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Olga Rudneva: «The biggest fear of our superhumans - to tell their mother they lost a limb»

The Superhumans Center is a full-fledged rehabilitation town, where over a hundred complex reconstructive surgeries have been performed and 550 prosthetics have been installed over the course of this year.

Nataliia Zhukovska

Olga Rudneva, CEO of Superhumans Center. Photo: private archive

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Superhumans, «supers» - that’s what patients are called in the Superhumans rehabilitation centre. This modern clinic specialises in prosthetics, rehabilitation, reconstructive surgery, and psychological support for injured military personnel and civilians. All services are provided to patients free of charge. The facility operates on donations, including from Ukrainian benefactors. Sestry spoke with the CEO of the Superhumans Center, Olga Rudnieva, about the facility's capabilities, current challenges, and the prospects for prosthetics and reconstruction development in Ukraine.

For us, there are no problems. There are challenges.

Nataliia Zhukovska: Olga, the Superhumans Center can host up to 70 monthly patients.  How are you managing with today’s influx of patients?

Olga Rudneva: According to our plan, we were supposed to have up to 50 monthly prosthetic, rehabilitation, and psychological support patients. But we understand that the queue is quite large, and it’s not getting any smaller. Currently, there are over 800 patients on our waiting list. Therefore we’ve raised the monthly amount of patients to 70.

I think we could take in even a hundred patients but it would be financially difficult. After all, this is quite an expensive undertaking.

For example, fifty patients cost over a million dollars just for prosthetic components. And that’s assuming we supply all of them with only basic mechanical prosthetics. However, many people receive things like myoelectric hands and electronic knees at our facility, which are several times more expensive. Additionally, we already have a ward fund in the reconstructive surgery department. We perform facial reconstructions, which are quite complex procedures lasting up to 15 hours, involving flap transplants - a complex of tissues consisting of skin, muscle, and bone fragments with mandatory preservation of blood vessels. The recovery is rather slow, for these are patients with difficult cases. We also perform hearing restoration surgeries. Recently we’ve also started working on eyes, - specifically eye implants. And there are patients, on whom we perform reamputation surgeries due to complications like fragment expulsions, osteophytes, or neuromas. Accordingly, we could add another 45-50 monthly patients. In total, we have 100-110 patients simultaneously at Superhumans each month.

Superhumans proving every day that they can do anything. Photo: Superhumans Centre

And who’s aiding Superhumans financially?

We don’t use state funds at all. We’ve had this strategy and philosophy since the start. We believe that the state should spend its money on defence, while additional resources can be attracted from donors for humanitarian projects.

Our biggest benefactor - American philanthrop Howard Buffett, who covered yearly prosthetics costs for 500 people.

And this is a significant support for us. We also engage in fundraising. We have a wide circle of benefactors from Ukraine and around the world. We are constantly working on attracting additional resources for various areas - psychological support, prosthetics, and reconstructive surgery.

Howard Buffett, Olga Rudneva, and Andriy Stavnitser. Photo: Superhumans Centre

What are the three biggest problems that the Superhumans Centre encounters today?

There are no problems for us. There are challenges that we address. These challenges can be sorted by areas. People are a major challenge - we require high-quality specialists. Teamwork is a challenge as well since Ukrainian doctors aren’t used to working in teams, and our patients are part of this team. Another challenge is Ukraine’s accessibility. Because when a patient leaves our facility, he enters the real world again. If he encounters difficulties with integration and mobility, it threatens his mental state, and in time he could return to us once again.

And we do not want patients to return for psychological rehabilitation. It's important for us that they integrate into civilian life as quickly as possible.

The challenges include scaling the Superhumans model across Ukraine. The next two centres are set to open in Odesa and Dnipro. When it comes to purely medical challenges, we deal with difficult amputation cases. There’s also infection control because our patients often arrive with numerous infections. Before reaching us, they may have been in 6-7 different hospitals and have picked up infections during evacuation. Many of the injuries are from landmines and explosives, with numerous complications. There are many challenges, but none are insoluble.

You are against Ukrainians receiving prosthetics abroad. Why is that?

We must develop our own expertise in Ukraine, and prepare our specialists to become independent of western medical support. It won’t last forever. Unfortunately, as of today, we’re facing a large number of upper limb amputations, double and even triple amputations that are difficult to work with. Despite that, why should we send our most complicated patients abroad? To educate foreign specialists?

We have everything to completely ensure the installation of prosthetics for our people here, in Ukraine.

