Nothing would suit [Biden's] purposes better than to provoke a Russian invasion of Ukraine, an invasion in which everyone who has dirt on him would die under Russian guns, and his Russophobic fearmongering would become self-fulfilling enough that he could thump his chest and say "see? -This author, in a post ten days ago.
You know, 72 hours ago, there were those in the US who held a certain admiration for Vladimir Putin (especially compared to the invertebrate who currently befouls the White House with his presence. There were many in the US who viewed Putin's Russia as a more reliable ally than Europe in America's long-term struggle; that is, against China.
And why lie? I was one of them.
That changed on Thursday morning, at 7:35 AM Kharkiv local time. My bedroom sits inside the building, with no walls that touch the exterior of the building. As such, it's highly insulated from sound outside. This, coupled with a box fan for background noise, is how my girlfriend and I were able to sleep through the initial salvos of Putin's "Special Military Operation."
We were finally awakened by her parents pounding on the door, and when we opened them to find her parents in a panic (and all this before either of us even laid eyes upon a coffee pot) were basically various forms of "what's going on?" Her father spoke enough English to answer "at 5 AM... war... is begin."
As I've mentioned before, I live in Industrialnyi, Kharkiv. 10 minutes' walk from Industrialnyi Metro Station, about 30 meters from ATB on the south side of Moskovskii Prospekt. If any locals are reading this, I live a building away from Yuna's coffee shop and across the lot from the liquor store (the one with the water refill machine at the entrance), just for perspective. If you've seen a guy headed through the bazaar to the Metro between 8PM and 10 PM wearing an ostentatious cowboy hat, that's me. Now, for those who are not from the area, it's called "Industrialnyi" for a reason. It, and nearby Traktornyi Zavod, are the main industrial and manufacturing centers oh Kharkiv Oblast. As such, the initial assault on Kharkiv struck this area, hard. At first, it was a little surreal. "Wait, what do you mean 'war started?' What happened? Some cyberattacks? An incursion from Donbas? Some tanks crossing the border?" It took a few minutes for my girlfriend to absorb what she was hearing and I didn't get a full translation until later. Meanwhile, I checked my phone and found a panicked instagram message from my mother back in the States, asking "news says your location is being bombed! Are you okay! What the hell is happening?!" What I heard from my girlfriend then was "pack some dry food and go to the basement, now." It was there that she explained to me that essentially every township on the outskirts of Kharkiv was in ruins. She told me she was going to her parents' house (near Kharkiv airport) to help move her grandmother. That was about 7:45 AM on Thursday, February 24. And that was, at time of press, the last time I saw her face to face.
Meanwhile, I moved some things to the basement of our apartment building. The scene outside was... otherworldly. There were no sounds of shelling. No smoke plumes. No smell of gunpowder. No residual heat. People were not panicking, but I noticed they were all huddled around the entrances to basements. And those who weren't all seemed to be loading bags into cars. A quick trip to ATB (a 24-hour grocery store that is larger than a Circle K or 7/11 but smaller than a Kroger or Brookshires) to buy bottled water revealed empty shelves and lines that went on for hours. The ATM's all had hastily-scrawled "out-of-service" signs on them. People looked shell-shocked. Social media was awash with information, disinformation, and misinformation. "They already took Kharkiv," one report claimed, along with a photo of a Russian flag flying over an administrative building downtown. The maps of Russian incursions shared on instagram revealed that this was, in fact, true. And I wondered, "what did I sleep through?" Perhaps the fact that I had slept through it, is the reason I did not fully grasp the situation Ukraine was in, until later. After a few hours in a dusty basement that looked incapable of providing much shelter, packed with concerned-looking parents and children who seemed to act as though "this is all a big exciting adventure," many of us decided "well, it seems safe to go upstairs for now." Once I signed online, I had my first chance to look up news from the rest of the world, and that was when the tsunami of information about Russia's attack came in. The Russian "takeover" of Kharkiv, it now seemed, had been repelled. The Russian flag was indeed raised over the Administrative Building once, but this was quickly undone. I have no word as yet whether the flag was raised by Russian advance scouts in plain clothes or a handful of Pro-Russia hooligans. The troops surrounding Kharkiv, also, were driven back to the outskirts by the evening (and from the limited glimpse I had, they got the shit kicked out of them, but more on that later). The rest of the day was spent checking, one by one, with local friends to see if they were okay and what their experiences had been.
"We're okay here, but there were helicopters overhead in the night and it was freaky."
"Here there's been constant shelling. Yeah, still."
"I didn't get hit, but the next block did."
"No, I was lucky. The fighting is far from here."
"My whole area is fucked, man. My neighbor's car got hit by artillery."
"There was a helicopter overhead just firing, and firing, and firing. I mean, what for? This is a residential area! There's no military targets here. That's a fucking apartment complex they just fucked."
