You want lightheartedness, cheerfulness, the “que sera, sera” vibe, try Capri, Santa Barbara, or maybe Rio. Ukraine, on the other hand, isn’t known for its gaiety. One of those goofy global happiness lists that Google serves up places the country way down at #105. To put that in perspective, Libya, a nation known for its militias and absence of state services, is ranked as 66th. Even Iran is several spots above Ukraine.
Now to be fair, Eastern Europe, and especially the Slavic parts of it have a reputation for being a bit dour. Seventy years of communism didn’t help and, needless to say, the brutal war launched by Moscow would wipe the smugly stoned smile off the face of even the chillest of California surfer dudes.
But as an American, I discover that when I’m in Odesa, where I spend a good chunk of each year, I’m perceived as astonishingly effervescent, bubbling over with optimism and superficial good cheer. I can’t help it, apparently. As a citizen of the country that came up with the taglines “E Pluribus Unum” and “In God We Trust,” my identity is wrapped up in a naive hopefulness that suggests I must have been dropped on my head as a newborn.
In every cafe and restaurant that I patronize, Ukrainian wait staff quickly identify me as a Yankee simpleton, doubtless because of my overuse of “please” and “thank you.” And somehow, maybe at waiter school, they’ve learned to conclude our transactions with the phrase “have a good day!” But although the words are right, they sound slightly off, like a talented parrot telling me to f**k off. The sounds are there, but the sincerity is lacking.
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In the middle of a brutal war, Ukrainians remain steadfastly human, in the best sense of the word. Although they have every reason to be, they are not bitter, but rather better.
The irony is that in the States I’m considered a rather bleak person. Kind friends might call it world weariness. Less charitable folks might conclude that I’m an acerbic, angry soul. The mirror tells me that my resting face fluctuates between skepticism and scowl.
But place me in Ukraine and I immediately radiate a magnetic aura of warmth and bonhomie. Every single day – I swear this is true – people come up to me and ask for directions in a language I barely understand, seemingly attracted by my relative approachability. Walking down a busy city sidewalk surrounded by scores of people, I’m inevitably the one the panhandler homes in on.
One upside of the Ukrainian contempt for cant is that communication is easy and efficient. No need for the endless qualifiers we Americans use as lubricants to the most mundane of social interactions. “Hey man… how’s it going… do you mind… if it’s no trouble… thanks so much,” None of that nonsense. Just state your business and you get a yes or a no.
This doesn’t mean Ukrainians are a race of Spock-like humanoids devoid of emotion and humor. On the contrary. The ones I know are can be deeply sentimental people, and they love their jokes, usually laden with sarcasm and absurdity. A popular one has a patriotic Ukrainian asking God why they were blessed with such a beautiful and bountiful homeland, with God replying: “Let me introduce you to the neighbors.”
And therein lies one of the great traits of these people. At a time when tens of thousands have been murdered by Moscow, when 20 percent of their land is occupied, and when the electrical grid has been decimated, they still remain steadfastly human, in the best sense of the word. Although they have every reason to be, they are not bitter, but rather better.
Chris Hennemeyer is a retired humanitarian worker who now runs a small charity to provide assistance to Ukrainian defenders (www.inthetrenchesukraine.org).
The views expressed in this opinion article are the author’s and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post.
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