The Ukrainian diary – everyday life is becoming increasingly difficult – culture

This text only exists because I’m traveling. Because traveling abroad now also means having electricity around the clock and being able to work on your laptop whenever you want. And keep it warm. Not only indoors, but also outdoors – because I’m in Italy. On November 18, I am allowed to give a lecture at the University of Bologna, the oldest in Europe: “Contemporary Ukrainian authors: Writing and acting against the Russian war of aggression”. If I had to describe the feeling of spending a day in Bologna in one word, it could be: a concentrate of happiness.

For this I would like to thank Professor Chiara Conterno from the Dipartimento di Lingue, Letterature e Culture Moderne and the DAAD lecturer Anna Nissen. I admire the serenely elegant perfection in everything I encounter during this brief stay. While we are eating in the café outside opposite the university building and watching the students also sitting and chatting outside, I get a different feeling that I define, paraphrasing Milan Kundera, as the unbearable lightness of normality. Because Ukrainian “normality” is getting harder every day.

History has more than enough culture-savvy killers

At the beginning of the week, the Russians launched a new massive attack on Ukraine’s energy infrastructure. Those who launch rockets are well informed about the energy grid in Ukraine. Those who provide information are certainly professionals in their fields. All no poor mercenaries who were brought in against their will. Maybe even formed on all sides, who knows if they might even read one or two of the “great authors of great Russian literature” in the evenings. Or listen to the music of Rachmaninoff or Tchaikovsky. Why not, history knows more than enough culture-savvy killers.

In the recent past, too, as Paul Celan says: “He commands us to play now to the dance.” The culture-loving murderers of the Russian Federation are now writing new history. And yes, I would be very grateful if we, the Ukrainians, were no longer asked questions such as: “Don’t you believe in the healing power of cultural dialogue?” No, I don’t believe it, and I have nothing more to add to that statement.

On Tuesday afternoon, November 15, Czernowitz falls into darkness. The air alert lasts four hours. Public transport is at a standstill, even during the evening rush hour. Fortunately, there is usually a ride in my direction, and that was the case this evening. At home I do what can be done without electricity and say goodbye to the thought of finishing my presentation for Bologna.

Luckily there wasn’t that much left. By candlelight and torchlight, my sister and I take care of our mother in the evenings. Shortly before 11 p.m. we are delighted: there is electricity again. But the next morning I have to make do with other light sources again until it gets light outside. We do have a supply of water in the basement, but I still fetch rainwater to flush the toilets. As long as there is no frost, you can use it well.

The freshmen at the university seem happy, despite the pandemic and war

It feels like paradise at the university: there is electricity, internet and a little heating. From home, I get a message from my sister that the gas has also been turned off in our house, allegedly a pipe was damaged somewhere. I decide to do some lunch shopping at our local coffee shop for dinner. I would have class at 9.50 a.m., but at 9.47 the sirens wail. The students come towards me and climb into the shelter. I’m going back to the office, I’m sorry about the time. 30 minutes later the all clear is sounded, we meet in the classroom. It’s gray outside and it’s raining. “How are you, could everyone at least have a cup of tea this morning?” I ask, knowing that some in the student village and others at home in their villages around Chernivtsi were also without electricity, water or heating. It’s yes and no.

Following a spontaneous impulse, I suggest: “We can go to my place and make tea and coffee.” By that I mean the conference room of the thought roof center and the International Office. It’s a bit too small for classes with 25 people, but it’s nice and comfortable. The students already know it and are visibly pleased with the suggestion. My poor freshmen, I think, first the pandemic, now the war. They won’t learn anything in those remaining 50 minutes with me. But hopefully those minutes of sitting together, drinking tea and cocoa and sharing biscuits (I needed a bigger supply of those) are at least a distraction from the current “normality”. At least young people manage to actually look happy quickly. I doubt if they will stay longer.

Read more episodes of this column here.

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