Secondly, a prosthetist and a patient are linked for life. Weight changes, changes in the patient's needs regarding the prosthesis - all of these require adjustments, servicing, and fine-tuning. It's simpler to do this in Ukraine. Returning abroad for these adjustments is very costly. It's unlikely for a person to collect the necessary funds to modify, for example, a prosthetic socket or reprogram something in their knee. Consequently, the overwhelming majority of people who were initially fitted with prosthetics abroad end up getting re-fitted in Ukraine over time. And the third factor is the language barrier. We have quite a few patients who received high-quality prosthetics abroad but came to Ukraine for rehabilitation because they didn't receive psychological support abroad due to language barriers or insufficient rehabilitation. These issues highlight the inefficiency of prosthetics abroad. Therefore, we must do everything to provide all these services locally.

They’re missing limbs but have an unconquerable desire to live. Photo: Superhumans Centre

How would you rate the current prosthetics level in Ukraine? What has changed in the last few years?

Our prosthetics level is quite high. Foreign experts, who used to come to teach us, now say: «There’s nothing more we can teach you. We should come and learn from you». The number of complex cases we've seen in Ukraine and at Superhumans over the past year matches all of the ones that Walter Reed (an American military hospital - author.) has encountered throughout its history of working with veterans' prosthetics in the U.S. Therefore, we already have the experience. Our prosthesits are constantly learning and have practical skills. This is not only true for Superhumans. Overall, there are a lot of skilled specialists in Ukraine.

The only issue is that we lack upper limb prosthetists. We constantly invite foreign experts to come and help us fit prosthetics for our patients.

But all in all, Ukraine has the experience, and the prosthetists. There just needs to be more of them. And we’re educating them right now, specifically at Lviv Polytechnic on our base and the UNBROKEN base, meaning that these people will soon become available on the job market and will be highly qualified.

Reconstructive surgery - it’s expensive and difficult

In war, people not only lose their limbs but also suffer facial injuries. At the end of February, the Superhumans Center started operating a reconstructive surgery department. How developed is this field in Ukraine?

We perform a considerable number of facial reconstructions and surgical interventions. However, the problem is that these are mostly carried out by doctors specialising in maxillofacial trauma, whereas general surgeons are needed. This is because the procedures involve implants and grafting skin from various body and facial parts. Together with the Ministry of Health, we have started a reform in training and preparing such specialists. We indeed lack experience in this area. Moreover, there are few schools worldwide that train specialists in this field. Together with the Ministry of Health of Ukraine, we are collaborating with France in this direction. Additionally, we need to prepare people who specialize in postoperative care, as patients will require long-term recovery and special care to minimise rejection, infection, and complications.

Is there a sufficient amount of specialists in the field of reconstructive facial surgery? Where do you look for them?

Today, we have joint teams operating - Ukrainian specialists together with their French or Czech colleagues. Each case is documented, broadcast live from the operating room, and discussed with experts. Every surgery is described as a case study and made available to the market so other surgeons can view it and ask questions. Additionally, American and Canadian missions come to help with facial reconstructive surgery. Thanks to the international medical partnership initiated by the First Lady, we have gained access to the world's best surgeons.

Our team of doctors includes those who performed the world's first face transplant operation.

They are interested in our complex cases, and we require their experience. Besides, reconstructive surgery is expensive, as the implants themselves are costly.

Most importantly - a team has to be prepared for these operations. Photo: Superhumans Centre

People with facial injuries are difficult patients from the perspective of not only physical but psychological recovery. Do they work with psychologists? Is there enough of them?

The first step for a patient at the centre is a meeting with a psychologist and an assessment of their psychological state. Regardless of the newcomer’s condition, their first meeting is with a psychologist who evaluates their mental state. The psychologist is the person who accompanies the patient throughout the entire treatment period. It is quite challenging for the patient to go through the recovery period, which sometimes lasts 3-5 years. Until the person is satisfied with the result, a psychologist has to be by their side, accompanying them through all these interventions.

We wouldn’t have initiated the treatment if we were lacking such specialists

This is not the case where we can figure out in the process that we’re lacking, for example, three specialists. They’re not trained in one night. Therefore, we form a team from the get-go. For instance, the Superhumans Center in Odesa is set to open in February but team-forming and preparation will start in September. In Dnipro, the centre should open in September 2025 but the teams have already started preparing. Hence, the team preparation period for launching a new centre or service is quite time-consuming.

We work with every investor and explain where their money will go

During your work trips abroad, you always encourage the West to engage more actively in supporting Ukraine. What particular aid and support would you like to see from them in the foreseeable future?

We always ask for weapons. This will help us end the war sooner. We understand that the sooner this happens, the less work we will have. We also ask for support for humanitarian projects, especially in education and healthcare. We believe these two areas are crucial for the country to function after the victory. Therefore, we constantly encourage foreign donors to pay attention to them and support us. Whether we are heard depends solely on us - on how we convey our thoughts. If we don't receive funding, it is our problem. It means we are not communicating effectively. After all, there are many problems in the world. We are not the only country at war.

