Ukraine (3): reflections after a long night

I have been here for part of five days–just an instant compared to people who live here. As far as I can tell, Ukrainians are tired but not even remotely interested in quitting.

Air raid alerts sound several times every day. Mostly, these alerts do not result in actual attacks. The Russians send up a MiG to cause an air alert and disrupt everyone’s day.

We are all familiar with disruptions, but it is different to face a hostile state that is trying to maximize inconvenience for years on end. The Russians choose their times and methods for that purpose. My class had to relocate to a bomb shelter while we were doing our introductions on the first day and when the participants were offering their final reflections at the very end. Of course, this was a coincidence (Putin doesn’t know or care about my course), but the point is that anything you try to accomplish is subject to disruption.

And sometimes the threat is real. Last night, there were drone and ballistic missile strikes across the country, including here. On Wednesday night, a local fire chief responded to a drone attack and found his entire family had been killed. These stories add up.

Meanwhile, Ukrainians face the overload of one difficult choice after another. Do I go to the shelter or ride this one out? Do I try to move abroad or stay in the country? I think the emotional toll is substantial. A clinical psychologist told me that “PTSD” is not the appropriate diagnosis, because the “P” stands for “post-.” Here, the trauma continues.

I might also note that there’s a feeling of unreality to it all. This is a country at war. Last night in Kyiv, we had a small but actual battle. If you watch a video like this one from The New York Times, you will see moments and locations around Kyiv where the violence was most dramatic.

Yet most of life continues in a normal way in a large, modern city of about 3 million people. This morning, I could not see evidence of last night’s violence from where I am staying. I don’t think I could hear explosions from the bomb shelter. Normal life—millions of commuters, teenagers clowning around, moms with toddlers in pleasant restaurants—belies the danger.

(The Times‘ video also shows a parking garage very much like the one where I spent last night. There was no dog that I noticed, but there was a very cute baby who was happy enough to be awake most of the night on Mommy’s lap.)

from Ukraine (2): a video on happiness

I made this video in my hotel room in Kyiv last night. I was preparing for the public lecture on the subject of “happiness” that I will give tomorrow. For reasons that I mention at the start of the video, I am a bit anxious about this lecture, and I was rehearsing. However, my conversations here with old friends, new students and colleagues, and even a clinical psychology professor this morning make me think that the topic is urgent and that my conversation-opener might have some value.

(By the way, if you look carefully at the building behind my shoulder, you can see a bricked-in hole on the upper floors, surrounded by dark marks. For all I know, there was a kitchen fire there, or a slow-moving structural problem due to bad construction. But I think it was probably a Russian drone. That shows the impact of part of a Russian drone that hit in May.)

from Ukraine (1)

I am aboard a train from Warsaw to Kyiv, well into Ukrainian territory now. I hope to write something of substance about my week in this country, but my main reflections should wait until I have listened and learned and found the right voice.

I don’t want to pretend to any real knowledge based on a few days in a large country where I cannot even fluently decode the alphabet, let alone study the range of opinion. (I have been here three times before, but always as a brief and superficial observer, which will be the case again this week.)

And I want to find a voice than it not about me, because more than 35 million people live here all the time. Everyone else on this train holds a Ukrainian passport; I saw the whole stack in the arms of the border guard. The people who spend months and years in a war deserve attention, not the guy with the dark-blue passport who can leave when he wants.

I have come in solidarity. That is not a big thing to do; it is a small thing. But it is not nothing, and it seems important right now not to do nothing. Solidarity, plus a desire to learn from activists here, explains my visit.

For the moment, I will just share that a rail journey from Warsaw via Chelm to Kyiv seems haunted. It’s a journey from the site of the Warsaw ghetto, via a town where 60 Jews out of 15,000 survived, to the site of Babi Yar. Our path cuts through the Pale of Settlement, albeit perhaps south of its middle and south of the part of Belarus from which my paternal ancestors escaped in the early 1900s. Trains have rolled back and forth in this region with cargoes of people for mass murder and with soldiers to kill and be killed. (We are currently stopped in Kovel, whose large Jewish community was wiped out, for the most part on the single day of June 28, 1941).

