Cruel Spring (Day 39)
Stories from Ukrainians in Vienna's main train station amidst ever more horrific tales of Russian army mass murder of Ukrainian civilians. Right here in Europe, 2022.
A week ago it was +20C and Vienna was in full bloom. Yesterday, a snowstorm appeared, as if out of nowhere, and the blossoms of spring were covered in several centimetres of white snow. A false start. A fake spring. That is what this all feels like now. It feels like time should stand still, in winter. We equate spring with rebirth and optimism; now there is only despair and destruction.
I spent another four hours at Vienna’s main train station today. It was fairly busy, in ebbs and flows, as trains rolled in from Romania (very nice, so many volunteers, they feed us and give us a place to sleep) via Hungary (terrible, no volunteers on the train station, there wasn’t even a bottle of water), Slovakia (they were fine but you can tell they are getting tired of us), Poland (there are two million of us there now).
First I met a group of seven people who had joined up in Romania and since stuck together. I helped them all get tickets to Berlin. The lady from ÖBB who sold us the seven tickets was herself originally from Bosnia. She could read the Cyrillic (“we had Serbian in school when I was a child” she explained). Slava Ukraine! she said, and handed the 8 year old a coloring kit and pens. So patient and so kind and she looked as if she understood on some deeper level exactly what the Ukrainians are feeling right now. Hvala puno, I replied.
Only one of them has someone waiting in Germany. A mom and her son from Kyiv, another mom, grandmother, and son from Mykolaiv, and two young men originally from Morocco but more recently from Odesa. And their two white fluffy cats, sharing a box. Yes, free cat food would be great (a few minutes later the kitties were self-feeding inside the box off a paper towel). Four packs of cigarettes, nine sandwiches, five cappuccinos, four teas, everyone happy. If just for an hour. The mom from Mykolaiv told me she was lucky, a man offered to drive her, her eight year-old son, and her diabetic mom right to the Ukraine-Romania border. There, they got on a pedestrian ferry that took them across the border. Volunteers helped them in Romania, and from there they took a train to Vienna. In Budapest they had to switch trains. They left home on March 31. Today is April 3. Tonight, inshallah, they should be in Berlin. They will ask volunteers for help. They don’t have anyone waiting for them.
Small towns, I said. Keep that in mind. They will be less crowded than German cities. Maybe if you are lucky a family will take you in, I suggested. The words start to feel empty as the weeks go by and the generous people of Europe have already opened up their homes to Ukrainian families. There are fewer and fewer good options. I never found any leads for the four women plus German Shephard plus three cats from Kharkiv. It is what it is. It is not easy.
Next I met three women who had just arrived from Paris via Germany and asked for tickets back to Ukraine. I knew it would happen today. The flow of Ukrainians back home has already started. They were disillusioned by what they saw and experienced in France, and decided home was “safe enough” for now. One young woman was headed first to Brno to stay with a friend and then back to her mother in Zaporozhye. A mother and daughter were headed back to Zhitomir, now. Getting tickets is difficult. The best I could do was help them get tickets to the Slovakian border, near but not quite in Uzhgorod. The train arrives at a tiny Slovakian town at 2am and who knows what will be there when they arrive. I explained. They nodded ok. Once in Ukraine, they will try to find a train home. They seemed determined. They asked about coffee.
I took them to a cafe and bought lattes and cheesecakes. They asked me if we could take a selfie. No one had ever asked me for my picture before. I was pretty embarrassed and started rambling about I have no make-up on but before I knew it our FFP2 masks were on our chins and we were all smiling to the camera. I guess I am somewhere on some Instagram now.