And it is our job to ask for help, to encourage and invite additional resources here

And I believe everyone is doing that - from the President to a mother in Kharkiv who helps his husband on the frontline.

Olga, you once said that you dreamed of meeting Richard Branson and Bono face to face. And you did. You felt inspired by Hillary Clinton - and she invited you to her podcast. What rendezvous do you dream of today?

I think I’ve accomplished everything I dreamed of. There are certain plans for people we’re interested in working with. We would like them to engage in supporting Ukraine more actively. Accordingly, all of them are on our list.

You see, these meetings are not just for Olga Rudneva to somehow satisfy her ego. They’re about what these people can do for Ukraine

They can join support, provide additional funds, resources for certain projects. Therefore, we choose such people ourselves, people who are important for us to work with, and to be led into Ukraine as support. In my personal list, there are people like Oprah Winfrey, Jeff Bezos, and Melinda Gates. These are people who are still not involved in supporting Ukraine on the scale that we would prefer.

We have all been traumatised by the war

Olga, what do you learn from the Superhumans?

In our interactions with patients, we continuously improve our services. We follow their needs and adapt accordingly. The centre evolves, as does our vision of what it should be. This ranges from rebuilding the entire country in terms of accessibility to changing attitudes toward certain things. When you communicate with someone who has lost two, three, or even four limbs and see what they can achieve, it's a profound source of insights. It's a constant learning process. We enhance our personal and team qualities through these interactions. We remodel the centre to make it more convenient for them, ensuring the service is of higher quality and seamless.

Personally, they taught me endurance, and the ability to have less, but do more.

Tha is probably what they teach us every day. They taught us to dream and understand that it's not really about legs and arms, but about where we are going and why we need these limbs. The overwhelming majority of people have four limbs, and the most they use them for is to write angry comments on Facebook. That's the only thing they produce for the outside world. This raises the question of whether they really need their legs and arms to share negative content online. We have our "supers" who don't have four limbs.

They win marathons, climb mountains, learn to write, write books, learn to write with their other hand

You see these people and realise - yes, hands are really needed, and not just as hands, but hands for something meaningful. This understanding of «why?» actually came from our «supers». And there is an incredible gratitude for the standard set of limbs you feel every day because you can save a tremendous amount of energy and do things much faster. You understand that beside you is someone who does no less than you but spends much more effort and health to accomplish something. This gratitude is immense. People come to us with new stories every time. And this interaction is invaluable.

Above everything, patients dream of finding their place in life. Photo: Superhumans Centre

What do Superhumans’ patients dream of and what are they afraid of the most?

This is very individual. It’s hard to generalise this. Of course, everyone dreams of victory, and also - of finding their place in life. We try to help people achieve their dream, which can be divided into goals.

Every day, a person has to know why they get up in the morning and put on their prosthetics.

This is very important because without all this, the rehabilitation process can be prolonged for months, and that's not right. We help our «supers» find a purpose. And they are actually afraid of things that might seem trivial. Their biggest fear is telling their mothers that they have lost a limb. The guys fear that their wives will come, open the door to the ward, see the missing arm or leg, and say, «I told you so». They fear they won't be able to integrate into civilian life. They worry that people will point at them on the street, that they won't be able to connect with people who have never been to war. They fear they might lose their temper because they know they also represent the veteran community. They fear losing friends who are still fighting and not having enough resources to help their comrades who are still at war. Their fears are very much in the context of today. They are more afraid of the social aspects they might face because of their disability.

How do you help yourself when it gets hard emotionally and where do you look for motivation?

It does not get emotionally difficult for me. I don't experience periods of depression or despair. When you realise what you're doing, for whom, and why, you don't need to look for motivation. The difficulty lies purely in logistics - juggling different tasks. For instance, you might have Hillary Clinton on call while a patient requires immediate help, and at the same time, you need to decide who will take out the trash, which somehow falls onto you. It's challenging to manage different tasks simultaneously. You're a living person, and you must distribute the 24 hours you have each day effectively. But emotionally, it's not difficult for me. Despair and depression consume resources that are already very limited. I can't afford to spend them on such trivialities. Resources are limited in time, emotions, and even my knowledge. Therefore, I have to use them as efficiently as possible.

Yes, I hear different human stories every day, but I don't consider, for example, the story of someone losing four limbs as negative. The person is alive, standing in front of me. I understand what I can do for them. If they want to, they will have a wonderful life. Of course, if I were burying my comrades every day or on the frontlines unable to provide help, and people were dying in my arms, I would be emotionally devastated. But I don't see that.

