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24 OUR LIFE • May-June 2025 The Threads That Bind Us Irena Sawchyn Doll , Branch 75, Maplewood, NJ I had the good fortune to grow up on Manhattan’s Lower East Side in the 1950s and 1960s, in what can only be described as a Ukrainian bubble. I lived in a Ukrainian village with Second Avenue as its Main Street. As kids, we were allowed to take up any activity — music, sports, dance — as long as it was run by someone Ukrainian. From age seven, I was a member of Plast scouting, where I learned Easter dances, sang koliady (Christmas carols), and was introduced to the art of Ukrainian embroi - dery. My mother, an expert cross-stitcher, would take me to the Ukrainian store Arka on 7th Street, where we would pore over the many different bolts of embroidery fabric before cut - ting pieces that would become the canvases on which, with needle and brilliantly color - ed DMC thread, our creations would come to life. I took it all for granted. But the pull to assimilate into “American” life was irrepress - ible. Once I started Barnard College on New York’s upper west side in 1969, I wanted to go to American parties, meet American boys. I was surprised to find that it was difficult to blend in with the students I met — when I said I was Ukrainian, almost everyone believed that I was some sort of weird russian, or even worse, just weird. With one foot uptown and the other downtown, I didn’t belong to ei - ther world. One lifeline that helped to co - alesce these two spheres was the NYC Studentska Hromada — a loose association of col - lege and post-grad students of Ukrainian heritage in the met - ro area. They organized highly successful dances that brought together kids of Ukrainian herit - age from all over, on the “Amer - ican” territory of NYU. Studentska Hromada played another role — the leaders or - ganized summer charter flights to Europe. For all of $230 you could fly as a group to Am - sterdam and, eight weeks lat - er (don’t be late!), catch a re - turn flight to New York. What a deal! There was an optional bonus midway — a 10-day tour that included the major cities of Ukraine. I just couldn’t pass up this unique opportunity — I could vagabond around Europe for two months (my mother called it “bomuvaty” with a disapproving “humph”) and, in between, visit the Mother - ship! I wanted to experience my roots, to meet those aunts and uncles and cousins that my mother talked about. She was always writing carefully edited letters to her siblings and send - ing them what we called “care” packages, curated to contain the right number of fringed scarves bought on Orchard Street and barely-used clothes to avoid USSR customs tax. So in August 1970, 28 col - lege-age Ukrainian-American students like me from all over the U.S. met in Munich to start our tour of Ukraine. Like me, they had been raised “Ukraini - an” in their respective American cities, and were by and large flu - ent in Ukrainian. I had naïve expectations of being welcomed in Ukraine with praise for keeping the language and heritage alive in the U.S. Instead, we were treated as if we were dangerous counter - revolutionaries who had arrived to foment riots and disturb the peace. Our rooms were bugged, our luggage searched daily, and we were threatened with de - portation for the slightest vio - lation. After just having traveled freely across Europe, I was both intimidated and infuriated by this unexpected reception. One scene flashed by in an instant but haunted me forever. During a walk in a lovely park in a city in Western Ukraine, we saw a young lady of approxi - mate college age sitting qui - etly on a park bench, reading a book. She was notable only for wearing an embroidered Ukrainian blouse. Our visibly annoyed guide quickly hustled us in another direction away from the girl, while instructing us to stay away. He said she was a dissident, protesting in public her nationalist beliefs by wearing “peasant” clothing, for which she would likely lose her position in university. I was stunned into silence. This student would be punished for simply wearing a style of shirt
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