“We were brought up with an international, communist spirit, and so was I... Although we learned the Ukrainian language, we had both language and literature classes at school. There was less teaching of the Ukrainian language compared to the Russian language. In general, we knew Ukrainian, we could read, write and understand it, but we didn't use it in practice. When I came to the institute, it started to change, because we'd have professors with different political views. There were communists, there were liberals. One of them, Viktor Hryhorovych, a professor of world history, was a liberal when there was a liberal party. And Olha Vasylivna Borysova, a professor of Ukrainian history, was a radical in UNA-UNSO [Ukrainian National Assembly – Ukrainian People's Self-Defence, a nationalist political organisation]. So people were completely different, sometimes even with radical, pro-Russian or pro-Ukrainian views. That affected me a lot because I couldn't understand... At school, we were taught that whatever the teacher said was the absolute truth, and suddenly they were saying something different here. So I had to look for sources on my own and come to a conclusion about who was right among them. And Olha Vasylivna had a very strong influence on the formation of my position... After that I clearly had a pro-Ukrainian position. She used to say, 'Speak to me in Ukrainian.' Besides, she was an ethnic Russian. She said, 'Do you think I speak Ukrainian perfectly? I have learnt it, I have stood in front of the mirror and trained my pronunciation, and I have practised for hours.’ She really did speak Ukrainian in a perfect, literary way. Even now, in Lviv, some people keep commenting, 'We don't speak like that here.’ I don't know, we were taught the literary language. Our teachers at school always corrected us when we used Russianisms; they criticised us for it. Not ‘отєц’ [father in Russian], but ‘батько’ [father in Ukrainian]' and things like that. And she said, 'Don't be ashamed, speak as well as you can, even in surzhyk [Ukrainian-Russian pidgin], but do it bit by bit.’ Thanks to her, and I think she taught us for two years in a row, I got rid of my accent in her classes. Then I started speaking Ukrainian in other classes. By the fifth year I was, well, if not perfect, then very good at Ukrainian. Which, by the way, made my job easier later on. Thanks to her, my position was really called 'Banderite' afterwards.”
"One of our colleagues was from the department of television art, and he immediately sensed that the Ukrainian government was losing its grip, and he (his nature, probably inherited from his informer ancestors) made up lists of pro-Ukrainian students and pro-Ukrainian teachers. He even showed off these lists. He pointed them out to my colleague in the art photography department. He said, 'Look, these are the lists... you're all on my list!’ He explained that they were going to start travelling around and reporting. At that time there wasn't even... the law enforcement agencies were just being formed. The regional council had just fled. There was such a state of lawlessness. New revolutionary government bodies were being formed and they didn't know what to call themselves. I remember all the discussions: should it be the NKVD or the KGB? The NKVD was probably favoured by somebody, but they decided on the MGB — Ministerstvo gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti [the Ministry of State Security]... This lecturer had already rushed to report, he brought these lists, and our students saw them. I mentioned my colleague from the department for a reason. They trained students of photography; it was the first year, so they hadn't graduated yet, they were just starting out. Photography was the profession they had just started, but all of them, from the first year on, dreamed of being great correspondents, and of being witnesses to revolutionary events as they unfolded. Just as they captured the building of the Security Service of Ukraine, there was such an improvised situation, similar to what happened in Kyiv on Maidan. They also started putting up tents there and running around taking pictures of all these events. Someone said that the lecturer was running around like a madman with these lists, not knowing who to give them to, who would take the lists, who would oppress my colleagues. It was getting serious. And that was the reason why I decided to speed up my departure. I left before the final exams. I told my supervisors, and the head of the department, that I was going to Lviv, that I'd find a place to live, and that I'd come back to officially quit. So I left. I took one or two bags with me, and I sent some things (computer, monitor, equipment) through Nova Poshta [postal service]. And when I arrived in Lviv, here in Luhansk, they had already seized, as they say, 'bombed' and looted a Nova Poshta office, and it ceased to exist. I think how lucky I was to have moved in time because otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to leave, and I wouldn't have been able to take my equipment with me. I had to quit remotely.”
