JOURNALIST'S NOTEBOOK IN UKRAINE: On the fifth anniversary (08/25/96)

JOURNALIST'S NOTEBOOK IN UKRAINE

by Marta Kolomayets
Kyiv Press Bureau

On the fifth anniversary

Ukraine is celebrating five years of independence. And in honor of this historic anniversary, I would like to dedicate this column to the memory of my two grandfathers (one from western Ukraine and one from eastern Ukraine, one Catholic and one Orthodox) and my paternal grandmother, all of whom were Ukrainian patriots and all of whom dreamed of an independent, sovereign Ukraine but, unfortunately, did not live to see it.

It is also for my maternal grandmother who, at the age of 97, is still interested in what Vyacheslav Chornovil is planning and where President Leonid Kuchma is going, why Oleksander Moroz is still a Socialist and when the new hryvnia will be put into circulation. She emphasizes the word "new," because she remembers a family friend coming to Lviv in 1917 to show the ones issued by the Ukrainian National Republic.

My grandparents gave me a strong sense of self, instilled in me a respect for Ukrainian history, culture and language and inspired me to love the country - I now call home - long before I thought it would be or even could be.

It was not until I was in grade school that I realized I was different from all the other kids in my class. Until that time, I had lived in an isolated Chicago Ukrainian diaspora community, where all the kids spoke Ukrainian and uttered phrases from Bozo's Circus and Romper Room with a "DP" (displaced person) accent. Until second grade, I sang "Happy Birsday," thought varenyky were served in every American household, and believed that St. Nicholas made his journey from Ukraine to Chicago every December 19.

But, my family moved out of the "ghetto" when I was 9, and I became acquainted with a whole new world, one with which, I think, I never quite totally assimilated. I think I began realizing this when only one out of five teachers could pronounce my last name correctly. I knew it was my turn to raise my hand for roll call after Jones and before Long.

I wore a braid instead of a pony tail, and on Saturdays, when my school chums went to Brownies and gymnastics, I went to Ukrainian school, Plast and Ukrainian dancing. For show and tell, I would explain the tradition of making pysanky, and in social studies class, I would make salt and flour maps of Ukraine.

There were times, I must admit, that I wished I was Italian American, or German American, or just a "mutt" who had French, English, Greek and Spanish ancestry. But this was not the case.

I was Ukrainian American. I was not a Uranian and did not come from the planet "Uranus," as some of my classmates insisted. To explain my identity, I was always prepared to give a three-minute explanation that Ukraine is one of the 15 republics of the Soviet Union, with 52 million people, Russified and oppressed, under Communist domination.

As I got older, my explanation included the phrase: "No, we are not Russian." and "No, I am not a Communist." I spoke of Russian and Soviet occupation, of the famine that killed 7 million Ukrainians in 1933, including members of my father's family, of the Ukrainian Insurgent Army, the freedom fighters for Ukraine's independence during the second world war. In a strange way, explaining my identity became almost a secret mission to inform the rest of the world about Ukraine.

Looking back, I realize it was so easy with a name like Kolomayets to accept that mission. As soon as I said my name, or presented a library card, or credit card, the next question would undoubtedly be: "Kolomayets, what kind of name is that?"

As I went to college and on to graduate school, I became interested in many different subjects, including English and American literature, world history, theology, communications. But, I always tried to take a Slavic course at the University of Illinois with a Ukrainian professor, and even in graduate school, concentrated on topics where I could incorporate Ukrainian issues. (For example, my master's thesis in journalism was a paper on Amnesty International's work to free political prisoners. I chose Nina Strokata-Karavansky as my case study.)

I was fortunate enough to land a job with The Ukrainian Weekly as soon as I got out of school, writing about subjects and issues close to my heart, but not until 1990, when the Ukrainian National Association agreed to open a press bureau in Ukraine, did I realize how kind fate has been to me. Since January 1991, I have been serving tours of duty here, reporting on the good news and the bad, on the highs and lows of this five-year-old state, trying to make its mark on the map of Europe. I began reporting out of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic in early 1991, and less than nine months later, I was living and reporting from an independent Ukraine. I was and continue to be a witness to history being made.

While in America I have always felt Ukrainian; here in Ukraine, I have often felt American. I realize that here, too, I am different from the others. Here, I often explain to my Ukrainian friends how things are done in America, how a democratic society works, what a mall looks like and that money does not grow on trees.

For many of my Ukrainian friends, I was the first Westerner they ever met. When I first arrived in Kyiv, there were almost no foreigners living in Ukraine. I was, for my Ukrainian-born husband, the first Westerner he had ever met face to face. (In some ways, I was much like an amusement park freak: an American who speaks Ukrainian, who leaves the luxuries of New York City to live in a single room in the Dnipro Hotel and report to the rest of the world about Ukraine? They called me crazy. The jury is still out on that one.)

What I have learned in my years of living in Ukraine has been quite an eye-opening experience. I, the daughter of immigrants, am now myself an emigrant. I will never really be accepted as a Ukrainian in Ukraine, nor will I ever again feel like just another American in the United States.

Some people may get really distressed by this notion, but I for one consider myself a very lucky person. I have been able to combine the best of two worlds in one lifetime. Every day in Ukraine I see history in the making, whether it be events leading up to the declaration of independence on August 24, 1991, the adoption of a new Constitution on June 28, 1996, or Ukraine's first Summer Olympics gold medal won by Vyacheslav Oliynyk on July 23.

And, now as the fifth anniversary of Ukraine's independence is here, I feel optimistic about Ukraine's future. It is living testimony that dreams do come true.