The pictures drew me in. Independence Square, the central square in Kiev, evoked flashes of post-apocalyptic video games with graffiti and fireballs from Molotov cocktails flaming in the background. I found the Ukrainian conflict oddly thrilling, but difficult to follow, as the initial issue of trade agreements intertwined with complex identity politics, sensitive cultural histories, and lazy misunderstandings. More than anything, however, I found the events in the Ukraine familiar because I saw my family in them.
After reading a New York Times article on the protests in Kiev, I called my mother—who is part Russian, part Ukrainian—to ask her opinion on the issue. She answered bluntly: “I don’t care.” I was stunned. I responded with a reminder that she should care, if not for the future of innocent lives, then because of her Ukrainian heritage. She countered, “True, but I like my other half better,” referring to her mother’s side, a mix of Russian and Jewish heritage.
My mother’s response elicited more than anger. I was disappointed. In my mind, she represented part of the problem. While the linguistic and ethnic factions in the country are undeniable—a third of the country’s native language is Russian, and more than half speak Russian to communicate in daily life—this knee-jerk reaction to cling to nationalism narrows the courses of action available to confront the issue at hand: Crimea.
My grandmother’s Russian words rang in my ear: “Crimea has always been Russia.” She explained that Khrushchev made a mistake and, like my mother’s Ukrainian roots, Ukraine’s sovereignty over the territory was incidental, meaningless. And though the conflict’s origins cannot be simplified into imagined borders governed by language and ethnicity, nationalism has certainly played an outsized role. It’s difficult to ignore that the protesters in Kiev dream of NATO and the West while the citizens in Crimea are waving the Russian flag, waiting to rejoin their homeland.
External powers certainly didn’t ignore these profound ethnic divides. Russia and the West accepted them instead, working with and around them—and by doing so, they left themselves with fewer options to deescalate the conflict. They treated the conflict like a soccer game between Ukrainians and Russians in which a loss for one team equals a gain for the other.
This tactless approach allowed for only two options: either Crimea secede from the Ukraine—signifying a win for the Russians—or the Russians in the region stay put and continue to curse the Ukrainian government, signifying a win for the West. There was never room for a third option that would allow for the inclusion of Russian interests in a newly reformed Ukrainian government. That would disagree with the framework of the dichotomy to which both Russia and the West subscribe.
Next came Putin. The Russian president was able to seize Crimea due to its ethnic Russian majority and a virtually non-existent Ukrainian government. He wielded nationalistic sentiments and rhetoric to advance his geopolitical agenda; he didn’t want to lose the entire country to the West, so he took what he could. He played the game well.
The outcome, though contentious, followed logically from the approach. Ukrainians and Russians dreamed of futures by looking to the past. Even my mother, who twenty years ago happily traded purple beet soups for New York-style bagels, was still able to find the part of herself that just can’t let Russia go. Language and ethnicity form strong cultural ties, but it’s my hope that they don’t have to be polarizing. I don’t have to reject my Russian heritage to be American. Similarly, my mother shouldn’t have to reject her Ukrainian heritage to be Russian.
Most importantly, however, the Russian government and the West don’t have to abide by these imagined borders that encourage differences. They could have approached the conflict with more creativity, leaving room for more than two options. They became victims of their own crude perceptions of the other, and the Ukrainians and Russians living in Crimea are the ones who suffer in result.
It’s easy to brand a Russian-Ukrainian coalition government as idealism, just as it’s easy to throw up our hands, shrug our shoulders, and say, “It’s Russia,” like we can’t expect anything more. But approach does matter.
If we enter a conflict with certain absolutes in mind, we predetermine its course before it has the chance to begin.
