Cate Underwood

For weeks, I’ve noticed that I’m always looking for new possibilities and approaches that can help ensure that the war and the situations in Ukraine are not forgotten. Our daily life in the West is repeatedly confronted with urgent worries and fears every day, that we forget how urgent, genuine and real the events taking place just a stone’s throw away from us really are. Over there, it’s not about fear and worry about what’s to come; you’re right in the middle of it, steeling yourself and pulling together. That’s not the only reason why I want to be in touch with people who come from Ukraine. Above all, it’s because they’re showing us something that I think is important: the ability to recognise the possibilities within ourselves that put us in a position to act in a forward-looking way, instead of letting fear paralyse us. Over tea in Paris, I’m meeting Cate Underwood, a woman who was born in Kyiv and who has lived in lots of places around the world. She opens up with insights that reveal more than just her own personal story.

“My memories are key to me and they’re a big part of who I am today. Kyiv is my city, even though I left when I was 16. It’s a city of contrasts and today, in a way, it’s like Berlin was 20 years ago. The political situation is very precarious and that’s exactly what the art, music and creative scenes are reacting to. In places like this, creativity and freedom of thought open the spirit and raise painful issues. When it comes to talent, open-mindedness or modern bureaucratic systems, we’re the equal of even the most advanced Western capitals. To give you one example: here, in Paris, I had to wait a year to get my residence permit, whereas in Ukraine it takes two days online. In this respect, we’re very future-oriented, exactly the opposite of France, where I’ve been living for the last three years. There’s a way of doing things here that’s been going on for what feels like a hundred years, and it’s hard to give up because people are afraid of losing credibility and identity,” says Cate, talking quickly and animatedly.

As I watch her, I decide that I’m not going to interrupt her with any of my prepared questions. She wants to tell me and describe to me what has happened, especially over the last ten months, and not only to her. I immediately understand that she’s not just talking about herself, she’s including other people’s conversations and stories. She has been living in different places for a long time, and it’s precisely this way of life that reinforces the feeling of being torn apart, of emotional fragility and, at the same time, of strength. I think of the many émigrés and intellectuals who, from Paris, had the clearest view of the political events of their time. Cate didn’t have to flee, but women and men like her help us all stay alert, stay tuned, show solidarity and empathy, and act together.

“Have you ever been to Ukraine?” she asks me, realising I’m thinking, and doesn’t wait for the answer. “It’s beautiful. I have so many memories and a deep connection with the country. Since the war began, I’ve felt mentally and emotionally unstable and it feels like you’re always moving between realities. It’s like having a dual personality. I’ve spoken to many Ukrainian and international friends and we are totally aware of what is happening on a day-to-day basis, but, at the same time, everyday life takes over in a way. For the whole first month, I couldn’t work, eat or speak publicly about Ukraine. Every day, from morning to evening, I discussed and analysed the news with my family. We were constantly on the phone, devouring the news, watching, listening, talking and asking each other questions. It was all really, really awful. I couldn’t do a single assignment that month, I was so paralysed. And at the same time, my family moved in with me and I took on so much more responsibility. We all lived together in a one-room apartment. Eventually, I broke this cycle because I couldn’t maintain my sanity. My family and all my friends were the only source of happiness. It’s hard because we all live in a double world. And, to be honest, there’s not a day when I don’t think about doing or forgetting something. I don’t want to justify why I carry on with my life. I know who and why many stayed in Ukraine. It’s terrible there, and everyone is exposed to the situation, the death and all the trauma. Everyone copes with this in their own way: some people stay over there and some can be helpful here. Every single Ukrainian I know around the world does what they can, even if it’s just a little bit. Even if it’s a donation, or if it’s about helping a fellow Ukrainian get settled in a new city, or if they arrive as a refugee. Every day, I think about how I can balance the things I have to do to support my family, my job, send my daughter to school and all of these everyday things. What can I do by being here? Every day I live this conflict with myself.”

At that moment her voice breaks. Spontaneously, I want to support her. Her sense of being torn between the decision to live her life this way and the responsibility she feels without wanting to be in Ukraine is physically palpable. I tell her that I think it’s important to talk about these very circumstances, personal opportunities and decisions.

“Ukrainians have always had a very strong sense of who they are and who they want to be. Every Ukrainian knows very well that in this war, there’s no way we are going to give in. Because this is not just a war over territory, it’s an ideological war. We are our own nation and my generation grew up aware of this independence. People will not give up this historically short period of Ukrainian independence. Ukraine wasn’t on the radar. The whole world might have known that such a country existed but no one really knew what the country’s identity is, what its culture is, what its laws are and how long this country has been around. My handwritten birth certificate from 1990 says Soviet Union. I am very, very happy that I was able to grow up in an independent Ukraine because I am very proud to be Ukrainian. We have fantastic values and we like our hunger for freedom. Every Ukrainian knows the historical facts, not just from books, but from family members who lived through World War II, the Soviet Union era and its collapse, and they know they will never go back to that. Ukrainians love their country because now it’s independent, with its own culture and mentality. Ukrainians want a better future for their children and they want to be left in peace. This unanimity and collective awareness are a great help to Ukraine at the moment.”

And at that moment, I realise that it’s not just about pride, it’s about the experience of the younger generations. Why should they give up what we all strive for – self-determination and freedom? Surely everyone in the West should be able to understand that.

“Something worries me.” And as she says this, she falls silent. “In the middle of the war, suddenly another number leaks out, of people who have died every day over the past nine months. And it’s not about the accuracy of the number, it’s about what it symbolises. This is war and the death of lots of people. One day the war will be over, but then what about the lives of the people who have to go on living with loss, death and the trauma of war. They are marked, many are probably lost, and that’s what makes me so incredibly sad.”

CREDITS

As featured in SLEEK 75 – HAPPINESS. Available in print and digital here.

Cate Underwood

Cate Underwood was born in Kyiv in 1990. Since she was 16 years old, she has lived in New York, London and currently in Paris. She works as a photographer, model and DJ and is now supporting many creative people who have left Ukraine or have stayed in their hometown.