Rise after a Fall

Seeds of Doubt

Seeds of Doubt

My deceased granddad was a military judge. During the Soviet times he belonged to those people who did not take bribes and took to heart everything. This helped him to pass fair judgments. Granddad would always imagine himself being in victims’ and criminals’ shoes. People from all corners of the vast Bolshevik country called and asked his advice. Probably, all these experiences and loyalty eventually worsened his cancer, which killed him. In any case, being inspired by this role model, I decided to follow in grandfather’ footsteps and entered the Law faculty. Unfortunately, very soon I got disappointed in the whole law-enforcement and judicial systems. To become a man who restores justice, prevents crimes and brings punishment seemed decent future to me. However, at a certain moment understanding of the surrounding processes brought me to the conclusion that in the times of the criminal regime of the pro-Russian president, to act by rights was impossible in the law-enforcement or judicial system. Clear hierarchy and slavish top-down power vertical. What is said by a superior by rank or title must be performed by an inferior unconditionally, regardless of whether it is correct or not. The kingdom of corruption and bribery. Fish begins to stink from the head. Thus, still being a student, I realized that I was not to be a prosecutor, an investigator or a judge

I decided to change everything and, having received an invitation to work in the USA, I bought a plane ticket and flew away for six months into the unknown where I was heading for everyday laboring. With no holiday, no rest or sleep, everything was done to achieve one goal only — become independent from the current circumstances, not to get drowned in the swamp I happened to see once.

By that time I had already been long keen on photography. Then I made a plan to combine what I was fond of and what would support me financially. But it was necessary to earn the startup capital to make my aspirations come true. The American dream is real only after titanic efforts and pains. So I actually did my best. Eventually I achieved my goals. I liked it the United States of America, but I did not want to stay there. I was willing to go back home. Although it was not so good in my native country in many respects, I was like a bird that strives to get back to it is nest, in my case, to Ukraine.

Alternating with photo sessions, master classes and competitions I graduated from an institute and, having been granted master’s degree in law, I started working as a photographer for an American stock photo company. Life pace was like advertising and full of fashionable glamour. I always called it a Bohemian atmosphere.

I would hardly ever turn on TV, and if I did, then I preferred Russian channels. Smartly dressed newsreaders would continuously convince that it was necessary to watch only their news, since only they would show more information, more accurately and objectively about the country where I live. But I didn’t care, it didn’t matter to me. I wasn’t interested in politics, it seemed dirty to me and inaccessible. My generation was still taught under the Soviet system that a common citizen in the country is nobody, therefore, there is no use in trying to change anything in life. Like the majority, I completely ignored the manipulations, which, like a giant whirlpool in the middle of the ocean, were absorbing the Crimea. The Russian Federation did not start the hybrid war in 2014, it had never been over, and at that time a new stage of activation commenced. The reason was the Ukrainian Revolution of Dignity.

Everything happening in the heart of the country then did not bother me much, nor my friends and acquaintances. In the Crimea everything was wrapped in the web of the Russian World. Adverts, street signs at the stops, conversations at the markets and minibuses. Everything had decayed due to Russia. In the Crimea everyone would whisper that integration with the European Union was going to cause the worst possible effects, mainly in the economy. I could hear the same story from many friends, and in different sources it sounded like “according to a very good acquaintance of mine”, “My Mum said that her friend’s friend had been to the Maidan and there she had tea from the tents, and when she came back to the Crimea, she got unwell and then from bad to worse. So she was examined in the policlinics and the tests showed that she had used drugs. Do you see? There, on the Maidan, everybody was addicted to drugs!!!” It does not take a rocket scientist to question these stories, especially when one and the same plot is interpreted in various ways, you just start doubting.

In February everything changed dramatically. I got interested in seeing what was there on the Maidan, the epicenter of the ongoing Ukrainian revolution. I wanted to learn what it actually looked like from inside, whether it was as horrifying as it was shown on Russian TV?