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16 WWW.UNWLA.ORG “НАШЕ ЖИТТЯ”, ЖОВТЕНЬ 2019 What happened to th e performers and spectators was a different story altogether. T he festival took place in a politically charged atmosphere. The local authorities brought in large numbers of militia and security personnel, rightly anticipating that the festival might not li mit itself to a celebration of music. The militia and plain clothes security officials intimidated the participants and occasionally used physical vio- lence on young people exhibiting unacceptable levels of national fervor. They ripped Ukrainian flags from the hands of spectators and roughly pushed and shoved young women in blue tops and yellow skirts who tried to enter the musical venues. Remember, this was 1989, a full two years before independence, when Ukrainian national symbols — the trident and the flag — were still banned. Annoying, but relatively benign, were instances of microphones that suddenly went dead during a particularly edgy or politically risky per- formance, or the electricity suddenly failing in the stadium during the final concert. Despite all of these obstacles on the part of the Chernivtsi authorities, the festival went on as planned and by day five, it was alrea dy considered a great success. It was on the last day of the festival, on September 23, 19 89, that I experienced one of the most mem orable events of my life. The concert of all the festival winners was held in the Bukovyna stadium in Chernivtsi, a huge outdoor arena seating 12,000 people. It was packed, despite efforts by the local militia to bar entry for many large groups of spectato rs, especially those from Lviv. The militia demanded that young women raise their skirts to show they had no contraband Ukrainian flags. The first row of seats in the entire stadium was occupied by uniformed militia personnel, as was the aisle seat of ever y single row in the entire stadium. It was an unprecedented show of force by the local authorities. As the performers came on stage one by one it soon became obvious that the festival was no longer solely about music. It had turned into a forum for candid expression of Ukrainian patriotism and love of country. Ukrainian flags that had been somehow smuggled into the arena, despite the best efforts of the militia, fluttered more often as the evening wore on. When the authorities finally had enough of this, th ey disconnected the lights in the stadium. After a few moments of consternation in the darkness, a brilliant solution was reached. The many buses that had brought spectators from other cities to the venue and had been idling in the parking lot around the s tadium, turned on their headlights. The concert continued under the eerie lighting of the moon and headlights. The final performer of the evening was the grand prize winner, Vasyl Zhdankin, a bard who strode out on stage in his bare feet dressed in a simpl e linen peasant style shirt and pants. Before starting his song — a rousing rendition of “Гей там на горі Січ іде” (“Hey, the Sich is marching high on the hill”) he addressed the crowd: “Настала осінь ... дні коротші, а міліцейські кийки довші”. “Autumn has come . . . the days are getting shorter, and the truncheons of the militia are getting longer.” Turning directly to the militia Zhdankin exhorted them to “become human” and to “think about whom you are serving.” The crowd roared its approval. Without missing a beat, he picked up his guitar and began to sing the national anthem of Ukraine, which was still banned at that time! For a few stunned seconds the stadium was silent, processing what was happening, and then they were on their feet, singi ng along. At first, Zhdankin was alone on stage, but in a bold show of solidarity, Viktor Morozov appeared at his side within a few seconds; shortly after that Eduard Drach (first place winner of the bard contest) joined them and claimed a third microphone . I was overwhelmed by emotion and could not sing. The lump in my throat and the tears in my eyes made it impossible. I knew I had to imprint this utterly surreal moment onto my memory for the rest of my life. This was the first ever public rendition of th e Ukrainian national anthem in Ukraine in modern Ukrainian history. I did, however, notice that the militia personnel in the first row were turning around to see what was going on. They seemed confused about what to do: stand up like everyone else or remai n seated? Standing up might indicate respect for the anthem, remaining seated would be awkward and might indicate that nothing strange was happening. Amazingly, most of them did stand in the end, and a few even seemed to be singing along with the crowd. Th ey didn't interfere. After all, how do you stop 12,000 people from singing? It was on that night in that stadium that I realized I had witnessed something truly unstoppable. The Chervona Ruta festival had given birth to a modern, youth oriented Ukrainian music culture, which, in turn, contributed in no small measure to the subsequent renewal of Ukr ainian national consciousness. I, the “subversive” from the West, was simply very lucky to witness such a powerful, life changi ng event in Ukrainian history.
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