“The mentality is different here, but I haven't really encountered any hostility, except when looking for a place to live. When I was looking for work or interacting with Lviv residents, they treated me quite kindly. Although some have noticed... There's a well-known journalist, Ostap Drozdov. I was once invited to represent the Luhansk region on his programme, which was dedicated to the unity of Ukraine. After the interview, he said to me, 'We don't speak like that in Lviv, your language is too correct and literary. Here we use a mixture of Polish words.’ I replied, 'Yes, Ostap, you see, I spoke Ukrainian there, and everyone told me that I wasn't from Luhansk, that I was an outsider.’ Some students even said to me, 'We thought and really believed that you came to us from Lviv.’ In Luhansk, I was seen as a person from Lviv; in Lviv, I'm not a local, I'm seen as a person from Luhansk. That's the only comment that the language is so correct that they immediately feel my correct pronunciation. The only challenge is to find accommodation, which was and is very difficult. When they find out that I am registered in Luhansk, the conversation often ends quickly. I'm tired of these rejections. People are so polite... There was this lady who said, 'Oh, you're so good for us, an academician!’ Then she started flipping through my passport and there was my Luhansk registration. She could hardly hide her disappointment. When I saw this grimace, I even started to call in advance, asking and immediately warning that I have a Luhansk registration. A woman in Lviv said to me, 'Your place is in hotels and hostels, and you call decent people and then come to me with a grenade in your pocket. I don't want that.’ So I am approaching the process of moving and finding a new place to live with a lot of anxiety.”
"My favourite place is Stryiskyi Park. First of all, Luhansk is a steppe city with very little greenery, and it quickly turns yellow because of the winds that come from the east, from Russia, from these Kalmyk steppes. So in August, the city is already yellow and there's no watering. Also, there are small trees that don't grow tall in this climate, and I was amazed by the huge trees in Lviv. Thick, colossal trunks, enormous, I had only seen such trees when I travelled to Kyiv, and only from afar, from the train, but suddenly I saw them here. That is why Stryiskyi Park is my favourite place. I hide there when I'm in a bad mood. I go there when I'm in a good mood. Maybe I was looking for a job and waiting for a director. I was somewhere on the outskirts of Stryiskyi Park. I had a favourite pastime in Luhansk when there were gaps between classes, and I would go to a nearby square, sit on a bench, and for some reason, I kept staring at the treetops, listening to the rustling of the leaves, how these branches rustled. They were small, and my mind was always on the fact that it was in another city. And suddenly I found myself at the edge of this Stryiskyi Park, sitting and staring at these treetops. My neck was stiff because I had to lift my head so high. I liked it at the time. I hadn't even entered the park yet, I was just standing on the edge. I honestly don't remember when I finally went in and walked around. But that first moment when I stared at it and compared it to the little trees back home and how they contrasted, that really struck me and stayed with me."
"Although it seems far from the front lines, the feeling of war is still present. At first, like most people, I was in shock for a while. I remember that I didn't even want to eat, and I cooked something very simple — boiled potatoes or sausages, something very quick because I had to eat. I didn't watch films or listen to music for about a month. My computer was always on because I was running around, waking up in the middle of the night and reading the news about what was happening. But gradually you get used to it. It is human psychology — you get used to everything. And you get used to war. But there were no more moods to celebrate birthdays because there was no desire. At work we don't get together anymore, we don't celebrate anything. Let's put it this way: the joy and happiness that existed before the war has disappeared. I don't like it, I'm against loud celebrations with fireworks and loud music. But life is life, and it's no sin to celebrate a holiday in a close, friendly or family circle. In fact, because I'm doing oral history, I've talked to people, even in exile, who lived in very difficult, extremely difficult conditions, but still found time to celebrate a religious or secular holiday. I asked my grandmothers if they celebrated and they were very surprised. Yes, they celebrated. A birthday, for example. There might have been some simple things on the table — bread, tinned food, maybe some alcohol, but we celebrated... on a very modest scale, but a holiday should remain. This is the psychology of human beings. A person cannot live in stress and depression all the time."
Yurii Volodymyrovych Kodenko was born on March 14, 1976, in Luhansk. His family were workers at the Lenin Machine Building Plant. He had a strong passion for history, which made it easy for him to enrol in the History Department of the Luhansk State Pedagogical Institute, specialising in teaching history and social pedagogy. During the first two years of his studies, he mastered the Ukrainian language and began using it daily. In 2004, he took part in the Orange Revolution rallies in Luhansk, supporting Viktor Yushchenko. After he graduated from the institute, he had trouble finding steady work for a while, but in 2006, he became a history teacher at the Luhansk Academy of Culture and Arts. In 2005–2006, he conducted field research on the Holodomor in the Luhansk region. On May 31, 2014, due to rising tensions in the region, Yurii Kodenko left Luhansk and moved to Lviv. From June to October 2014, he looked for work in Lviv but was often turned down because of his Luhansk registration. In October 2014, he started working as a tour guide at the Prison on Lontsky Street Museum. In November 2017, he left this position to become a research assistant at the Territory of Terror Memorial Museum, where he continues to work. He currently lives in Lviv and is involved in the Museum of Repressed Children project.
