Litnet

Karina Szczurek and Ukrainian author Andrey Kurkov at the Open Book Festival in Cape Town (Photograph provided)

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Watching Ukrainian parents evacuate their children to safety while staying behind to fight for their future breaks my heart. I cannot imagine the levels of anxiety and distress this kind of separation causes for a family. These people will never fully recover from this, even if they survive.

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You were a refugee, fleeing from an oppressive regime. Please share with us what those thousands of women and children who are now seeking refuge must feel like?

I was a child when my parents decided to flee Poland in the 1980s. My brother was six and I was ten at the time. It was very difficult to comprehend what was happening to us, but at least we were secure in the knowledge that our parents were with us at all times and would take care of us, no matter what. Our lives were never in danger. Watching Ukrainian parents evacuate their children to safety while staying behind to fight for their future breaks my heart. I cannot imagine the levels of anxiety and distress this kind of separation causes for a family. These people will never fully recover from this, even if they survive.

Do you know Ukraine at all?

A little bit. I spent three weeks in the beautiful Lviv on a student exchange in 1997. We also travelled outside this historic city. It was a formative experience. During these three weeks, I experienced for the first time the real closeness of the two languages – Polish and Ukrainian – met Charlotte, who remains a very dear friend, and discovered my love for opera and ballet at the stunning Ivan Franko Lviv State Academic Theatre of Opera and Ballet (renamed since then). I specifically remember how friendly and welcoming everyone I met there was, and I will never forget their delicious black bread (I couldn’t get enough of it).

What do you hear from friends and relatives about the current situation in Poland, now that Russia has invaded Ukraine?

A part of my family lives less than 100 kilometres away from the Ukrainian border. Everyone is shocked and afraid because of the utter unpredictability of the developing situation. Apart from anything else, we have all lived through the tragedy of Chernobyl. My friend Charlotte, who is Austrian and still teaches at the Institute for Slavic Languages at the Vienna University of Economics and Business, is devastated. Like all of us. She is assisting friends and colleagues fleeing the country. My favourite aunt in Poland, Aunt Zosia, wrote to me just after the invasion, but could not really find the words to express what she was feeling. I think that for many of us, this horrific reality – the reality of war – remains ungraspable. And I think it would be foolish not to be afraid right now, no matter where you live in the world.

You grew up in Poland under a communist regime. Please would you tell us about your childhood in Poland?

I was a child and I was surrounded by a big, caring family, so I was pretty much unaware that it was actually not normal to walk into a shop where the only thing for sale was vinegar and bread, or that you had to queue for hours to fill up your car or get a piece of sausage. I do remember my mom’s frustration with the pressure she experienced to join the Party in order to advance professionally (she refused, even if it meant no promotion). I also recall a sense of secrecy that was always around us. Some stories or jokes were told only in safe company, because you never knew who might be listening. I did hear of people simply disappearing, but I was too young to understand why or how.

What was your first memory of Russia? 

Fairytales and music came first, and then the endless, pompous Russian state funerals on Polish television.

Russia, after the break-up of the USSR, seemed to have grown into a more moderate country, until Putin became president. Do you know people who have lived through the more enlightened times in Russia?

Not really. My only connection to that part of the world has been academic/literary.

In South Africa, we often talk about the difficult concept of heritage. What does your Polish heritage mean? And how did this change when Poland’s relationship with Russia changed?

My most formative years were spent in Poland, and I know that deep down inside I am Polish, especially when it comes to language. It’s the only language that I can speak without an accent. People tell me that I speak only Polish in my dreams. Swear words and saying “I love you” in Polish still move something inside me that no other language can. I feel the language differently, even if I love the plasticity of German and prefer to write and read in English (these are the three languages I grew up with). I also look unmistakably Slavic, so there is something there that is part of my DNA. Whenever I am in Poland, even though I myself feel like an alien, I simply blend in, and it is the only place in the world where no one questions my identity when they see and talk to me. I grew up in an atmosphere of deep animosity towards everything Russian (apart from the arts!), but there is no doubt that the Russian influence is embedded into my heritage, especially because my parents, specifically my mom, always appreciated the cultural treasures of Russia. It’s all part of our – my – broader Slavic heritage.

Russia, thankfully, is not Putin. But many Russians are now facing hardship due to Putin’s war. Do you have any idea how ordinary people in the street will cope with the sanctions imposed by so many countries?

No, it’s difficult to imagine, but I also know that if I were Russian, I would be prepared to suffer any sanctions that could potentially end a war waged by my government/leaders.

Russia is a country with a succession of odd leaders, but lovely art, music and literature. Can you, with your Polish background, understand Russian enough to be able to read Russian books? And if so, what is one of the best Russian books you have ever read (possibly in translation)?

I never learned Russian. I was supposed to in school, like all Polish kids did from the age of ten before the changeover, but we left Poland just before it was my turn. The three books written in Russian that have shaped my literary consciousness are Gogol’s Dead souls (I am not sure, but I suppose he could be considered a Ukrainian writer?), Dostoevsky’s The idiot and, more recently, Svetlana Alexievich’s Second-hand time (originally written in Russian, but the author is Belarusian).

Similarly, do you understand the Ukrainian language, at least enough to be able to read a Ukrainian book?

I cannot read Ukrainian because of the Cyrillic alphabet, but the two languages – Polish and Ukrainian, especially West Ukrainian – are much closer than Polish and Russian. When I listen to the language, I can always understand the gist of the conversation.

Could you perhaps recommend any literature from the Ukraine?

Andrey Kurkov comes to mind immediately. Not only is his work – fiction and nonfiction – wonderful and widely translated, but a few years ago, he was a guest at the Open Book Festival in Cape Town and delighted the audiences with his insights and humour.