“This war began for me in February 2014 on the Maidan”
Myroslav, please tell us when the Russian-Ukrainian war started for you.
For me, this war began in February 2014, on the Maidan. At some point, I realised that the events of those days were essentially a continuation of the national liberation struggles of Ukrainians. I remember that on the 18th of February, during the bloodiest clashes, when I was just unloading tyres on Independence Square, a guy ran up to me and said: “You can’t park here, because a protest is taking place here.” I then answered him in a particularly sincere way: “Glory to Ukraine!” Since then, the slogan, which used to be heard mostly within the circle of radical fringe groups, became for me, as well as for many others, a certain marker, into a shibboleth, by which it became possible to recognise my own people, “svoich”. It was at that moment that I understood that the war for independence had begun. My experience as a historian seemed to transport me back into the past, where this war had already been going on. But for our generation, its beginning was precisely on the Maidan.
Did you foresee a full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine?
I think that it was the sin of historians not to foresee a war with Russia. Even in 2013 I communicated with professional soldiers; none of them then believed in the possibility of this war. During the entire history of independent Ukraine, the Ukrainian army did not conduct any exercises in which the enemy was located on the eastern borders. Now many people, like me, would say that they knew about the inevitability of the Russian-Ukrainian war. But I did not believe that such wars could still exist in the twenty-first century; I mean global wars capable of covering a large part of the continent. For a long time after the invasion, I blamed myself for being so naïve, even though on the eve of the war I did buy several bags of potatoes and filled a full tank of gasoline. Still, I predicted that the war might begin, but I did not fully believe that it would happen right then. I think that the state of not accepting the outbreak of a full-scale invasion was normal for many, because you and I are reasonable people who believe that human beings, the same species, will not attack each other. Our mistake is that we consider everyone around us to be normal, even Russians, who, as it turned out, are not.
“If you ask me as a historian, a professor, a person with military experience, then the answer will be one – Kyiv survived by a miracle”.
Were you in Kyiv at the beginning of the full-scale invasion?
Yes, I was in Kyiv. I realised that the war was an unexpected phenomenon, so I tried in every way to persuade my family to leave the city. Like the majority of Ukrainians, my relatives did not believe that the Third World War could begin just outside. Not in a movie, not in a book, not in a computer, but in your city. In the end, several days of persuasion paid off. I tried to explain to my wife that when the war comes to your home, when tanks enter your yard, you can’t do anything, fix anything, or agree with anyone about anything. You completely lose your agency, and your life completely depends on people with machines. So, the fact that my family left on the second day of a full-scale invasion was a very important moment for me.
I remember my plans very well. Sometime around the 26th or 27th of February [2022], I became somewhat depressed and panicked, as I became aware of the lack of combat officers in the 101st Brigade. At that time, ordinary civilians felt obligated to put on military uniforms and pick up weapons they were unfamiliar with. So I had my own plan, which involved a partisan line. I assumed that the Russians could reach Victory Avenue (Prospekt Peremohy), where they would try to divide us. It was then that I planned to join a partisan movement with as many weapons as possible, which I imagined to be like the UPA [Ukrainian Insurgent Army] partisans of the 1940s and 1950s. I believed that we would be able to fight back, but I doubted that Kyiv would stand.
Why did Kyiv withstand the Russian invasion?
It’s a real miracle, I still don’t understand how it happened. If you ask me as a historian, as a professor, as a person with military experience, then the answer will be this one – Kyiv miraculously survived. Not enough time has passed to give us the opportunity to understand how this happened, that we are not under occupation and can still resist quite successfully. I think that when the understanding comes, which is unlikely to be soon, and at what cost it all happened, our society will be in a state of psychological shock. For such a miracle, obviously, we had to pay with a huge amount of blood.
“…It cost me a lot of effort to get into the war zone”.
How did you end up at the front line?
When the Russians occupied Crimea [2014], the Ukrainian state looked completely helpless, as did our Armed Forces in general. Then I felt angry, first, at myself, because of the impossibility of protecting my people from a neighbour who transgresses all norms. With the beginning of the annexation, I realised that I would not be able to remain away from these events. But I had to put a lot of effort into getting into the war zone.