I work with people who survived. These stories are borderline fantasy. These are survivors that have a future.

And if they came to us, they are dreaming of recovery and life. When I see someone in a wheelchair, I already envision them standing on their feet, holding a cup for the first time. I don't see a person without limbs. So, there's nothing for me to worry about. Nothing destroys me because I work with hope every day. And it's not mythical. We've already helped 550 patients who left us on their own two feet. They have lives that go on, families, and they dream and have children. The stories of our «supers» are stories of victory, even if they are incredibly challenging.

Olga Rudneva: we all have different traumas and experiences of war. Photo: Superhumans Centre

Does society have to be prepared for interaction with veterans? What should Ukrainians realise during this war?

All of us are traumatised in different ways, as a consequence of the war. To some, this means a lost home, a lost life, to others, it means losing their loved ones, some are veterans themselves, and some lived abroad and are returning to Ukraine. We all have different traumas and experiences of war. And we have to intertwine these experiences and learn to live together. And this is not a question of whether we have to learn to live with veterans. We need to learn to live with one another overall, to interact with the understanding that anyone standing in front of us has some kind of war trauma. Just like us. To treat each other with respect and understanding. After that, it’s a technical question. What trauma does the person in front of me have and what have they been through? They could’ve gone through the war, been wounded three thousand times, and be less traumatised than someone who’s lived abroad the entire time and came back with immense guilt.

We are all different. There is no special device that we could use to measure each other’s trauma

Our stress resilience and response to trauma is also different. Consequently, it's hard to determine whose trauma is deeper or more damaging to the state and to the individual. Therefore, we need to prepare to live with a range of war experiences within the same country. I believe that this is going to be our greatest challenge yet.

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A TV host, journalist and author of over three thousand materials on various subjects, including some remarkable journalist investigations that led to changes in local governments. She also writes about tourism, science and health. She got into journalism by accident over 20 years ago. She led her personal projects on the UTR TV channel, worked as a reporter for the news service and at the ICTV channel for over 12 years. While working she visited over 50 countries. Has exceptional skills in storytelling and data analysis. Worked as a lecturer at the NAU’s International Journalism faculty. She is enrolled in the «International Journalism» postgraduate study program: she is working on a dissertation covering the work of Polish mass media during the Russian-Ukrainian war.

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Time wasted on roads instead of bridges

Olga Pakosh: In light of what is happening today, how can we talk about building bridges?

Krzysztof Czyżewski: We first need to realize how few of them we have actually built.

Why?

We were given time—time we largely failed to use. Today comes the test of what we did with it, and it turns out it could have been much more. Too few bridges were built—between Poles and Ukrainians, but also many others. Because all these bridges are interconnected. Fear of the other very easily turns into scapegoating—of the foreigner, someone of another nationality, culture, or skin color. And this shows that we could have done far more, especially from the bottom up, at the grassroots, organically. We lacked investment in local government, in education—from primary school through every level—in cultural and community-building activities. Had we put more effort into these, we would be in a completely different place today.

That’s why the work of rooting is so important—in a place, in oneself, in our identity. When the full-scale war in Ukraine broke out, refugee children came to Krasnogruda. One of the first projects we did with them was an animated film.

The children called it Pokój (“Room/Peace”), because they discovered that in Polish the word has two meanings: “absence of war” and “my space to live.” It was precisely this space they had lost—their room, their home—and that’s what they longed for. They also understood that the one who starts a war is the one who has no room of their own.

People deprived of rootedness and a sense of community are more easily swayed by ideologies that lead to hatred and violence. That’s why we need time to rebuild this rootedness, which our region still lacks because of its history of wars and regimes. We simply wasted the time we were given.

We invested in roads—because that’s easy, because every politician wants to boast about them. But investments in schools, cultural centers, civic organizations—in people—were never a priority.
And yet those are precisely the investments that could give us the strength to stand against hatred and war.

The Comfortable Role of the Victim

What is hatred?
No one is born with hatred. It always has a source, usually in the early stages of life. Something must have happened in our environment—in the family, at school, in the community. Something that made us susceptible to this illness called hatred.

To confront it, we must go back to its beginnings. To the moment when a child or young person found themselves in a situation where no one defended them, protected them, or taught them how to cope with harm. It’s the environment that shapes a person, and if it is not built on peace, it creates space for hatred. Hatred often grows out of emptiness, resentment, and a sense of loss. A person who experiences pain at the hands of others, lacking the tools to understand it, builds a defense mechanism: they start believing that hatred will make them stronger.

