Ukraine: The sense of History in an asleep Europe — The War told through women’s voices (part 1)

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 will accompany you for a few days (this is the first part), and reading this article will be a small act of resistance. Slava Ukraini!

What is Ukraine for you?

 

Olesia: Ukraine is my Heart. My Soul. My Place of Power. My only native home. My Tree of the Soul, which cannot live without this land, because here are its roots.

Extraordinary people live here, who, without exaggeration, have some superhuman abilities, talents and endurance, have such a will to life and freedom that our eastern neighbours cannot overcome us for centuries. I am proud that I am Ukrainian.

Alla: Ukraine is my home and my roots — the place that gave me my identity, my values, and the culture that shaped my character and my sense of beauty in the fullest meaning of the word.

I have lived abroad for many years, but I will never feel anything other than Ukrainian. Everything that happens in Ukraine touches me directly and deeply. I do not, and will not, feel separate from the land that feels like home every time I see it on the map or hear it spoken about.

What was the relationship with Russians before the war?

Olesia: We were forced to believe that we were one people and Russia was our brother. Television, radio, newspapers were filled with Russian content: news, movies, music... it really gave the impression that we were one country, only in Ukraine the money and the name of the president were different. The Ukrainian language and culture were ridiculed. I studied in Russian at school and at the university. At the auditions for Ukrainian vocal shows, in which I participated, the jury consisted only of Russian pop stars. Me and my family, spoke Russian (my Ukrainian-speaking great-grandfathers and great-grandmothers were exterminated by Moscovites through starvation and sent to Siberia. ‘Brotherly people’ were settled in their homes, and those who survived were forced to renounce their native language and remain silent about all these horrors. Only during the presidency of Viktor Yushchenko was the Holodomor officially recognized). My generation grew up on the propaganda of friendship with Russia. Our own history was destroyed and rewritten, Ukrainians were crossed out of all prominent world events, our famous writers, composers, scientists were called Russians. 

Lisa Mona Olesia Ostrovska

I worked a lot, singing abroad. I remember how my friends from Italy asked me in 2013: ‘Why do you Ukrainians use Russian among yourselves? You have your own language!’. I was confused. I started to say something about ‘neighborly friendship’; and that we are almost one and the same country, but I already guessed that perhaps these were not my own thoughts... They said that our Russian colleagues hate us, and? If we heard what they say about us behind our backs, we would no longer think about friendship with them.

Alla: I didn’t have any close personal relationships with Russians in my adult life, apart from occasional encounters through work or mutual friends. But in my early childhood, my family maintained quite close relationships with several Russian families and , as a result, I had a few Russian friends — the children of those families. What I learned from my parents was that even when there was genuine friendship and a nice time together, a certain sense of superiority toward Ukrainians often surfaced on their side. Sometimes it was subtle, but my parents, both highly educated and perceptive people, noticed it repeatedly. This was our family’s experience.

In my adult life, whenever circumstances brought me into contact with Russians, conversations almost inevitably drifted toward politics, even when I had no desire to go in that direction. The exchanges were always pleasant and friendly, also because almost all Ukrainians are fluent in Russian, therefore communication was always very easy from the linguistic point of view — but only until the topic touched on Ukrainian identity or independence. There was almost always a strong nostalgia for the USSR and its way of life, something we Ukrainians are profoundly relieved to have left behind once and for all. In these interactions, I never once heard criticism or disagreement with their government.

My impression was that many of them valued the idea of a ‘strong hand’ and felt comfortable with an authoritarian style of rule.

Statua della Madre Patria Батьківщина-Мати - Canercangul, CC BY-SA 4.0, 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 1)

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!