People who want and can defend their Motherland of their own free will, unfortunately, still do not fit into the algorithm of the Ukrainian mobilisation system. Often, the army and military commissars are more interested in people who have neither the training nor the desire to defend Ukraine. No matter how pessimistic it sounds, we should talk about it. I could not get into the army, because I was simply not accepted. In fact, I really had no military experience and no special training, and I received the military rank of first lieutenant while studying at the university, like all young people of my age, purely in order not to go to the army. My attempts to get into the “Donbas” battalion were unsuccessful for a long time. On the 24th of August [2014 – S.M.], I joined it, but in the East. I was not allowed to participate in battles for a long time. And only at the end of 2014, with the fighters of the “Right Sector”, did I get to the village of Pisky in the Donetsk region.
What challenges did you have to face in the military environment, being a scholar in the humanities?
Since 2014, I have tried to take part in combat as actively as possible. Even after my discharge from the Armed Forces of Ukraine, I continued to maintain contact with my comrades, mainly with the fighters of the “Right Sector”, and to join them during vacations. This is how I gained experience, which turned out to be quite difficult. For example, it was very difficult to master the mortar, which later became my military specialty. Some of my colleagues guessed that I disappeared from time to time somewhere into the East, into the ATO zone, and considered me frankly insane, some kind of weird professor who travels to Donbas and fires mortars. But it was my need, so I didn’t pay attention to anyone.
What was the geography of your military journey?
In 2014 I got to Pisky. Then with the 95th brigade I went to Avdiivka. These are all the outskirts of Donetsk. Then I periodically fought in the group of my university friend – Volodymyr Regesha (Santa). In 2022, when I was already mobilised, I ended up in the 101st brigade. It was, in fact, a “last-chance brigade” that, if necessary, had to fight on the streets and avenues of Kyiv to stop the enemy. But after the danger around Kyiv disappeared, I was transferred to a marine infantry brigade, the 35th Odesa Brigade, which was stationed in the South. It was in the spring of 2022, during the heavy fighting for Snake Island, when the enemy tried to land near the Odesa region and destabilise the situation around Transnistria. Later, we fought in the Kherson direction, then there were bloody battles for the Ingulets bridgehead. Unfortunately, not many people talk about this battle now. Our battalion also liberated the districts of Bila Krynytsia and Bilohirka.
Later, we defended Davydiv Brid, taking part in quite serious battles, as it was one of the key bridgeheads for the liberation of Kherson Oblast. After the enemy retreated – they didn’t run away, they retreated in an orderly fashion – we started moving towards Kherson, which I think our unit had the right to enter first. But literally twenty kilometres from Kherson we learned from the Internet that a yellow-blue flag was already flying there. So, all the laurels and applause went to other units, and we were sent in the direction of Donetsk. There we fought in the area of Vuhledar, Maryinka and Avdiyivka, where the enemy is to this day trying to create new “cauldrons” [pincer movements – JB] to surround our troops. In this area, we had constantly to deter the enemy’s attacks and counterattack his fortifications. In April 2023, due to the lack of trained military personnel, I changed my activities. Today, providing appropriate training in military affairs is one of the biggest problems for the Armed Forces. So now, as an experienced military man, I am engaged in instructional work, and I am training military personnel. When it comes to training and learning, it doesn’t mean learning how a machine gun or mortar works. Here we have a more difficult task, to make a person ready at least five to ten percent for the realities of war. It is not enough to watch all the movies and read all the books, because real war looks completely different.
“… today we witness the creation of the mythological foundation of the military culture”.
How did you see the Ukrainian army in 2014?
Our army has certainly changed since then. At first, I was part of volunteer units, which aren’t connected with the Armed Forces of Ukraine or with other governmental structures. I was mobilised on the 29th of January 2015. Since then, I served in the 95th Airborne Brigade, where I quickly realised that there was no military culture in Ukraine at all. I looked at this aspect as an ethnographer and historian and came to the conclusion that we did not have our own military symbols, our own authenticity, songs or even slang. Unfortunately, there are still very few actual Ukrainian military rites and rituals in our army. In addition, in 2014 it was almost impossible to distinguish a Ukrainian soldier from a Russian one. If we now compare the army in 2015 with the army in 2022–2023, we can begin to see the appearance of Ukrainian military mythology and symbols – essentially Ukrainian cultural content [gaining popularity – J.B.] within the army.
What does military mythology [specifically] refer to?
