When They Celebrate the Country That Destroys Yours

We bury our dead, while some raise a toast to the ones who killed them

Today is Russia Day.

Yes. That exists.

Can you believe that someone, somewhere in the world today this June 12th, is celebrating the pride of being Russian?

Painting their faces, launching fireworks?

A national holiday for a country that has erased cities.

That has bombed maternity wards.

That has turned rape into a tactic and hunger into policy.

A country that celebrates the destruction of another country, my country, and still gets away with calling it “peacekeeping.”

The worst thing isn’t that those monsters are celebrating themselves. This is already expected from them.

The worst is that there are people in the United States celebrating Russia Day too.

“On behalf of the American people, I want to congratulate the Russian people on Russia Day. The United States remains committed to supporting the Russian people…”

— U.S. Secretary of State, Marco Rubio

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He didn’t say that as a private citizen. He said that as your voice.

As an elected official representing every American, no matter how obscene the idea of celebrating anything Russian sounds to you.

If you are reading me, following me, I know your opinion. I know the side you're on.

I know your values, and I consider you a genuine partner in this fight.

But because this man is making that statement in your name, I need to ask you a question that seems rhetorical, but still necessary:

Is that what you believe?

Because when I read it, I felt sick.

I almost threw this old computer against the wall, but then how would I send you these shattered and sometimes uncomfortable thoughts?

When I read it, I thought of the girl pulled out from under the rubble with no legs.

The family who froze to death when the Russians destroyed their power lines.

The mother who buried her son with her bare hands because the bombs didn’t leave enough left for a funeral.

I also thought of the first time I saw a Russian soldier in front of me, a few weeks after the invasion.

He looked at me with eyes that hadn’t slept in a month. Eyes without life, but trained to take lives.

A killing machine, moved only by anger and blind obedience.

Not fighting for a flag, just hunting for orders. For blood.

I couldn’t recognize him as one human being like me, and he for sure didn’t see me as one either.

Not worth a country. Not worth a voice. Not even worth existing.

That wasn’t a man. It wasn’t anything I’ve ever called human.

It was something else, and I don’t believe I share a single breath of this earth with it.

A Russian.

Taught that this land was his.

Raised to believe it was crawling with people too stubborn to kneel to Moscow.

He came here to erase whatever he finds in Ukraine.

And today, someone in America congratulated him for it.

That “congratulations” landed on Ukrainian corpses. And I hate to say it, but it came wrapped in your flag.

Again, I know that’s not you.

The America I’ve seen, in California, Las Vegas, Texas, refuses this.

Marco Rubio didn’t just speak for himself. He spoke as a voice of your country, and he used that voice to congratulate our killer.

That hurts.

Not just because of what he said, but because he said it as if you meant it too.

I know you didn’t.

Not the Americans I’ve met. Not the ones who write to me, who march, who cry with us.

Who, every single day, send me the warmest messages I could have ever imagined receiving.

But the world doesn’t see your heart unless you show it.

And when we let ourselves be silenced by a lie, when we don’t take a stand against it, it eventually starts to sound like agreement.

Not to me, of course. But to history.

To the ones who will be reading these clumsy words in decades and centuries to come.

This isn’t a headline. It’s a moment.

One that asks you:

Who do you want to be seen as?

You didn’t start this war, but now you’re in it.

Because this isn’t about borders anymore. It’s about who we are.

So no, I’m not asking you to feel sorry. I’m asking you to stand where your values already live.

To show us that we’re not alone.

To remind the world that a government’s voice is not always the people’s voice.

If you're still reading, still burning, you’ve already crossed the line.

From witness to participant. From bystander to protector.

This journal isn’t mine anymore. It became yours the moment you thought:

“That could have been me.”

“That could have been my country.”

And if you want to stay close, this space will always be here for you.

Not for pity.

For presence.

As long as this fight lives in you, hope lives for all of us.

🇺🇦🇺🇸

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🔖 If you felt this deeply and the fire hasn’t gone out, then this voice has a reason to exist. A paid subscription is one way to keep it burning, louder and further. But only if it feels right. This space stays free for everyone.

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📖 “The Divine Comedian: Ukraine’s Journey Through Hell, Purgatory, and Paradise” is my first book: about Ukraine, seen from inside the fire, and the hope that refuses to die. Download it for free (PDF & Kindle).