Some remarkable things have happened in Kingston lately.
For the 50th time I found myself on a stage facing a large audience attending the annual “Lviv, Ukraine” pavilion at the Folklore festival. The first time I did this I was a student at Regiopolis-Notre Dame High School. Now I am a senior citizen.
I’ve often been asked what kept our pavilion going even as the other communities once involved with Folklore dropped out. Pride in our culture is an obvious answer but, honestly, hurt pride too.
Lubomyr Luciuk
A young dancer at Folklore 2019’s “Lviv, Ukraine” pavilion.
It was not unusual, in years gone by, to encounter people who questioned whether Ukraine or Ukrainians actually existed beyond émigré fantasies or, worse, were nothing but malicious constructs, fabricated by the Germans in the two world wars as geostrategic tools for fragmenting the Russian/Soviet empires. More personally, many of us were mocked for our names and suffered having our Ukrainian rituals and faith misunderstood, even as our history was denied.
So, when my late parents and the others who established the “Lviv, Ukraine” pavilion came together, they agreed on what their shared mission must be: telling other Canadians who Ukrainians are, what their culture is and how Ukrainians would continue to struggle for their national independence until it was won.
Most of the pavilion’s founders were displaced persons (DPs) who found asylum in Canada after the second world war. Jokingly, they were said to be “living on packed suitcases,” as many expected to someday return “home.” I have the suitcase my parents carried when they got off the boat. They came with little. Yet through hard work and perseverance, they gave back more than they ever received, save for the chance to live here, which was priceless. The last of my parents’ refugee cohort, of “my community,” died just before Folklore. As we laid her to rest, we took comfort in knowing she had stayed the course.
In Confederation Park, I stood beside my friend Mayor Bryan Paterson as Ukraine’s national flag was raised officially for the first time in my hometown. A few dozen members of the Ukrainian Canadian Club were there, many dressed in traditional folk costumes. Passing tourists stopped to take photos. I had to smile. Just over 100 years ago Ukrainians were branded as “enemy aliens” and confined in internment camps, including Fort Henry. Yet here stood “Ukrainian” dancers – of French Canadian, Polish, Chinese, Irish, English and Scottish heritages – happily celebrating our culture without anyone chiding them for it, much less rounding them up. We live in a much more inclusive society and are all the better off for it.
From where I stood, I could see City Hall. Stained glass windows honoring Canada’s military achievements in the Great War illuminate this building’s marvelous Memorial Hall. Isaac Cohen, a local luminary, commissioned a window recalling the now-iconic battle of Vimy Ridge. In late 1914 this same fellow implored Fort Henry’s commandant to permit several interned Jews to attend Chanukah services at the Queen Street synagogue, but never returned them. On the pages of this newspaper I recalled the story of this “tzadik,” this righteous man, calling him “Kingston’s Moses.” His chutzpah still needs to be commemorated. I will get that done. It’s one of “my” stories even if I am not Jewish. He and I are both Kingstonians.
As the Folklore weekend came to a close, we received glad tidings. My sister, Nadia, who has voluntarily trained the Ukrainian Maky Dance Ensemble for decades, will be recognized on Canada Day with the City of Kingston’s First Capital Honorable Achievement Award. Almost simultaneously, those very same “kids” (I use that word from the vantage point of a community elder!) caught us off guard with a gift. Very thoughtfully, they raised funds for a memorial plaque on a Victoria Park bench, not far from where our family once lived on Nelson Street. They have so honored the memory of Maria and Danylo Luciuk, two founders of Kingston’s Ukrainian community. I sat there just the other day, reflecting on how a simple object can be transformed with such a gesture into something quite magical.
My parents’ generation witnessed Ukraine’s return to its rightful place in Europe. They lamented when Ukraine was forced, yet again, to defend itself against the Russian invaders threatening its existence. But they believed Ukraine would endure. And this time they knew Canada would help. Ukrainian officers regularly train at Fort Frontenac, and Canadian troops are teaching and learning from frontline Ukrainian soldiers at the Yavoriv Combat Training Center, located just outside Lviv, where my maternal grandmother’s home stood before the Soviets knocked it down. While helping to raise the Ukrainian flag in Kingston, Col. Viktor Siromakha, Ukraine’s military attaché, thanked Canadians for supporting Ukraine in its time of need. My parents and their friends did their work well.
One hundred years ago I probably would have been interned as an “enemy alien.” Fifty years ago, when I was but a boy, no Ukrainian state existed. Today I am a professor at The Royal Military College of Canada, Ukraine exists, my fellow Kingstonians celebrate Ukrainian culture and plaques around town recall the historical experience of Ukrainians in this community. This is our home.
There is a lesson in all of this for all of us. Simply put – and regardless of the imperfections some naysayers and politicians go on about – this country has nothing to apologize for, to anyone. It’s the best place on earth. We’ve made sure of that. Standing on stage for 50 years was my contribution. It was worth it.