About mythology in its broader sense. For example, we have a lot of heroes around whom many myths arise every day. Via the Internet we can see information about the exploits of certain Ukrainian soldiers, whose actions and deeds are often exaggerated by seventy to eighty percent. At the same time, different militaries often use different mythological creatures on their chevrons, in slogans and in the names of military units and objects. That is, today we are witnessing the creation of the mythological foundation of military culture.
“…the best thing about the war is the feeling of comradeship. This is the only thing that war gives and does not take away from a person.”
What does comradeship mean to you today?
When I got to the front in 2022, I lined my boys up and told them that the best thing about war is the sense of comradeship. This is the only thing that war gives and does not take away from a person. It is very difficult to explain what unites us. This is an environment in which representatives of completely different ethnic origins, different social strata, with different levels of education and “Culture” coexist. But under the conditions of war, in a fraction of a second, you are already able to feel “your person”, “your comrade”.
As an ethnographer, I pay attention to the semantic and symbolic meanings of words, their forms and scope of use. Therefore, I have repeatedly noticed that the lexemes “brothers” or “comrades” are often used even in a specifically affectionate way: “nephews”, “brothers”, etc. I recently reflected on the phenomenon of comradeship and came to the following conclusion: on the one hand, a comrade is a person who becomes your best friend and brother in an instant, and on the other hand, you are ready to say goodbye to him at any moment, and not only because of death or injury, but also due to the repeated redeployment of troops. At some point, you lose that person, and you miss them badly. Just yesterday you had someone who understood you with half a word, and today you can no longer share your thoughts. In civilian life, we often have little to do with our comrades, but at the same time, we always remain close for each other.
“It is Impossible To Lie, Neither To Your Comrades Nor To Yourself, When You Are At The Zero Line, On a Front line”
Are the values of people at the front line changing?
Yes of course. Coming to the front, people become as honest as possible. But in our information space there are many “Facebook”, or so-called “couch” warriors, who lack such honesty. They take photos in chic military uniforms, with cool machine guns, write a lot of posts, publish a lot of photos… But we understand that they are not real soldiers, they are simply not recognised in a military environment. The closer the zero line gets, the simpler and much fairer things become. It is impossible to lie, neither to your comrades nor to yourself, when you are at the zero line, on a front line.
Ukrainian media need heroes, and very often they are ready to create these heroes themselves. This is how pseudo-warriors appear who are despised in a professional military environment. However, civilians believe them, like their posts in social media and consider them to be experts, blindly trusting their every word. I think that this is a completely predictable phenomenon for any society that has experienced war. In my posts on Facebook, I try to tell the truth so that civilians understand how a real portrait of a Ukrainian soldier differs from an artificially created one. I am convinced that the content invented today will later traumatise the soldiers themselves when trying to return to a peaceful life. Civilians, who are used to seeing defenders as they are presented by the media, will see “something wrong” in real soldiers, something radically different from the poet, actor or military super-blogger they are subscribed to on YouTube or Instagram. A real Ukrainian warrior may not look as brave as those around him would like. And the lack of the required number of medals on their chest will generally call into question their combat experience. It will be very traumatic for many military guys, because these are two completely different images.
Is there a certain recovery mechanism for comrades returning from the front lines?
In my opinion, there is only one recipe – family and home. I think that was the case with all the military. Your home, if you have one, of course, is the only place where you should be drawn to more strongly than to war, because front-line soldiers are usually really torn between two vectors: one pulls you home, to your family, to your children, to your wife; the other brings you back to the war again. I went through it several times and could not make a clear choice. I thought it was possible to have a certain balance between spending time with both family and war. But, as it turned out, it is impossible to do. Those for whom the home and family vector will be stronger will find it easier to recover. But within the military there is a huge number of people who do not have the comfort of a home, who do not have a family. These are either divorced and unmarried guys who still dream of having something normal. A traditional family with a wife, children, mother-in-law, father-in-law, problems, debts, etc. Something normal everyone else has. But not everyone can get it, not everyone is lucky in this. And then a serious break in life can happen.
“Front-line life is constantly being transformed, because each person brings a part of peaceful life to the everyday life of the military”.
Tell me, please, how life is organised at the front?
