When Ukraine seemed on the brink of better things
As Ukraine faces Soviet soldiers, bombs and tanks, I grieve for the 20 Ukrainian reformers I met in December 2006. I was working for the good-government group Common Cause at the time, and I’d been drafted to make the trip.
I arrived in Kyiv two years after peaceful protests of tens of thousands of Ukrainians had foiled Russian President Vladimir Putin’s plan to put a pro-Moscow puppet in charge. Their massive protest, deemed the Orange Revolution, did not bring a smooth transition towards Europe, and there was more turmoil ahead. But at this point, democracy — while imperfect — survived.
My mission? To do an intensive three-day workshop on government accountability for watchdog organizations forming in Ukraine’s fledgling democracy. I kept the thick notebook I’d prepared, and its quote from James Madison: “Knowledge will forever govern ignorance and a people who mean to be their own governors, must arm themselves with the power knowledge gives. A popular government without popular information or the means of acquiring it, is but a prologue to a farce or tragedy or perhaps both.
The people I met were both cynical and idealistic, well aware of the limitations of the people they’d elected, and used to dealing with corrupt governance. They joked about Ukraine political feuds, and had no illusions that their country was ideal.
But they had hope — and courage — in abundance. I have no idea if my lessons about the strategies activists could use to compel more transparency and accountability from their elected officials were helpful. But they were very appreciative.
I remember their kindness and generosity. I arrived late Saturday, and our classes began the next morning. Jet lagged, I got through the morning introductions, and walked back to my hotel for a nap. I realized, once I began to return to our classroom, that I had no idea where I was. I couldn’t remember the name of my hotel, and didn’t take note of the address of our classroom.
My lousy sense of direction was not helped by my ignorance of the Cyrillic alphabet. When I was late, my students sent out a search party. They found me, and delivered me back to class.
They were so proud of their country and its history, eager to have me sample regional cuisine and Ukraine’s national drink. One evening they took me on an “Orange Revolution walk” through Kyiv, describing at every stop what they had done both in the country’s capital city and in collaboration with protestors throughout Ukraine. It was bitterly cold, but we walked for over an hour as they replayed their roles in that ground-breaking event.
Students translated my English into German, Ukrainian, and Russian as we engaged in spirited discussions about democracy building. Their questions were thoughtful and probing. One stuck with me. A young woman asked. “If you expose government misconduct, what happens the next day when there’s a knock on your door?”
I couldn’t give her an adequate answer then. I couldn’t now. I can only grieve for this nation in the grip of Putin’s talons, and pray for these activists, hoping that they avoid that dreaded knock, knowing they likely will not.
