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“НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЖОВТЕНЬ 2019 WWW. UNWLA .ORG 15 presented with an official ID and journalistic accreditation. Victory! I didn't ask for particulars , sensing that achieving this had obviously been a complicated transaction between the festival directo rs and the Soviet authorities. Now that I think about it, my Chervona Ruta experience really began on the 4 hour train trip from Lviv (where I landed) to Chernivtsi. Halfway into the trip I heard the sound of guitars and singing coming fr om the other end of my train car. And not just any singing: it was in Ukrainian! I recognized the songs from my days in Plast. Someone was singing patriotic Ukrainian songs like “Ой у лузі червона калина” and “Гей там на горі Січ іде”! Intrigued, I came cl oser and met three young Ukrainian men from Lviv who introduced themselves simply — and a little warily — as Andriy, Vi k tor and Taras, and said they were on their way to Chervona Ruta. Only later did I learn that I and the rest of the passengers were entertain ed that day by none other than Vi k tor Morozov, Andriy Panchyshyn and Taras Chubay, founding members of the of the famous Lviv ensemble, “Ne Zhurys.” The list of festival performers from all parts of Ukraine, reads like a who’s who of contemporary Ukrainian music, although in 1989 many of them were still unknown on the wider Ukrainian musical stage: Vasyl Zhdankin, Braty Hadiukiny, Maria Burmaka, Komy Vnyz, Vika, Zymovy Sad, Andriy Panchyshyn, Eduard Drach, Vi k tor Morozov. I was struck not only by their soph isticated musical abilities and finely honed stage image, but more importantly, by the bravery of their performances. I have to admit, I never anticipated such a steadfast and aggressive show of Ukrainian patriotism. It was the first time I heard songs in Ukrainian about the Communist regime, about love of the Ukrainian language. They resurrected ancient Ukrainian songs and anthems, songs of the Sichovi Striltsi and UPA. Vika from Lviv, who won the rock music competition, was especially effective with lyric s that skewered both communist party hacks and the passivity of the Ukrainian nation. She stopped the crowd of listeners dead with the opening words to her song: “Ганьба” (Shame): “Кричу: "Ганьба!", але моє волання не долітає до престолу” (I scream “shame ” but my cries do not reach the altar!). D uring her performances the crowds enthusiastically sang the refrain along with her: Хто не живе, той не вмирає, Хто не заснув, той си не просинає, Хто очі не відкрив, той ніц не баче, За тобою, Морозенку, вся Вкраїна плаче . He who hasn't lived, cannot die He who hasn't slept, cannot wake up He who hasn’t opened his eyes, sees nothing All of Ukraine weeps for you, Morozenko Taras Kurchyk from Drohobych, who at age 20 was the youngest performer to be awarded, performed his poignant song “H е судіть мене.” (“ Do not judge me.”) Ми забули все, ми забули рідне слово Ми забули все, ми забули рідну мову За яку колись діди кров свою пролили Щоб онуки іх по чужому говорили . We forgot it all, we forgot our native words, We forgot it all, we forgot our native tongue For which our grandfathers shed their blood So their grandchildren could speak in foreign tongues. It was because of performances such as this that I was in a constant state of concern, not for my own safety but for that of the performers and spectators. In 1989, despite being associated with Radio Liberty, I still felt saf e. I was a foreigner, a Westerner, a citizen of the United States, and therefore had no reason to think that I was in physical danger. I know I was followed and was assigned “a minder,” a young handsome “student” with perfect English language skills and a winning smile, who always seemed to be around. Of course, my room was bugged and searched on more than one occasion. I received phone calls in my hotel room from strangers trying to entice me into meetings in odd places. That didn't bother me. What really upset me was when I returned to my hotel room one evening after recording many interviews with various performers only to discover that all my extra batteries (and I had dozens) had all mysteriously been drained of power. For a radio journalist, the inabil ity to record interviews or music is a serious prob- lem. But I had friends among the local population, members of Ukrainian - speaking clubs and Tovarystvo Leva from Lviv who looked out for me. They helped me scour the city in search of those very scarce doub le A batteries I needed for my cassette recorder. They also made sure someone always walked me back to my hotel after dark and checked in with me during the day to ensure I was safe. For these acts of kind ness I was extremely grateful.
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