchi dell’Europa occidentale. Un anno dopo tornai. La situazione era cambiata, ma le persone — il loro orgoglio, la loro consapevolezza, il loro incrollabile senso della Storia — mi hanno lasciato un segno che le parole riescono a malapena a raccontare.

Sono grata di aver potuto assistere, anche solo per pochi giorni, a questa trasformazione in prima persona. È per questo che amo l’Ucraina, con tutte le sue contraddizioni e idiosincrasie. Certo, ce ne sono molte — ma dove non ce ne sono? Promisi a me stessa che avrei fatto la mia parte, per quanto piccola, per aiutare questo popolo straordinario a conquistare la dignità che merita.

Disclaimer: questo non è un editoriale. Non è una cronaca. Queste interviste sono il mio tributo a un popolo che è passato, da un giorno all’altro, dallo shopping nei centri commerciali al guardare tutorial su come costruire bottiglie Molotov. Un popolo che ha forgiato un’identità comune e una resilienza che rappresentano un monito per tutti noi.

Queste storie potrebbero non essere politicamente corrette. Potrebbero metterci a disagio. Potrebbero persino sembrare esagerate. Ma sono vere — la verità cruda, senza filtri, che raramente trova spazio nei media: la verità di persone che vivono una guerra alle porte dell’Europa, una guerra che parla a tutti noi e che plasmerà il futuro europeo, che ci piaccia o no.

La Storia non è finita. Sta a noi scegliere se farne parte — o ignorarla.

Ho avuto il privilegio di incontrare due donne ucraine straordinarie:

Olesia è un’artista, una guerriera e una madre. Ha lasciato l’Ucraina per amore dei suoi figli, ma vi è tornata per amore del suo popolo. La sua storia, raccontata qui sotto, è una storia di coraggio, resilienza e speranza — una storia che non appartiene solo all’Ucraina, ma a chiunque creda nel potere delle persone comuni di plasmare la Storia.

Alla è una donna determinata e di successo che ha trascorso più della metà della sua vita nei Paesi dell’UE — dall’Italia al Belgio — dove lavora e si sente, in parte, a casa. Lavorando per le istituzioni europee, è un ponte naturale tra l’Unione Europea e la frontiera orientale, radicata in un’identità ucraina profonda, forte e orgogliosa.

Mi ricordano la Madre Patria, la monumentale e trionfante scultura nel cuore di Kyiv. Essa incarna l’archetipo di tutte le donne ucraine.

Sono passati quattro anni dall’inizio della guerra. Nessuno avrebbe potuto immaginare che sarebbe durata così a lungo; nessuno avrebbe osato scommettere un solo euro sulla resistenza ucraina. Eppure, sono ancora lì — coraggiosi, saldi, in piedi — non solo per se stessi, ma come monito al mondo sul prezzo della libertà.

Quindi, prendete una tazza di caffè o un bicchiere di vino e restate con me fino alla fine di questo viaggio. Questo percorso vi accompagnerà per alcuni giorni, e leggere questo articolo sarà un piccolo atto di resistenza.

Slava Ukraini!