NEWS AND VIEWS: A tribute from a bystander (11/05/06)

NEWS AND VIEWS

A tribute from a bystander

by Irene Zabytko

I can't say I really knew her - I missed out on the opportunity. It's more truthful to say I knew of her, and yet I had the privilege of witnessing Nadia Svitlychna's presence long before she was aware of mine.

The first time I heard about Nadia Svitlychna was in my research for an undergraduate independent project. I read about the "Shestydesiatnyky," the dissidents in Ukraine in the 1960s who expressed their anti-Brezhnev grievances through underground samvydav and public protest, and I wanted to learn more about them. Exploring that era was actually a personal reawakening since I had no real connection to Soviet Ukraine outside of the Cyrillic scribbles on graph paper stationery my parents received from remote villages they no longer recognized.

From my research, I was introduced to the courageous Vasyl Stus, Vyacheslav Chornovil, Petro Grigorenko and certainly Nadia Svitlychna. I was especially fascinated when I learned more about her astonishing heroism and integrity in defending the other dissidents. She was unwavering in her dedication and stamina when she distributed the underground political writings for human rights in Ukraine despite KGB harassment and labor camp internment.

At tremendous personal sacrifice, she fought for a cause which even Ukrainians, never mind the world, did not necessarily embrace or aid. What a tumultuous time for Ukraine in those days (but then it's always a tumultuous time there it seems). What exceptional heroism those dissidents of the '60s exhibited in their hope and faith for a more humane Ukraine.

The first time I actually saw Svitlychna in person was at the infamous and pivotal "Second Wreath Conference," a Ukrainian feminist gathering in Edmonton, Alberta. It was a controversial and exciting forum, progressive and invigorating, and I was thrilled to be among other women who shared a heritage I was slowly embracing again.

I sat inside a packed auditorium awaiting her keynote address to us. She came on stage, and her unassuming manner and gentle demeanor were evident. She spoke in a calm Ukrainian lilt and described her arrest and her time in the horrific labor camp in Mordovia without pity for herself or recriminations toward her denouncers. She simply related her experiences with grace, candor and lack of rancor or bitterness, even when she showed the audience the camp uniform she wore and had miraculously preserved - a striped and otherwise plain dress, simple in its form and yet terrible in what it represented.

I remember remarking to a friend who was also there how extraordinary it was that after all she had gone through, Svitlychna appeared so serene. My friend said it was because she was given another chance at life after she defected to the West and was reunited with her family. Svitlychna was, as my friend put it, "reborn."

Years later, I saw her again. It was a year after Ukraine's independence, and I was in post-Soviet Kyiv where I taught English as a Second Language classes for the Ukrainian National Association's innovative volunteer program, "Teach English in Ukraine." I was going home after several fulfilling weeks of teaching and being my students' first real-life American.

I was waiting in the long line to board my Air Ukraine flight at Boryspil. Two people were ahead of me, one was Svitlychna, although I was oblivious at first. She looked familiar, certainly very native Ukrainian, but it wasn't until she was made to go through the metal detector several times that I finally remembered.

She was more diminutive up close than on that Edmonton stage, but still as dignified and calm as before. She was patient, cooperative and absolutely gracious with the customs guard, a pimply faced young man with tryzub insignia who nervously waved the electro-magnetic wand over her body. She extended her arms, amused at the entire ritual, then asked if it was all right to go through the gate. I wondered if he had any awareness of who she was, and what great deeds she had done for his generation and his new country. I wondered if she thought it ironic to be mildly harassed in the country she helped to liberate by an official half her age and nowhere near her stature.

Eventually, we boarded what was a fascinating flight. Besides Svitlychna, a professional singing group called the Cherkasy Kozaks (with forelocks and shaven heads) were also on board, as were many Hasidic Jews and their families, all en route to New York. I thought it amazing how well the Hasids interacted with the beautiful Ukrainian stewardesses who were dressed in embroidered blouses. Scattered in the rows between the bearded and fedora-wearing Hasids were the mustached, bald Kozaky and the most amazing thing was that nobody was alarmed or bothered that two historically rancorous groups were sharing the same space. Nobody cared.

It happened that I sat in the same row as Svitlychna. She had the window seat, and one of the Kozaks sat between us. He and I hardly spoke since he was in deep conversation with her. I overheard her talking to the Kozak whose head was bent down low, his ear capturing her story told in a soft voice that was often muffled by the monotonous drone of the plane's engines. I was actually jealous that he was sitting there, the lone recipient of her company, and I almost asked if he would change seats with me.

We had a long stopover at Dublin's Shannon Airport. Those were the days when Shannon welcomed the "Russians" by placing large signs (in Russian) in the bathrooms that instructed unsophisticated travelers what the sinks were (not for bathing), and what the showers were (for bathing only). None of the passengers appeared offended - in fact it was well-intentioned, even amusing, and from what I saw, many were happy to be contained in a very classy part of the airport with an Irish pub and several high-end souvenir shops.

I wandered around until I saw Svitlychna and shyly approached her. She was buying a beautiful hand-woven scarf for one of her children. I reminded her of the conference in Edmonton so long ago. Yes, she remembered that amazing event. She was friendly, and very patient in listening to my struggling Ukrainian, and we continued our conversation all the way back to our seats on the plane.

She noticed I was worried. I confided (for in that brief time, I felt comfortable enough to confide in her) that I somehow miscalculated the long stopover in Ireland, and feared missing my connection in New York. She asked if I had a place to stay in case I was stranded, and if not, I was welcome at her home in New Jersey.

I was taken by her generosity. It was a sincere invitation and given in her gentle voice to a stranger who could barely communicate her gratitude. I am sorry now that I hadn't taken up the invitation because it would've provided the opportunity I will never have of getting to know that great woman.

I lost her in the crowds going through customs at Kennedy Airport, but not before she handed me her business card and insisted I call if I needed a place to stay. Then she smiled and was gone.

Irene Zabytko is the author of the novel "The Sky Unwashed" and the short story collection "When Luba Leaves Home."

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