The train that I am riding must have already served the Soviet Union, and the vast majority of the passengers today are women and small children—presumably because most Ukrainian men are not allowed to exit. As we move past farms and through birch-sprinkled woods, the past seems very close.

learning from the Florentine republic

(Florence): En route to Kyiv, I am in Florence for a conference of Americans who work on civic and democratic reform in the USA. It happens that I studied in Florence many decades ago–an experience that helped form my lifelong commitment to republican self-government. I am not truly an expert on the Florentine republic, but I can venture some thoughts about its relevance to our time:

  1. For renaissance Florentines, civility (civiltá) meant the kinds of discourse and behavior that benefited self-governance. To determine what counted as civility, one first asked what the republic needed. Their answer was discourse that was frank, plain-spoken, and direct, in contrast to the talk of courtiers, which was deferential and artificial. For the Renaissance historian Giovanni Cambi, a true citizen was a man who refused to doff his hat or call any one “padrone” (boss), and Cambi named that virtue civiltá. Today, we can also ask which kinds of discourse benefit or harm our republic, and it’s unlikely that “civility” (in this sense) should mean politeness.
  2. The Florentines invented many mechanisms to avoid domination. For instance, they tended to elect slates of potential leaders, and then select the actual officer-holders by lot. To prevent military coups, they hired mercenaries as their generals and banned them from entering the city. Most importantly, the city consisted of hundreds of guilds, enterprises, and vigorously competitive religious orders, making its public sphere vastly “polycentric.”
  3. Republican values inspired one of the world’s greatest cultural movements. The Renaissance means the “rebirth” of classical culture, and Florentines recovered Greco-Roman culture because they saw themselves as republicans in the tradition of their early Roman forebears. In short, they created renaissance art to celebrate self-rule. However, the same cultural innovations that they launched for that purpose could also promote Caesarsism. My group stopped to admire the facade of Santa Maria Novella, which Leon Batista Alberti designed on behalf of his city. But, as Ingrid Rowland notes in a review of a new book by Indra Kagis McEwen, Alberti spent most of his career serving dictators in “Italy’s hothouse courts” outside Florence. These patrons also purported to embody “ancient Roman virtues” — but “no longer the republican virtues heralded by Cicero but virtues adapted to the conditions of empire.” Later, when the Medici smashed the republic and installed themselves as rulers, they continued the fluorescence of renaissance art, but in the interest of monarchy. In short, the republic’s cultural legacy was subject to capture.
  4. The leader of the Medici bank and family for most of the 15th century, Cosimo the Elder, cannily avoided holding any official offices in order to preserve the rules of the republic that benefited him. He ran the city as a political machine. His descendants acted more like rulers, and they provoked a republican movement that was also an anti-Medicean faction. The downfall of the republic was simply its military destruction at the hands of the Medici, who had transmuted economic power into monarchical power. Their wealth was the root cause of the republic’s defeat.

See also: civility as equalitycivic republicanism in medieval Italy: the Lucignano council frescoeswhat does the word civic mean?; the coincidences in Romola

Hannah Arendt: I’m Nothing but a Little Dot

(Cincinnati) In 1947, Hannah Arendt wrote a short poem, “Ich bin ja nur ein kleiner Punkt,” which Samantha Rose Hill accurately and ably translates as “I am just a little point / no more than a spot. …”

I took more liberty to make this translation, imitating Arendt’s strong rhyme-scheme:

I’m nothing but a little dot
No bigger than that black spot,
The beginning of a square.

When I want to expand from there
I start to daub spots everywhere.
My pencil lead (or ink is worse)
Casts on everything my curse.

But--I am nothing but a dot,
Not even a very well-made spot,
Radiant as the start of squares.

I think this is a poem about writing. The middle verse describes someone like Hannah Arendt in the midst of a project, spreading argumentative words in every direction, cursing (or perhaps bewitching) her surroundings with her ideas. But she had started with a single mark. Sometimes she identifies more with that humble first dot than with her whole, ambitious project.

The third stanza almost repeats the first, with the crucial difference that a single geometrical square has become plural, and her little dot (Punkt) “shines” or is “resplendent” (prunkt). It may be humble, but it has potential.

In the original:

Ich bin ja nur ein kleiner Punkt 
nicht grösser als der schwarze 
der dort auf dem Papiere 
als Anfang zum Quadrate.

Wenn ich mich sehr erweitern will,
beginn ich sehr zu klecksen, 
mit Stift und Feder, Blei und Tint 
die Umwelt zu behexen.

Doch bin ich nur ein kleiner Punkt 
nicht einmal gut geraten, 
der auf den Papieren prunkt 
als Anfang zu Quadraten.

German text from What Remains: The Collected Poems of Hannah Arendt (Liveright, 2024), translated by Samantha Rose Hill with Genese Grill. See also: “Complaint,” by Hannah Arendt