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Our Life | Наше життя August | Серпень 2021 28 Even at dawn, the day was blistering hot. Entering my hotel room in the in- dustrial city of Zaporizhzhia in south central Ukraine, I had planned to start the morning with a cool bath. The popular Chervona Ruta music concert had ended late the night before, and afterwards, guests and performers sang and laughed through the night, saying their final good-byes as the sun rose. Nearing the end of summer, the day that was beginning was Mon - day, August 19, 1991, and should have been an easy, sleepy one. Yet in an abrupt break to the morning silence, I heard frantic knocking on my door, a voice yelling, “Пані Ірeно, пані Ірeно, негайно збирайтеся. Переворот в Москві! Переворот в Москві!” (coup in Moscow!). Hardline members of the Communist Party, I soon learned, were attempting to overthrow the govern - ment of Mikhail Gorbachev. /ƌĞŶĞ :ĂƌŽƐĞǁŝĐŚ , Branch 75, Maplewood, NJ I had arrived in Kyiv in early July at the invitation of Rukh, the Pop- ular Movement of Ukraine, the umbrella organization for Ukraine’s increasingly active pro-democracy movement. I had agreed to serve as liaison with foreign media in Rukh’s Information Division. That August weekend, I was in Zaporizhzhia not only for the concert, but because I had organized a small press tour of foreign correspond - ents who planned to attend the back-to-back press conferences of Yuri Scherbak, Boris Olinyk, Viacheslav Chornovil, and other politi- cians held August 17 and 18. All went well until the morning of Au- gust 19. As our Rukh bus, packed with staff, performers, journalists, headed back to the capital city, over the bus speakers we heard So- viet state radio playing Swan Lake quietly. On any other occasion, in Ukraine, on a charter bus filled with friends, one would hear chatter and jibes, voices united in song. However, other than one bad joke by the bus driver, who suggested that we make a tourist stop along the way in Nestor Makhno’s hometown of Huali Pole, the trip was silent, for hours. As we approached Kyiv in twilight, winding our way through some back roads, passengers begged to be let off near their homes outside the city limits. Maybe there were tanks in the city. Maybe the sub - ways had stopped. Maybe martial law had been declared. With no news coming over the radio and in the days before mobile phones, we had no way of knowing for sure what awaited us. We were cer- tain only that a coup attempt could not be good news. Entering the city, as we neared Rukh headquarters on Ploscha Peremohy (Victory Plaza), only a dozen staff remained on the bus. The driver offered to drop us off a few blocks away in the event the building was under lockdown. The city appeared to be eerily quiet, yet no military pres - ence, either. We wanted to see the building, even if from afar. Crest- ing the final slope, we saw Rukh headquarters before us – windows open, all lights on, hustle-bustle everywhere. What!?! By all appearances, there was a huge party going on! Our driver parked the bus in front of the building, and people streamed out the front door, banging on the side of the bus, de - manding to know if we were OK. “Де ви?! Що ви?! Покажіться!” With hugs and cries of relief, our co-workers helped us off the bus. “What took you so long? We were so worried!” Nobody knew for sure what was going on in the country, but so far, so good. Rukh, we were told, had come out with a declaration opposing the coup in Moscow, almost daring the coup leaders to come after us. I saw the head of the Information Division, Yuri Lukanov, come out to greet me. “Привіт. Радий тебе бачити. Перед нами довга ніч, багато роботи." With these words and with this promise of long hours of hard work, I began the most intense week of my life. WŚŽƚŽ͗ zƵƌŝ ĞůĞŶƐŬŝLJ Irene Jarosewich at the entrance to Rukh headquarters, Taras Shevchenko Blvd 37/122, Kyiv. Autumn 1991. переворот у Москві!” “Пані Ірeно, пані Ірeно ...
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