A bald, tight-jawed border soldier and a colleague with a long, dark ponytail make their way through an overcrowded train that has been standing still in Lviv at 3 a.m. Friday afternoon. They are looking for Ukrainians between the ages of 18 and 60. All men must show their papers. Anyone with a Polish or British passport, or whose date of birth is before 1962 or after February 2004, may stay. But a sturdy man in his thirties with a beard is addressed sternly by the female soldier and summoned out of the train. Resignedly, he takes his backpack from the overhead compartment. His partner bursts into tears and curses the uniformed. Then she grabs the cat cage with their pet in it and goes after her husband. She would rather stay with him in dangerous Ukraine than leave for safe Poland alone.
The mobilization announced by President Volodymyr Zelensky does not mean that every man capable of doing so must immediately go into arms. But they are forbidden to flee the country. They must be ready to defend it against the Russian invasion that began early in the morning on Thursday. The platform in Lviv, the northwestern city about eighty kilometers from the Polish border, is therefore the scene of last kisses, intense hugs and lots of tears. A father with gray hair in a bun who tries to comfort his daughter can no longer keep himself dry. Farewell without any certainty of reunion.
When the air-raid siren in Lviv went off this morning and Yuri Stopkin (37) took cover in an air raid shelter with his wife Tanja and son Alexander (9), he decided that they had to flee. “Saying goodbye is terrible, but if I know my family is safe, I can operate more easily in this absurd situation.” Should he be called up for battle, he needn’t worry about them being left behind in Lviv without him.
He understands the Ukrainian ukaze to all men. “War is simply not fair. It is incredibly difficult for Ukraine to beat the much stronger Russian army. Our survival is at stake, so all solutions are allowed,” says Stopkin, who is an IT specialist. “Until a few days ago, I couldn’t imagine being able to shoot another human being. But now that the invasion is complete, I am prepared to defend my country. Although I don’t know how suitable I am for it.” His smile covers the fear he’s trying to hide from his nine-year-old.
Also read this report from the other side of the border: Crying on the platform in Lviv: the men are not allowed to leave
Rather go away together
Not all men who say goodbye here feel that way. Arseni Ivanovich (21) would prefer to go to Poland with his mother and brother. Together they fled years ago from Donetsk to Mariupol, where he now studies, and since the declaration of war this week all the way to Lviv, 1,300 kilometers to the west. As soon as this train leaves he is alone, with only his father in Kiev where he can go. “I fear for our lives. Some people want to fight. I just want to leave.”
He finds it hard to bear being held by his own government in a war he in no way wants to be a part of. How free is the land if it forces its men to fight?
In a hall of the station, Olga Gregorjeva (27) in a gray hoodie is trembling with nerves. The air raid sirens have just gone off in Lviv and the station with its huge glass dome feels like an unsafe place to be. She waits with her brother Mikita (17) for the hourly delayed train without any idea where they will sleep tonight. “We don’t know anyone in Poland, but we hear that people are well taken care of there.” Her concerns are about her father and her husband, whom she barely had the opportunity to say goodbye to in Kiev. “Suddenly we got a lift to Lviv and then I had to leave immediately.” She is quiet for a moment. “I have no hope of seeing him again.”
She fears that Russian forces are also killing random civilians. “That people are executed on the street and the rest live like a prisoner, as we already see in the Donbas”, the eastern area of which part has been under Russian control since 2014. Gregorjeva does not want to live in such a country. “It feels like today is our last chance to escape that.” The man with the gray bun paces across the platform and tries to catch a glimpse of his family in the crowded train.
Not all Ukrainian IDPs want to cross the border to neighboring countries in the European Union. Vitali (34) from Kiev has moved with his family “a traveling circus with wife, two children, a dog and a cat” to a village an hour south of Lviv. “It doesn’t feel right to split us up.” He also thinks that his flight will avoid a possible call-up to the army. “The authorities do not know where I am.”
He’s at the station today to help friends leave. Even without mobilization, leaving the country would be too big a step for him. He has a thriving family business in electricity with fifty employees that he does not want to give up. “I studied in Poland and could easily live there, but I don’t feel like starting over elsewhere. When the military violence is over, I hope to go back to Kiev.”
Life under Russian occupation
Even if that means living under Russian occupation or a Putin-planted regime. “People will still need electrical outlets,” he reasons. Because of this view, which is extremely controversial in Ukraine, Vitali does not want his last name in the newspaper. “The only downside is that we will no longer be free to express our opinion: on social media or in the kitchen.” He references a Soviet saying that even guests in your own kitchen can be state spies.
That is precisely the reason for Olga Gregorjeva, Arseni Ivanovic, Yoeri Stopkin and many others to leave. “The coming days will be decisive in the battle,” said Stopkin. “If the capital falls and Russia wins the war, the mobilization will be canceled and I still want to leave.” After his family, which is already in Poland by then. “It was not easy to live here, but if the Russian ‘liberators’ (which they are according to Russian propaganda, ed.) rule here, it becomes impossible.”
A version of this article also appeared in NRC Handelsblad on 26 February 2022
A version of this article also appeared in NRC on the morning of February 26, 2022
#Crying #platform #Lviv #men #allowed #leave