For an ethnographer, military everyday life is an incredibly interesting thing. But unfortunately, I have neither the opportunity, the desire, nor the strength to write about it. Working with the military as a soldier in the field, I should maintain a certain “research distance”, but I don’t have it. However, I try to record everything I see, at least in my memories. I don’t think that one day I will be able to systematise all this and write a research piece, but there are really unique moments at the front line.
If you find yourself at the front, look for middle-aged men, preferably from the village, because they are able to organise life literally from nothing. Front line life is characterised by its temporality. Whatever you do today, tomorrow you may be forced to leave either the trench, the dugout, or the cellar. And maybe in an hour a shell will destroy everything. The places where the military live temporarily lack home comforts, but their living conditions are improving every day we are present. When we enter new positions, we often find garbage pits, broken houses, or abandoned cellars in which dead animals are lying. First day it all looks terrible, on the second day it looks okay, and already on the third day there is life in yesterday’s terrible basement. Lard is sizzling, there is Starlink, there is the Internet and other basic conditions.
Front line life is constantly being transformed, because each person brings their own part of their peaceful life to the daily life of the military. Instead of chaos, it creates something orderly, homely and cosy in a small cave. For example, children’s drawings appear on the walls, which already looks like home decor. Usually, improving life conditions becomes the mission of thirty- or forty-year-old guys who already know what life experience is. Many of them worked in construction, so even in a hole they are able to create a living space.
Do men and women at the front line have their own amulets?
I think so, but no one talks about them openly. As for me, I am not a very superstitious person. As a scholar, I know thousands of articles and books about magical means for human protection, about attributes, apotropaic objects, amulets, etc. A lot depends on how much a person believes in the power of such charms. There was a time in my life when I experienced serious consequences for forgetting my amulet. I will not talk further about that incident so that my amulet does not lose its magical power. That time [though], I did have to take my comrades out from a Russian encirclement unexpectedly. It was a very difficult situation, which I clearly attribute to the fact that I did not take my own amulet to the firing position.
“…I’ve been blessed to see how men of all ages and ethnicities are becoming the best friends”.
Do the age characteristics of the Ukrainian army affect the coherence of combat operations?
Even a large age-gap between comrades does not affect anything. In my subordinates, there were often young commanders who led experienced men of forty or fifty years of age. At the front, everything depends not on age, but on your authority. While at forward firing positions, authority can be earned, by [demonstrating] leadership qualities, a level of responsibility, and an ability to make decisions quickly.
Does their ethnicity affect mutual understanding between comrades?
I served in the 35th Marine Brigade, which was formed from residents of the Odesa region, and which is still a multi-ethnic region. So, I’ve been lucky enough to see men of all ages and ethnicities becoming best friends. Very often they communicated in different languages. Moldovans, Bulgarians, Romanians and Jews served in our brigade, most of whom were mainly from the village; ethnic groups, as you know, live compactly only in the village. But there were no hints of xenophobia or misunderstanding between them arising from well-known stereotypes. I have repeatedly observed the friendship between a Ukrainian-speaking resident of Prykarpattia and a Russian-speaking resident of Odesa. During the war, they became real brothers, as it is described in ancient Ukrainian Cossack songs.
Please tell us more about the language issue at the front.
The trenches are devoid of ambiguity regarding the Ukrainian language. Russian-speaking men from the South are gradually switching to Ukrainian, which they respect and consider the state language. You won’t hear jokes about the Ukrainian language in the army now. This year, this is a one hundred percent phenomenon that I am witnessing with my own eyes. Perhaps men remain Russian-speaking in everyday life, just as Moldovans who communicate with their relatives in the Moldovan language, Bulgarians in Bulgarian, etc. Nonetheless, in the combat units of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, the language issue is closed.
“There is a well-known tradition of choosing your own “call sign” if you don’t want others give it to you”.
How do the call signs of the Ukrainian military arise?
I would like to start with the so-called “call sign”, a combat nickname. I would be more impressed if we called the military nickname a “pseudonym”, which has been known since the time of the Ukrainian insurgent army. The concept of “call sign”, strictly speaking, is not Ukrainian. In 2014-2015, Ukrainian soldiers took “call signs”, which nevertheless remained a tribute to the Russian military tradition. Only right-wing activists and volunteers mostly used the lexeme “pseudonym” at that time.