It was not my first experience with war, but it was my first experience in a war where I wasn't one of the fighters; my first time experiencing what it is like to be one of the civilians caught between combatant forces, where the war is something that rolls over you, not something you are part of. The feeling was eerily reminiscent of the way I felt on 9/11, watching the towers fall and slowly absorbing the reality, "this is real. We're under attack." There were two differences. For one thing, on 9/11, only two landmarks in two cities were hit, and this was a full-on assault of an entire country. For another, on 9/11, I spoke the language and knew what was being said. Meanwhile, my area was relatively quiet most of the day. Essentially, everything in the area worth bombing had already been bombed. Hearing my girlfriend's growing panic throughout the day as her home, near the airport, was continuously bombarded, was another story. And hearing all this, while not being able to get to her because it was dangerous to move, was the hardest of all.
That was all day 1.
The following day began with the distant sound of a diesel engine moving slowly, TOO slowly down the street, and the slow realization that whatever it was was larger, and slower, than any machine that normally came down the street. I ran to the window to see what was upon me, and saw a pair of tanks driving down Moskovskii Prospekt and turning onto Industrial Drive. I breathed a sigh of relief seeing there was no "Z" on them, as they dug into firing positions. The relief was short-lived, however, as they and a vehicle full of infantry exchanged fire with an unseen unit close enough to be in rifle range. That's a hell of a scene to witness from one's living room window before one has had one's coffee! The feeling for the rest of the day was one of a strange, gradual, acceptance of the war all around. It is odd, looking back, how quickly I went from "holy shit, is that gunfire?" to "meh, those explosions aren't that close. I'll go back to cooking lunch." Everything that seemed normal when I went to bed Wednesday night, now seems to have been another lifetime. Sanity has been replaced by "have you found a way out of the country yet? ...No, not yet darling," interspersed with "wait, do you hear something? ...Is that a... GET DOWN, NOW!" as an Su-57 flies overhead and deploys its payload against... who will ever know what. And I talk to my friends around Kharkiv and hear envy in their voices, when I tell them "no, from here the shelling is a distant rumbling. We've only had a few small skirmishes between infantry and tanks, and one oil depot catching fire." The local news is all in Ukrainian. There is an emergency radio service that relays where the latest attacks are, but it is in a language I can't understand. I get my information about the attacks from my eyes, ears, and the occasional frantic telegram message that says "you need to take shelter, now." But in Industrialnyii, I've been lucky. Basically, everything here worth bombing was already bombed before I woke up on Thursday morning. The only thing that brings home the reality of just what is happening, is the steady stream of foot-traffic coming down Moskovskii Prospekt from Traktornyi Zavod, an area that has been continually bombarded. They all look the same. Clothes burned and covered in ash, carrying loads of whatever supplies they could find in one arm, and crying children in the other, their faces creased from exhaustion and stressed and yet seemingly determined to act as though the bombing of their homeland is nothing more than a weather phenomenon.
There's more to come. Tonight, the Russians moved reinforcements from across the border to hit Kharkiv again, and from 8:38 PM until 11 there was a virtually continuous drumroll of explosions. Try to imagine a popcorn popper, pitch-shifted down eight octaves, at a volume that rattles the windows and shakes the building. Then comes word that this wave is using thermobaric rockets. And then comes an analysis from a US Army retired general, saying "this Russian force is only the reconnaissance wave, the main attack hasn't even started yet."
...And Joe Biden's response, is sanctions. Sanctions. I am reminded of a teacher in an inner city school who, faced with a student who throws a desk at the teacher's head, responds with "now young man, that's very naughty. I'm putting your name on the board." I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in hearing pundits telling me how sanctions against a country will stop them from something like this. When Joe Biden was vice president, Putin invaded Crimea. When Joe Biden was on the end of his vice-presidency, Putin invaded Donbas. When Trump was president, Putin backed of of Ukraine while his mercs got slaughtered in Syria and his Eastern flank got threatened by a new set of US anti-air missile batteries in Japan. And then Biden became president and, well... the rest is history.
Speaking of history...
It will judge Vladimir Putin harshly for this invasion. But I pray it also judges Joe Biden for his three sins. Daring Russia to invade, promising Ukraine he would aid them and then abandoning them, and pretending he was giving a "strong response" when he was hiding. I can't help but wonder what the Ukrainians could do, if they had all that hardware the US left for the Taliban during the Biden-ordered retreat from Afghanistan.
And yet, as I witness the determination of the Ukrainian populace to stand up and fight, I am filled with hope that they will, somehow, win through. When I arrived here last March, this country was divided. There was a pro-Russian camp, and a pro-Western camp. Well, not everyone is pro-Western now (a lot of them resent the West for leaving them to fight alone, and rightly so), but there is NOBODY left here, who is pro-Russian. When I arrived here, most Ukrainians hated their country. Now, the words "Slava Ukraine" are on the lips of not only all Ukrainians but indeed, the entire world. Putin's attack has united this country in a way I have not seen since, well, since America in the aftermath of 9/11. And even if Putin installs a puppet regime, he'll never hold this population.
...I have more to say, but it is 4 AM and I am exhausted after three days of battle. So I'll simply say two things. The first is "Let's Go, Brandon," and the second is "Slava Ukraine!"