Imagine a young Czesław Miłosz. He dreams of Western Europe, of Paris—and during a trip with friends, he reaches a bridge on the Swiss–French border. There he sees a sign: “No entry for Slavs, Gypsies, Jews.” Such a blow can trigger two reactions. One is to respond in kind: return home and put up a sign against the French or the Germans.
But one can also react differently: do everything not to answer hostility with hostility. Yet to choose this path, one needs support—spiritual, moral, found in an authority or a community.

We encounter such “signs” even today—in a metaphorical sense—living in multicultural societies. We often, and unwittingly, hurt others with words or gestures. These are moments when we can take Miłosz’s path: to dedicate our life and work to opposing the philosophy of exclusion. But choosing this path means loneliness. As in the case of Miłosz, who in interwar Vilnius—governed by nationalists—was told that history did not belong to him.

The “signpost philosophy” always builds a fortress. It assumes one must close off, build walls, and cast outsiders in a bad light. It’s the feeling that strength comes from isolation.
I have met people who build such fortresses. Today this is very visible in Ukraine. My Ukrainian friends wrote to me after February 24th: “I hate. That’s my state of mind.” I understand this. In the face of aggression, one builds defensive embankments, protects family and community. Perhaps a soldier needs hatred as a weapon—it gives determination and strength.

But the crucial question is about the boundary. Between the person who can treat hatred like a shield, then set it aside after the fight and return to normal life—and the person who becomes its captive. If you can put it down, hatred remains a temporary weapon. If you cannot, the illness takes control. Then hatred doesn’t end with the war—it begins to destroy life, relationships, one’s entire world.

How can we defend ourselves against hatred in today’s world?

Sometimes a person must build a fortress, but a fortress is not a natural environment for life. When a new generation arrives—our children—they will feel curiosity and the need to go out into the open world. Because a fortress, if accepted as a permanent home, becomes a prison—and everyone wants to escape from prison.

So the question is: if I build a bridge to the other side, risking my own shore and the possibility that an enemy may use it—am I acting against life?

Would it be better to stay on my side and live more safely, more comfortably? This is how supporters of extreme, xenophobic ideologies think: that it’s best to be only among one’s own. Except that in human nature such a scenario never proves life-giving. Sooner or later it leads to illness—xenophobia or hatred.

That’s why courage is always necessary. To resist hatred, we must cultivate inner strength to overcome our emotions. And yet we have a tendency to justify our hostility easily: we pick at resentments, repeat that someone wronged us. It feels comfortable to wear the skin of the victim, because then we are always ostensibly on the “good side.” But staying in the role of the victim also leads nowhere. It breeds weakness and fear—fear of opening up, of encountering the other.

What does this mean in practice? If I, as a Pole, am afraid to admit that in Jedwabne, during the Holocaust, a crime was committed against Jewish neighbors and I prefer to conceal this truth—where is my patriotism then? Where is my courage?

There is no courage in falsifying history. Courage is born when I can look into the eyes of those who were victims, when I do the work on myself. It is difficult, critical work of memory.
If we want to build bridges with others, let’s start with ourselves. Let us ask: are there not painful places in our own history that we should work through—acknowledge, beat our breast, return the truth to others, or at least try to listen? Paradoxically, this does not weaken us—it makes us stronger.

On the doorstep of the house where Polish writer and philosopher Stanisław Vincenz once lived — Hutsul region, Ukraine.

Pop Culture Pure

How would you explain the shift from the immense openness toward Ukrainians in February 2022 to the current state, where some say that help was unappreciated or that newcomers “give nothing in return”? Is it fatigue, lack of courage, or something deeper in human nature?

What’s missing is something else. What’s very dangerous is what politicians often try to convince us of: that our attitude toward Ukrainians must be conditioned by interest. In my view, the spontaneous, magnificent reaction of people was simply a human reaction. No one asked then what we would get out of it. It was as Pope Francis said in Lampedusa about the Church: it should be like a field hospital.

It doesn’t matter what your faith, nationality, or skin color is—you simply serve a person in need. This is an absolute human duty. Without asking about interest, advantage, or profit.

If we step down from that level—and today many try to frame help for Ukrainians in terms of budgets, gains, or losses—we reduce the field hospital to a marketplace.

And that’s exactly what we see in the world. It used to be unthinkable that states would give weapons only in exchange for raw materials. Today this approach is part of the political mainstream. It’s a moral collapse.

Of course, rationality, logic, and common sense are needed—especially in politics and strategic decisions.

At the same time, we must act on a human level. Because we are Christians, Poles, Ukrainians, people. There are no narrow categories here. It’s not about nationality or religion, but about a human being in need.

