Mariupol (Day 33)
Stories from Mariupol at an eerily quiet Vienna central train station. Zelensky's long interview to independent Russian journalists & The Economist. Masyanya. Reforming Russia. Peace talks?
I was searching for photos of Mariupol from the before times and I came across this. I must have stared at it for three minutes straight, trying to compare this idyllic scene with the unimaginable horror stories which have emerged from Mariupol over the past several weeks. It is incomprehensible.
Vienna’s main train station was eerily quiet this morning. It was already quiet at the end of last week, but today the flow of passengers arriving from Ukraine had slowed to such an extent we had the unusual situation of having too many volunteers, no line for the cafeteria, no line for train tickets, no crowd gathering around the table where snacks and drinks are offered to Ukrainians between platforms 6 and 7. I still do not understand why the lull. Perhaps fewer people are leaving Ukraine. Perhaps those who wanted to flee have all already left, although in a country the size of Ukraine that seems impossible. Perhaps more people are now taking cars, buses and planes rather than trains. Perhaps those in the east haven’t reached the Polish border yet. Perhaps the relative standstill we see on the front lines also means fewer people are on the move. I haven’t heard a good explanation yet. Perhaps no one really knows.
The first family I met this morning was from Dnipro and in a hurry to get to the Irish embassy. After I helped them look up the address, I asked, but why? Ireland is EU, you don’t need to apply for visas? Dad has a Georgian passport. Turns out dad will need to apply. The rule just changed a few days ago — the logic being — you can always go to Georgia and it’s safe there anyway. I helped them with their luggage and promised to figure out if Hilton’s promise of free nights at their hotels for Ukrainian refugees is really true (per TikTok it works). I have since found this website and it looks promising. I sent the oldest daughter the link.
Next I met a man and woman of about 60, whom at first I assumed to be husband and wife, and later learned are brother and sister. They had a train to Munich in an hour’s time. They had their belongings in three plastic shopping bags tied by the straps over the top. I could see warm sweaters and such poking out. One leather backpack and that was it. I asked where they had arrived from. Poland. And before that? Zaporozhye. And before that? Mariupol.
Mariupol.
I paused, and told them they are the first people from Mariupol I have met in Vienna. They told me they left the city on March 18, evacuated out by a church group (I didn’t catch the name but it sounded like an evangelical or baptist group — a modern, new church not Orthodox — they said the “priest” wears a white suit and tie) which helped a group of children and other vulnerable people leave the city on a small bus via a carefully negotiated evacuation route. The brother told me how dangerous the route itself was. They heard planes flying overhead, bombs were falling as they left. The checkpoints are manned by Russian soldiers who didn’t look Russian, he explained. Probably Abkhazia, he added. The sister explained: you have to know how to talk to them, one wrong word and they start shooting.
I bought them some coffee and sandwiches and we sat down for a few minutes before I would escort the to their train to Munich. A granddaughter (6) and child who evacuated from Kyiv are waiting for them in Germany. How did you survive until March 18, I asked?
There was nothing, the brother continued. No water, no heat, no communications, no electricity. They had no idea how many of their friends got out because they hadn’t been able to communicate with anyone. They consider themselves lucky because the church took care of them. They saw the dead bodies on the streets. They said at first, when soldiers and tanks arrived, you couldn’t tell whose army they were. Later, when the Russians came, they were going from apartment to apartment, interrogating people, making the men take off their shirts, searching for nationalistic tattoos and other symbols. The Russians were also stealing anything they could get their hands on. They were going into apartments and carrying out TVs, computers, microwaves, even a fan. A fan! the sister said, shaking her head. They would call back to Russia on mobile phones and talk about their bounty. They would pile it all up in their tanks.
I asked about the forced deportations we have heard about. Yes, it’s true, the sister explained. Even to Sakhalin! If a solider is standing in front of you with a machine gun, what are you going to do? She cited a figure of 40,000 Mariupol residents already deported to Russia.
Her brother talked about the future. He talked about what a beautiful city Mariupol was and how beautifully it will now be rebuilt, using Russian money frozen by the west. I listened, not quite sure what to say about that theory. It seemed too early to talk about reconstruction, but hope of course is a fundamental part of the human experience.
Both brother and sister wanted to make sure I understood what a free place Ukraine was compared to Russia over recent decades. I know, I said, explaining I had visited Kyiv in early February, and felt the difference firsthand. In Ukraine, they said, you can say whatever you want. Russia never had that. No, I agreed, they didn’t.
It was -8C in early March when all of Mariupol was sheltering in frozen basements. They were still wearing warm clothes. They asked me if we have any clothing donations at the train station (we don’t). I asked what they needed. He a spring jacket, she another skirt. I escorted them to the platform to Munich and then ran as fast as I could to a sport shop and a ladies’ fashion shop. I managed to find a jacket and a skirt. Not perfect, but they would do. I ran back to the train. They were grateful. The big red train from Budapest pulled up (I already know the schedule) and I helped them into their railcar. I waved goodbye and passed on my number. They want to come back to Vienna one day and see the sights. Such a beautiful city, they said. And you must come visit us in Mariupol! You have a deal, I smiled.