There is a well-known tradition of choosing your own call sign if you don’t want others give it to you. Most often, such a pseudonym comes from the field of activity in the rear, in particular from the name of your profession. You often meet “Lawyers”, “Financiers”, “Bankers” and “Drivers” at the front. Sometimes such self-determination is connected with the name of the region. For example, I knew one “Volynyak” from the Volyn’ region. Military pseudonyms are often inspired by popular films or current trends. In 2014-2015 I remember German call signs were popular, apparently because of Russia’s desire to show us as Nazis. At that time, there were many Walters and Hanses. Now such a trend is no longer fashionable.
What is your combat nickname, if you don’t mind me asking?
My nickname is “Myron”. I don’t hide it anymore. Its origin relates to the story of my first love. I really liked a girl who couldn’t remember my real name, Myroslav, so for some reason she called me Myron. So, I decided to take that call sign. Indians have a custom of taking a middle name so that all the troubles would be passed on to its real owner. For the same reasons, the pseudonym was supposed to protect me, redirecting danger to the real Myron. I think that Myron who is covering for me has actually been killed twenty times already, and I am still alive. And I sincerely believe this, no matter how ridiculous and strange it may sound coming from a professor at the Kyiv National University [smiles].
If we recall the birth rituals in the Ukrainian tradition, the second name also has protective functions, right?
Indeed, the magic of double-naming has long been present in Ukrainian culture.
“All the rituals we used to enjoy in the pre-war times are now skipped because of the military routine”
Please tell us, do the military at the front celebrate calendar holidays or other significant dates?
Calendar holidays can fall on the period when the unit has leave or they are at the zero line. For example, my brothers and I spent one such New Year’s Eve [2022/2023 – S.M.] on the outskirts of Maryinka in rather harsh conditions. That is why I remember this New Year’s Eve very well. I remember we found a couple of cans of compote in the basement, left over from people who had left before the fighting for this area had started. We opened them, poured them out, greeted the infantry standing next to us, congratulated our second squad, which was standing a few hundred metres away, and fired a celebratory salvo at the enemy. That was the whole celebration. All the rituals we used to enjoy in pre-war times are now being skipped because of the military routine.
Do you have any special rituals for saying goodbye to your comrades at the front?
Yes, it is a very difficult moment. On the front line, we are constantly haunted by the fact that we need to say goodbye to a person forever at any time, so the military never says goodbye in combat, not even with a handshake. I first encountered this in 2015, when I had to go on a combat mission and held out my hand to my battalion commander. He didn’t shake my hand, which at first looked like a serious sign of disrespect. But later I realised that it was just a ritual that forbids saying goodbye. The thing is that you may not have the opportunity to say goodbye to this person, you may not have time to say “Farewell!” because everything happens quite differently from how it is shown in the cinema, everything happens very unexpectedly.
What actions or things are taboo on the front line?
This depends on the tasks performed by the units and the danger they face. For infantrymen, for example, it is important to be vigilant and not to make unnecessary movements to avoid becoming a target. Artillerymen have slightly different rules. For all military personnel, the taboo against drinking alcohol and drugs during a combat mission is undeniable, because it can only lead to death. I think pilots have their own set of restrictions, which may even be spelled out in regulations or orders.
“It was as if some kind of historical break had occurred, the line between past and present in my mind was simply erased.”
Did your professional experience as a historian and ethnologist help you during the war?
This experience helped me not to have any illusions about our enemy. I have no hope that the Russians may be able to realise the baseness and meanness of their actions. If we look back at the history of the twentieth century, we will see that they have always done something similar, using the same methods as they do now. It is a shame that the world does not want to see this, but it will have to accept this fact in the end.
Because of my professional experience as a historian, I sometimes can’t understand what century I am in. The events that my students and I studied in the third year of our history studies have caught up with us in the twenty-first century. Everyone thinks that genocide, major wars and ethnic cleansing are the distant past of Hitler’s time. But as it turns out, all that horror can happen literally outside Irpin. It was as if some kind of historical break had occurred, the line between past and present in my mind had simply been erased. Sometimes you just sit with guys from the Right Sector or the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and we talk, smoke and have dinner. Suddenly they start singing Cossack songs. You look at these eighteenth-century shaggy heads, and you get the feeling that this is a Cossack unit – a kish or a hundred – somewhere near a Slobozhanska palanka.
How do you perceive our enemy today?