The first wave of refugees from Ukraine made this very clear. I remember Viktoria Amelina [a Ukrainian writer who died in hospital on July 1, 2023, from injuries sustained during a Russian attack on Kramatorsk—ed.] in Krasnogruda telling me that at the border she felt treated better than refugees from other countries. She was privileged simply because she was Ukrainian. That shows the limit of our wonderful Polish–Ukrainian period of solidarity—right next to the Belarusian border, the symbol of non-solidarity.

When such selection creeps into our responses, we see a symptom of illness: our assistance and attitudes are no longer fully true or natural. It’s not about judging people—we’re all in the same boat; we all have oversights and limitations. But it’s also part of a great moral decline, a degradation we’re witnessing worldwide. It shows how much fear, anxiety, and uncertainty we harbor, and how little of the peace that children talk about. And how easily populist politics can lead us astray.

Why does hatred take root in us so easily? Is it politics, ideology, indoctrination (imposing certain ideas and beliefs on a person — Ed.)?

Or perhaps pop culture? And culture? How is it possible that in a democratic society we separated pop culture from culture—that pop culture is meant to reach people who “won’t understand” culture because it’s too difficult, not for them?

If we accept that conversations about values, morality, and understanding the other are intended only for those in that “other” culture and not for everyone, the tragedy begins.

The tragedy is that in a democracy we don’t trust people. We don’t believe they can make difficult decisions themselves, hold values, and take responsibility for them.

We persist in the belief that we must speak to people in a simplified way, otherwise they “won’t understand.” Politicians and the media often take this path. They create a “pop-cultural mush,” and we pay the price. We’ve created pop-cultural politics, pop-cultural politicians, and politics characterized by leveling down. It’s the result of our underestimating culture and failing to understand that conscience—our spiritual culture—is an obligation for everyone, without exception.

Szewczenko or Miłosz are for everyone, and with everyone we can talk about values, demand reflection, action, and responsibility. It’s like the wisdom of the Gospels—they are not reserved for the chosen. We have lost faith that this has anything to do with everyday life. Even people who consider themselves Christians often craft their own “life-gospel,” at odds with the true Gospel, while politicians offer a discourse full of xenophobia and hatred.

Here lies a serious neglect, for which we are now paying the price. A vast arrogance and paternalism that we have allowed to speak. As a result, we’ve lost many citizens—people who felt utterly marginalized not only in terms of material well-being but also in terms of trust and co-responsibility for the world’s affairs. Pushed aside and often stigmatized as xenophobes.

I never use such labels for anyone. Because when you call someone a chauvinist or a xenophobe, you put them against a wall. You strip them of the ability to move—and thus the chance to change. Culture should provide space and time for us to change, learn, and mature. That’s what our culture often lacks: patience for process, the understanding that change takes time.

The history we come from, and the new tragic circumstances, place demands on us that often exceed our strength. Sometimes we are too weak to bear them. But does that mean we are immediately bad—and forever? Perhaps we can still be partners—for conversation, for cooperation, for living together—even if we handle our emotions differently.

We are very good at cornering people. “You are this—period.” Meanwhile, we should learn to understand ourselves and others, to transcend our own limitations, to practice the art of dialogue—because only then is true transformation possible.

You speak of empathy, which was so visible at the beginning. But haven’t you noticed that today the word “neighbors” has practically disappeared from the media when we speak about Ukrainians?

“Neighborhood” is a good word, isn’t it? A neighbor is already part of our life. And if we drive them out, a feeling arises… that there is no threat, and no need for effort or even sacrifice, because a neighbor demands more from me.

A neighbor is someone you can rightly offer hospitality to, someone you can share with, someone you coexist with and share responsibility for something with. Simply by existing, a neighbor touches deeply rooted values in us—and puts them to the test.

If we succumb to confrontational, hateful ideology, we push out words like “neighborhood,” “kinship,” “the common good.”

I won’t even dwell on the fact that politicians try to convince us that it’s in our interest to cut ourselves off from Ukraine—which is absurd, because Ukraine provides us with security. If we were rational and sober about what is truly good for us, we should do everything to make our neighborhood as deep and as close as possible.

Anna Łazar, Yuri Andrukhovych and Krzysztof Czyżewski. Private Archive

Meanwhile, we allow ourselves to be ruled by what is irrational or aimed at short-term effects (which amounts to the same). We let weakness work within us and perceive threats where they do not truly exist.

I would also like to address Ukrainians—to understand that sometimes it’s not worth attaching too much importance to these momentary crises—just as in the life of an individual, so in a collective body we sometimes succumb to weakness, and politicians draw out the worst in us. We should not believe that this is a permanent state, nor should we immediately put Poles against the wall, assuming that “this is how they are now.”