As I was saying goodbye a woman grabbed me. Softly, but she grabbed me. I could tell she was pretty stressed out before she started talking. It was a monologue. I am 69 and from Mykolaiv and I need to get on this train which leaves in exactly one hour and before that I need coffee and water and maybe something to eat and please do not leave me and can you carry my suitcase and promise you are going to come back and put me on the train I am all alone you see everyone else went with the group but I have a plan and someone is waiting in Germany and I can’t go to my daughter in Israel because well it’s complicated you see I need medical insurance and…
You get the idea. Coffee and sandwich sorted, I listened as she told me she just got over covid (you could still hear the cough). I returned in time to help her to the giant white train to Deutschland. Today the platform was nearly empty. Two weeks ago it was so full with women, children and dogs ahead of every train to Germany it is hard to imagine. I wish I better understood why people have stopped coming, if it is temporary or a more significant shift. A friend in Budapest wrote last night (in Russian) how she managed to convince two Ukrainians to think twice before going back to war, that is how hard adaptation to what Europe is offering to refugees is going for some. So much of it is just pure luck, to be honest, if you were lucky to find yourself living with generous locals who have opened their homes and hearts, or if you spent weeks living in close quarters on cots with hundreds of other people.
Yesterday, a huge interview (both video and print) was published which Zelensky gave to four Russian independent journalists (all of whom I assume are currently not in Russia). I have not yet myself had time to watch the whole thing in its entirety, although I plan to. A good summary thread in English here.
When I first saw the news of the Zelensky interview with Russian journalists, I was a bit taken aback that not one person thought to perhaps invite at least one female journalist, at least for optics if nothing else. But I brushed it off. Maybe all the editors-in-chief are men, and that’s the explanation, I thought to myself. Then I saw this over my morning coffee. And I realised the problem is much larger:
Women bring more than just variety in a photo or Zoom screen. Women bring different perspectives and different questions. It says a LOT about Moscow “intellectuals” that they let this happen on the world stage, and then instead of walking it back, their male colleagues (see above) throw fuel on the fire. Of course in the grand scheme of war this is all irrelevant, yes, but I think it’s important to address. I have been blown away by reporting from Russian female journalists such as the incredibly brave and fearless and perceptive Elena Kostyuchenko. Without wanting to sound sexist, men cannot report as she does, because they do not listen like she does and ask the questions she asks. Oksana Baulina, a Russian photojournalist who had left Putin’s Russia in protest, was killed this week during a rocket strike in Kyiv while filming.
Zelensky also gave a big interview to The Economist. I also enjoyed this piece by Oliver Carroll about “the experience of interviewing the man of the moment”:
I was mesmerised by this cartoon last night. It has English subtitles. I remember it from when I first arrived in Moscow, late 1990s, my friends were in university, and I know they watched this. I remember the characters. This Masyanya special edition episode No. 160 is the most powerful representation of the actual thought process going on behind closed doors in Russia I have seen. The dialogues are absolutely realistic. I especially liked the part where they say (paraphrasing) “we never had anything but a tyrant, there is never a peaceful transition of power in Russia, etc”. Those are the ideas that keep millions of Russians from taking to the streets — that and Putin’s OMON guys and corrupt judges and an understanding of what prison in Chita is like. A 12 minute watch, highly recommend it.
Russia’s most famous cartoonist drew this today — perfection
I also enjoyed this Guardian article by an award-winning Russian author addressing his fellow Russians. Although I don’t think the country is there yet (my very limited impression is still giant slumber for the most part coupled with more day-to-day worries about how to adjust to the new economic and political realities than about what is actually happening in Ukraine). I updated last night a bit from the Moscow mommy chats here.
The news today seems to imply Russia is trying a new offensive around Kyiv. Mariupol’s mayor has called for the entire remaining population (an estimated 160,000 people) to be evacuated. Peace talks are scheduled to start again tomorrow in Turkey, if I understood the latest updates correctly. Although I understand why both sides need to appear to be trying to work on this, I remain skeptical. Zelensky made it quite clear in his comments yesterday that he cannot sacrifice Ukraine’s territorial integrity (with the exception of the eastern Donbas region), and Russia cannot claim any kind of victory without securing territorial gains it achieved, for now, with force, so for the moment I personally don’t see any common ground other than buying time. I hope I am wrong. But I don’t see how all this death and destruction can be declared a victory by either side. It feels much more like a stalemate, a pause.
If you remember Valentina, I reached out to her today. She and her son are fine but both recovering from covid — at the moment it feels like every second person in Austria is sick with it. Ukrainians I meet at the train station have joked that when the war started everyone suddenly forgot about covid. True, but now the virus is reminding us all we may forget, but it, unfortunately, does not.
Thank you for reading.