I met a mom and teenage son from Kyiv on their way to Zagreb. They just arrived in Vienna. They spent the night in Slovakia; it was freezing. They slept in “containers” with only a blue port-a-potty outside. The mom told me she thought a Slavic-language speaking country would be easier. “I’ll never manage to learn German,” she said. Her husband was in Ukraine, on a base 30 kilometrers from Kyiv. She said fighting is still ongoing. She is a professional cook and said she hopes it won’t be too hard to get a job in Croatia. A smart choice, I assured her. Her fifteen year-old son can try and finish his school online. At least that’s the plan. She doesn’t want any handouts and wants to work as soon as possible. You hear this over and over and yet the bureaucratic reality of Europe’s response to the war in Ukraine doesn’t make this possible in most cases. Everyone says over and over “how can we live for months with no place to live, no money, and no way to go out and earn some?”. The Ukrainian women I meet do not want to be dependent on anyone, they want to provide for their families. They want to work.
I meet an older woman from Mykolaiv. She asks for a night train ticket to Frankfurt. She isn’t really sure if it is the right choice. I assure here it is a rich city and a good place to start. You will see, I say, and if you don’t think it is going to work out you can always keep going. Austria, she says to me, I don’t feel like this is my place. I understand, I said, and offered to take her to the cafeteria (Tageszentrum). The cafeteria run by Caritas in the Erste Bank building has good hot food, today I saw potatoes and goulash, but now hot food is only served until 3pm, soup from 3pm-5pm, and after 5pm no food. Why? I have no idea, things change every day. The cafeteria is a walk from the station so it only works for those who don’t have tons of luggage. You have to ask a Caritas employee for a dated ticket on which they write down how many people are eating. It is only supposed to be for those traveling onwards that day. You get the idea. I always try and offer it to people who have time and the energy to walk over there. But without me they wouldn’t know it exists. I don’t stand in one place at the station, I walk around and actively ask people if they have questions or need help. One should not underestimate how tired many are. They cannot walk another 200m with three bags and two kids and one cat. In those cases I suggest a quick coffee and sandwich from the closest available cafe.
I met a woman, alone, with two huge bags, trying to get a ticket to Nürnberg. She had 40 minutes until her train. She was very nervous, and the seat reservation wasn’t working (I always buy seat reservations for those Ukrainians I translate for at the ticket counter — €3.50 per person = peace of mind). As we walked to get some food for the train, she told me her story. She is from Donbas. Donbas, I said, how did you get out? It was hard, she said quietly. She is from Luhansk oblast. Her town is now occupied by LNR/Russian forces. She got out in a private car that drove to Dnipro. From Dnipro she got on an “evacuation” train which brought her to Hungary. She didn’t want to talk much about what she had seen, but kept referring to how terrible it was. But Dnipro, I said, they have air raids now there still? Yes, she replied, but that is nothing compared to what we have in Luhansk. Her daughter is already in Germany, waiting for her, with a room in someone’s house. Her daughter fled from Odesa and arrived yesterday. I bought her two sandwiches, a cheesecake and a green tea. I would not be surprised if she has not eaten in days. I took her to her train and helped load all the bags on to the big white DB train car. Good luck, I said, waving goodbye.
I met a family who just arrived yesterday and didn’t understand why the supermarkets are closed on Sunday. I managed to get them a cafeteria ticket. I met two women who asked for tickets back to Kyiv. Ok, I said, taking a deep breath. Are you going back for good, or? They need to pick up a child, they explained. His dad would hand him over. I didn’t ask any more questions. ÖBB isn’t really set up for this. I got them tickets to the Slovakian border, also 1am arrival, also no idea how you exactly get into Ukraine from there. Another group of women asked me how to get to Lithuania. Warsaw was the best we could do. One young man told me he saw me two weeks ago. He is processing a Canadian visa. Maybe you did, I said. It all becomes a blur. A very nicely dressed woman from Odesa. On her way to one granddaughter in Germany, the other is in Varna, Bulgaria, her youngest son is at home, defending Odesa. They bombed us today, she said. I know, I replied. I always try to make it clear how closely I follow the news, that I know what they are worrying about. When she spoke about her son she teared up. I told her how much I would love to visit Odesa one day. Please come visit us, she said, smiling. You must. I promised I would.