Of course, we should set standards for ourselves—now I’m speaking about Poles in the context of the situation in Ukraine. But at the same time, it is worth giving ourselves a chance to change: to be more understanding, more empathetic, to trust that change is possible. I also don’t attach excessive importance to momentary gusts in social media—those winds change very quickly.

I would rather focus on long-term, grassroots, organic building—creating things that won’t bear fruit today but will do so in a few years. Because trust has extraordinary power. If I, Ms. Olga, believe that even if you (purely hypothetically) feel prejudice, resentment, or hatred toward me, it won’t be forever—and I don’t close myself off to our mutual presence—and if I believe our relationship can change—then you will not remain indifferent to that. You will sense in me not an enemy, but a person open to change. That is precisely what releases positive energy between us.

Sometimes it demands more of us than we could realistically expect—greater generosity than daily life calls for. And that’s what builds a person, gives extraordinary strength. For me, beauty lies in the Ukrainian word peremoha. When I travel the world, I always urge people to learn it not in translation (“victory”) but in its Ukrainian meaning.

Peremohty, mohty—it means the ability to act beyond one’s own capacities. Even if we have limitations, traumas, weaknesses, there is such a thing as peremohty: to be able to do more than we can. And that is true victory.

To achieve this, we must extend ourselves a credit of trust, create good energies that allow us to do more than we believe possible. Two years ago our borders opened, solidarity emerged, and suddenly we were able to show a better face—better than before, in the context of the Belarusian border. Even those who previously stood for radical confrontation and closing the border to refugees could not silence their own consciences in the face of need—children in the Białowieża Forest who needed a simple glass of water. You can’t calm your conscience that way. Ideological arguments aren’t enough.

And suddenly Ukrainians appeared, toward whom we could be entirely different. It was a moment when we became better than ourselves, though such moments never last long. Our wisdom should lie in knowing how to appeal to what is best in us, building on that, and not giving up the work of maturing into those values.

There Are More People of Good Will

After the president vetoed the law on assistance for Ukrainian mothers and as a wave of hatred grew, one of my colleagues asked: what should I do now? Where should I go? I chose to stay in Poland, and I don’t know what I should feel or how to live, if I’m even afraid to speak Ukrainian with my child on the street.

For a moment I thought that it’s increasingly difficult today to advise your colleague where she might go to be better off. There are fewer and fewer such places in the world. Of course, that is no excuse for what’s happening in our country. But it is one of those painful lessons we receive from the modern world. I return to the idea that we are part of communicating vessels. What happens here is interdependent with other places in the world, and we often struggle to cope with that.

Let’s have no illusions: we live in an era of moral decline, a degradation of humanism.

Of course, I would like people like the one you describe to remain in Poland—because we need them. I don’t mean this in terms of budget revenue, though that’s obvious. That’s not the logic I’m using. These people are needed so that we can grow into the maturity demanded of us by the situation in the world—and so that we have a chance to change our own attitudes. Your colleague, experiencing intolerance in Poland yet still engaging in building good neighborliness, has a chance to be part of a process of change—one that won’t happen overnight and will surely bring her suffering, but in the long run it carries hope.

Because in this process there is strength and potential—we change the world where we are, not by endlessly fleeing elsewhere.

My philosophy largely rests on changing the world from within. There is a growing temptation to flee from various environments, institutions, religions, or countries because something seems unbearable or contrary to our beliefs. But that’s escape. Then we become perpetual nomads.

The answer is to stay, to find a room, to take root, and to work—with an understanding of all the conditions that come with it. Such rootedness is not the same as returning to a lost place (though may such returns be possible). It is staying within a new situation and learning it mutually—this gives a chance for growth.

A second reflection is that there are more of us than we think: us, people of good will. We live in a world that often minimizes our presence because it amplifies drama, conflict, pain, and injustice. The voice of harm reaches the media; it is harder to express good and positive emotions. This is also my work: to help people give voice to the good emotions that, I believe, dwell in everyone—even in those who hate deeply. In everyone there is a spark of a need to do something good. The problem is often how to do it, how to give it form.

We lack holidays, language, and culture for this—and politics even more so—because we live in a world where harm, pain, and hatred are easy to express. Sometimes it’s about a wise perspective: perhaps there are more of us than it seems; perhaps the politician who has won and seems monstrous does not, in fact, have all our votes.

Where is that other half of Poland? It exists—and there are ways to reach it. It’s difficult, but it gives hope.

I’ve lived in Poland for 10 years, and I’ve heard from various people that humans are inherently good—which I never heard in Ukraine. Two Poles also told me that even if people do something bad, they later regret it.

