Queer Ukraine

Queer Ukraine is an anthology of poems and essays by 12 #lgbtq Ukrainians, published in January 2023. The writings were edited and translated into English by Dvijka Collective. In the editor’s words, ‘This anthology is not only a platform for sharing our experiences, it is an archive of our existence and a testament to our permanence.’ It’s a short and powerful book.

I enjoyed and felt moved by each piece in this book. Reading this anthology you feel just how precious it is to hear voices from people who are so often silenced and pushed to the margins of society. It’s a real treasure to be cherished. It’s hard to talk of highlights in a book like this since each piece is so unique and personal. One chapter however stood out to me.

It is ‘Transness in Traditional Ukrainian Culture’ by Yana Lys (Lyshka). It’s a fascinating reading starting with the ancient cultures and ending with the modern day. It debunks the premise popular in #Ukraine, as well as my native Poland, that queerness is a rotten Western ideology imposed on and incompatible with the local culture. Reading stories of #transgender people through the ages is so powerful. It shows that being #trans isn’t new, neither it is a deviation. It’s a natural and sacred way of being.

My favourite bit in Lyshka’s essay is a #myth from the Galician village of Velesniv, variants of which exist in other areas. According to this myth if one is to go to the place from which the #rainbow ‘takes its water’ they would be taken by the rainbow and released at the other end. If they were a girl, they would return a boy and vice versa. After their return each month, they would switch back and forth between the two. Not only this is a wonderful myth connecting #queerness to the rainbow which is so beautiful in and of itself, but it is also the first and only myth that I am aware of that represents a #genderfluid experience.

‘Tuning the Bandura’ by Elliott Miscovicz is another piece that stayed with me after reading this book. It’s a story told through different times and places. The bandura and its memory weave through the story as Elliot recalls experiences shared with fellow activists across the world. It’s particularly painful to read how 24 February 2022 was not only the start of a full-scale invasion. For Elliot, it was also a rude awakening that as a Ukranian queer activist one is largely alone in the West.

This little anthology is full of raw emotion, history, wisdom and folklore. It is also a story of queer people during wartime. It has a timeless quality that should be relatable to anyone who faced war, oppression, and colonialism. I hope that if you are lucky not to know any of these from personal experience you will still feel compelled to read this book.