When things quieted down a bit, I handed in my vest and drove home. Parked next to long-distance buses to Kosovo. The previous wars in Europe also left a permanent mark in Vienna.
And now it is time to talk about what no one has the words for. What no one should ever have to find the words for.
I can’t bring myself to share the indescribable videos and photos coming out of Bucha and other parts of Kyiv oblast. I am sure you have seen them and know where to find them.
Last night I tweeted out a short thread of the firsthand accounts I myself have heard at the train station, from Ukrainians directly. Makariv. Hostomel’. Chernihiv. Mariupol.
A mom from Bucha I met almost one month ago.
A few thoughts. First, no two tragedies are alike. Each is painful and a violent crime against humanity with unique circumstances, evil and pain.
Second, this is apparently happening over and over in Ukraine, it is not limited to a certain geography or group of soldiers. We will hear more from Kherson, from Mariupol, from other areas of Ukraine which Russia has occupied.
Just when you think the news of Russian atrocities cannot possibly get worse, it does:
Today I am thinking about history. About the killing fields of Europe. About how we let these things happen over and over and over again. How 2022 isn’t proving to be much different than 1942, despite our iPhones and internet and electric cars and green energy. And yes, we in Europe are still buying Putin’s oil and gas. It is the fuel that our cars run on and the gas that heats our homes. Unfortunately we never came up with a plan B earlier. And no, I don’t think today is an appropriate day to talk about whatever calculation that sick murderous dictator Putin had in his head when he gave the order indirect or direct to murder innocent civilians, whether in Chechnya or Syria or Ukraine. Because this isn’t Russia’s first rodeo.
Last, we need to talk about the Russian people. I genuinely miscalculated their reaction to the war in Ukraine. It is convenient to think of them as hostages, but in fact many are truly Putin supporters. Just like Hitler also had popular support in Germany and Austria. This is the hard truth which many Russians, especially those who already left their country, must now swallow about those who remained behind. I don’t think we can ever really know the true number of Putin supporters in Russia, because polls cannot be trusted and most people won’t say what they really feel to a video camera in that environment. But it is clear that a significant portion of the population has been zombified with the Z stuff and supports Putin’s war. Never in a million years would I have guessed a majority of Russians would support a war against Ukraine. Never. I was totally wrong on that. It is still, for me at least, totally incomprehensible.
This in German is a perfect example. Taganrog, Russia. 100km from Mariupol. A universal point of view shared on the promenade: “the Ukrainians are themselves to blame that Mariupol is so destroyed. The Russian army is doing everything right and helps the Ukrainians — the Russian army hits only military targets.”
The only thing which can be done now is to keep records. To document everything. Will justice ever be served on this earth? I have my doubts. But the world must know. The world must hear and see what Russia is doing in Ukraine. It is so hard, but it is so important we do not look away. I myself cannot look at such graphic images. But I can hear the stories. It is our moral duty to listen and record.
Thank you for reading and for your feedback. As this is a labor of love but also time, I appreciate your comments. It really motivates me to keep going. My volunteer work on the train station (with generous donations that fund seat reservations, sandwiches, coffees, and cigarettes!) is active and extroverted, my daily writing is passive and introverted, and the combination makes for a busy schedule while also not ignoring the three kids and husband who still expect me to do some wife and mom stuff. (Although, thankfully, they have reduced their own expectations of late!)
So proud to be your friend, Tanja! Your writing (and you yourself): beautiful, wise and brave.
My apologies for being behind in the reading ad responding. you said, "Never in a million years would I have guessed a majority of Russians would support a war against Ukraine." From an outsider's perspective, the people who are depressed in their own country are willing scapegoats for propaganda which tells them their plight is not their own fault, but the fault of "the other." The controlling elite provide something to look up to and admire; the leader provides them with the excuses needed to look the other way--or not search for a greater truth. We see this here in the USA, too.