What I’m talking about is close to what I earlier called the spark of good in every person—something hard to bring out. I speak of it because it was passed on to me by people who went through real hell. Starting with Miłosz, who survived two world wars; with Holocaust survivors; with Bosnian Muslims whose relatives lie buried in Srebrenica. They could have said that the world is evil, that our actions are meaningless in the face of the destructive forces of dictatorial regimes, that building bridges is weak against military and ideological violence. And yet it was precisely they who taught me not to lose faith in the good—in that small light present in every person, regardless of which “side” they are on.

They taught me that it’s worth working to help others and ourselves—to free the good within us, to find words and time so that our conscience can be spoken, not stifled. And despite the “sober skeptics,” whose voice I respect, and despite having witnessed the core of darkness revealed by wars, I stand with my teachers, who allowed themselves neither nihilism nor agreement that good in this world is doomed to defeat.

Because if they weren’t right, would we be able to have this conversation at all, Ms. Olga?

20
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Krzysztof Czyżewski: “No One Is Born with Hatred"

Olga Pakosh

On August 25, the President of Poland announced a veto of the government bill that was meant to regulate protection and support for families fleeing the war. This decision, and the language that accompanied it – promises to make aid for children conditional on their parent’s employment, prolonging the path to citizenship, reigniting historical disputes – is not a matter of mood, but of cold political calculation.

It strikes at Ukrainian refugee women, at their children, at the elderly and the sick; it also strikes at our schools, doctors, and local governments. Instead of certainty, it brings fear; instead of calm, it threatens family separations, secondary migration, and the erosion of trust in the Polish state.

Imagine that you are the ones at war defending your homeland – and a neighboring country treats your wives, mothers, and daughters as hostages of politics.

After the President’s decision, thousands of homes across Poland were filled with shock, bitterness, and a sense of betrayal. Mothers who fled with children and sick parents from cities and villages turned to rubble now ask themselves: where are we supposed to flee next? Women who chose Poland out of love and trust now feel that this love has not been reciprocated.

A child is not a lifeless entry in a statute, and the aid granted to that child cannot be used as leverage against their mother. Solidarity is not seasonal, it is not a trend. If it is true in March, it must also be true in August. Memory is not a cudgel. A state that, instead of healing the wounds of history, reaches for easy symbols does not build community. A state cannot be a street theater. A serious state chooses responsibility, not political spectacle: procedures, clear communication, protection of the most vulnerable.

We, Polish women – mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, and grandmothers – say it plainly: no one has the right to impose conditions, in our name, on women fleeing war. We will not accept the pain and suffering of people in need of our support being turned into fuel for political disputes. We will not allow the destruction of the trust on which community stands. This is a matter of national interest and of our common conscience. It is bridges – not walls – that turn neighbors into allies, and it is predictable and just law, together with the language of respect, that strengthens Poland’s security more than populist shouting from the podium.

Europe – and therefore we as well – has committed to continuity of protection for civilians fleeing aggression. It is our duty to keep that word. This means one thing: to confirm publicly, clearly, and without ambiguity that the families who trusted Poland will not wake up tomorrow in a legal vacuum; that no child will be punished because their parent does not have employment; that the language of power will not divide people into “ours” and “others.” For a child and their single mother, the law must be a shield, not a tool of coercion into loyalty and obedience. Politics must be service, not spectacle.

We call on you, who make the law and represent the Republic, to restore certainty of protection and to reject words that stigmatize instead of protect. Let the law serve people, not political games. Let Poland remain a home where a mother does not have to ask: “Where to now?” – because the answer will always be: “Stay in a country that keeps its word.”

This is not a dispute over legal technicalities. It is a question of the face of the Republic. Will it be a state of the word that is kept – or a state of words thrown to the wind? Will we stand on the side of mothers and children – or on the side of fear?

Signed:
Polish women – mothers, wives, daughters, sisters, grandmothers.

As of today, the letter has been endorsed by over two thousand women from across Poland — among them three former First Ladies of the Republic of Poland, Nobel Prize laureate Olga Tokarczuk, and internationally acclaimed filmmaker Agnieszka Holland. Their voices stand alongside those of hundreds of other women — mothers, daughters, sisters, grandmothers — who have chosen to sign as a gesture of solidarity and moral responsibility.

The full list of signatories is available at the link below:

https://docs.google.com/document/d/135yP6XadgyRJmECLyIaxQTHcOyjOVy9Y4mgFP9klzIM/edit?tab=t.0

20
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Letter of protest of Polish women to the Prime Minister, the Sejm, the Senate and the President of the Republic of Poland

Sestry

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