Price of Freedom

"Революція Гідності"

Maryna Lukach

The Revolution of Dignity. Twelve years have already passed. The struggle has been going on for twelve years. Twelve years ago, I created my first textile artwork, "The Price of Ukraine's Freedom." I began during those same days in February, wishing to preserve artifacts of the Maidan. I often recall one particular day from the long series of days during the Maidan standoff. It brings to mind the paintings of Salvador Dalí—a day I will never forget. A small square in the center of Kyiv was fragmented into several sections—seemingly united, yet so distinct... The very center was shrouded in black, gray, and white smoke, punctuated by the bright flashes of Molotov cocktails. It feels awkward to say, but there was a cinematic beauty to it; the visuals were incredibly expressive in their dynamism and color. Yet, that wasn't the only thing creating a sense of unreality. Nearby—just meters away from the fighting—a voice rang out from the stage. A man with a microphone was offering commentary and urging people on, advising them on how to write their personal details on their hands so they could be identified later. Meanwhile, brilliant, colorful stage lights flashed, reminiscent of a disco. Just a few meters from the epicenter of the battle, a group of young people was busy preparing Molotov cocktails. That was when I learned of yet another grim use for Styrofoam. Nearby, a puppy wagged its tail. A massive pile of medicines towered beside the field hospital. When we asked what supplies were needed, a surgeon came out and shouted in our faces: "We need narcotics! Their skulls are cracked open, they’re holding their own guts in their hands! We need narcotics! Look at this pile—it’s useless!" At that moment, I truly grasped the meaning of the saying, "The road to hell is paved with good intentions." Hundreds of people, acting out of the goodness of their hearts—sometimes spending their very last pennies—were buying medicines. They bought what they deemed necessary. Yet, at that moment, the resulting pile was a sight that seared the soul with its sheer futility. Of course, it all came in handy eventually. But had there been a few dozen vials of expensive, life-saving medication there instead, perhaps more people would be alive on Earth today. A few more meters on... a man eating a shawarma says, "Watch out, take cover—snipers are firing." We ducked behind a canvas structure and immediately saw the bodies of eight slain Maidan protesters. People realized the dead no longer felt the cold, yet they still covered the exposed bodies with blankets. Meanwhile, a voice blared urgently from the stage, directing the unfolding events. We quickly set off to find medicine. At a pharmacy in Pechersk, the clerk looked at the list and asked, "Is this for *there*?" "Over there." He went to the storeroom and brought out items that weren't on the shelves. The security forces' attack had been repelled, and they had retreated; rows of men in black, protected by shields, were blocking the street. We approached the barricade. Some men politely let us peek through a gap in the wooden fencing. I saw a small group of people shielded by steel plates. Somehow, they didn't look menacing—just pitiful. As I walked away, I noticed a young boy in pink sneakers with a funny little trinket hanging from his back jeans pocket, and a man in glasses talking on his phone. They didn't look like warriors at all—more like construction foremen or miners. Yet, they *were* warriors: calm, courageous, and steadfast. There was no frantic bustle—only the composed resolve of people who knew exactly what to do. All around, there were streams of people carrying bags, boxes, and jars, and an endless flow of vehicles delivering food, water, medicine, fuel, and tires. Thousands of people united then in the face of adversity. My family and I did our part for the victory; we did whatever was within our power. Everyone who acted that way laid the foundation for the country's unity and its eventual triumph. There is strength in unity. I know that the Heavenly Father has welcomed the fallen insurgents into His glorious abodes. We pray that their families find the strength to endure their loss, that peace comes quickly, and that the men return home. The Maidan lanced the abscess... "Ukraine is cleansing itself. And I believe that the blood sacrifice of the country's finest sons and daughters has set Ukraine on the path to prosperity. Glory to Ukraine! Glory to the Heavenly Hundred!" — Maryna Lukach, 2014