To tell you the truth, I have no perceptions. I don’t even demonise these creatures. For us, they are just f*ckers. This definition is used by the majority of my fellow soldiers, and a small percentage may use the word “Moskowites”. I served with guys from Odesa, and they are quite quirky, with a good sense of humour, so they could call them “rusliki”. I’ve also heard the term “hamsters”, which refers to a comparison with rodents that come to destroy your grain. But mostly people say “Moskowites” or “Katsaps”. Occasionally, some soldiers use the term “roosters”, derived from the aforementioned “f*ckers”. We do not call them “Russians” or “the enemy”. Being at the point of no return, the only thing we want is to destroy the enemy as long as they are on the territory of our country. There has been a complete depersonalisation and loss of any interest in Russians as people.
How do you see Donbas and Crimea today?
It’s hard for me to say, but this battle for the land and people of Donbas and Crimea is definitely needed. I think that a significant number of people on both sides are quite indifferent; for them, their side is the one that will win. As you know, the majority will usually support the one who is stronger. It is likely that those people who are now sincerely campaigning for the “Donets’k People’s Republic” and Russia, who are now walking with their flags, will sincerely support Ukraine after the return of Ukrainian territories. Communicating with these people will be an extremely difficult task though. I think that we will just have to speak to them honestly, but it is hard for me to say how exactly.
Do you have any predictions about the Russian-Ukrainian war?
I don’t make predictions for the future so as not to be disappointed later. I just do everything I can do to ensure a Ukrainian victory.
How do you feel about conducting surveys of the military in the context of the ongoing war?
I think you have to be careful when talking to soldiers. Even fierce men can react ambiguously to some questions. For example, when asked about their motivation to join the army, you may have noticed that all the answers are often boilerplate and standard, because motivation is not always associated with pathos and heroism. One of my comrades, with whom we fought near Pisky, went to the front because he got two women pregnant at once. These are personal stories, each unique in its own way. However, for both military and civilians, the opportunity to speak out can play a therapeutic role. Perhaps we will soon coin “therapeutic ethnography” as a separate research area and academic discipline for universities, based on the experience of fieldwork in war conditions.
I think this would be a very interesting and powerful initiative. My experience of interviewing civilians about their wartime daily life and survival strategies convincingly shows that interviewing respondents often has a therapeutic effect.
“When we realise that many of our internal problems are related to the legacy of a colonised society, we will be able to overcome the resistance of our biased consciousness.”
What is the mission of a contemporary Ukrainian historian?
I think that we, as historians, need to break down the pro-Russian perception of ourselves as a colony in all Ukrainian territories, including the occupied ones. After all, we are still ashamed to admit that we were a colonised people, part of a great empire, like natives captured by outsiders. And we don’t want to compare or correlate our historical experience with the experience of countries in Africa, Asia, or even with the indigenous population of the Americas. At the same time, decolonisation is a global trend today. I think that when we understand that many of our internal problems are related to the legacy of a colonised society, we will be able to overcome the resistance of our biased consciousness. I think this is exactly what is happening now. I believe therefore that the [pejorative] imperial colonial discourse towards Ukrainians as Khokhly or Malorosy, which was the central angle of this attitude, will become a matter of the past. It is already losing its relevance in Russia. Today, a “Banderivets’” [a pejorative name for the Ukrainian Insurgent Army soldiers in the Soviet Union and Russia – J.B.] is a monster for Russians. For the world, Ukrainians are no longer “ridiculous” people who only know how to sing sad songs or dance, eat lard [salo], and drink vodka, but are a distinct people fighting a terrible evil that is unacceptable in the twenty-first century.
If we manage to create an image of a strong Ukrainian, I think it will endear us to people in the occupied territories, because no one will want to identify with the image of some kind of a poor servant that was imposed on us in the nineteenth century. Maybe we even need a comic book hero, a kind of Ukrainian Batman. So many people will want to identify themselves with him, with a winner, with a strong person who sets himself mega-tasks and successfully completes them. This hero does not waste time on small things, but fights against global evil, defeating the dragon. This image of a Ukrainian will be the best advertisement for those people who will be looking for their identity in the future.
The publication uses photographs from the personal archive of Myroslav Borysenko.
Interview conducted by Svitlana Makhovska
This publication is also available in Ukrainian.
