Three days after the Russian invasion of Ukraine began, on February 27, Russian tanks advance into Kharkiv. Although Sergei Gerasimov hasn’t seen them yet, he has heard about them from a friend. Or perhaps from his daughter, who claims to have seen a tank that “took off.”
He also views films of bewildered Russian soldiers who, in contrast to expectations, are not welcomed with flowers, bread, and salt but rather are engaged in combat. You appear careless but at ease. They are unsure of what to anticipate. (…) Like Guy Montag from Fahrenheit 451, the invaders are being pursued through the city. They don’t die for a very long time.
Since the start of the conflict, Gerasimov, who was born in Kharkiv in 1964, attended school here, and is still here now, has been keeping a diary. Its initial publication of passages was in the “Neue Zürcher Zeitung,” among other publications. He currently resides in two rooms on the third story of a high-rise building in the heart of Kharkiv with his wife, his daughter, her boyfriend, five cats, and a hamster.
Even though the Russians were swiftly expelled from the city, Kharkiv has endured daily rocket strikes and bombings ever since, up until the present. In addition to the typical residential buildings, Gerasimov lists the schools, hospitals, kindergartens, and public institutions that were also destroyed. For instance, a fifth of all schools are believed to be in ruins.
Gerasimov was born and continues to reside in Kharkiv.
The zoo, the swimming pool where he learnt to swim, and the opera theater are all also destroyed. Gerasimov writes on March 9: “Two weeks ago, Kharkiv was as lovely as a perfectly crafted diamond. The city is a horror right now.
He speaks about many nearby who are attempting to escape this horror unscathed, who are falling ill, and who, like him, are becoming accustomed to the assaults. For instance, on April 15, a gorgeous spring day, numerous people stroll through the city; “they appear at ease and unhurried, perhaps a little insane.”
Along with the numerous ruins, the cityscape is marked by long lines of people outside of stores, particularly in front of pharmacies and the Nova Poschta stores filled with relief goods. Each of these snakes, which can only be measured in terms of time—two hours, two days—has a distinct personality, ranging from democratic and respectful to authoritarian or insane.
Gerasimov thinks about relocating. He is aware, however, that the closest Poltava is congested and that there is nowhere in Ukraine that is truly safe since “even in the relatively safe regions, people are packed in like sardines. So, we are at a loss on what to do.
Fight the Russians and speak Russian
He concerns about his relationship with Russia, where he essentially grew up and has three relatives who similarly likely see Nazis everywhere in Ukraine, despite the perilous circumstances. He considers Putinophilia and Russism, the horrific and dreadfully potent Russian propaganda.
Regarding Ukrainian nationalism, it is said that “the majority of people in Kharkiv (…) speak Russian while opposing the Russians. Nobody thinks that’s odd. We struggle for liberty, democracy, justice, equality, and respect for all people (…) Where is nationalism in this conflict? It is the most general and worldwide thing I can think of.
The German publisher gave the title “Fire Panorama” to Gerasimov’s battle journal. It has a dismal sense of color and atmosphere. However, when viewed collectively, the Ukrainian author’s pieces form a gloomily shimmering vista, a tableau made up of narratives, analyses, and recollections.
Although Gerasimov penned his verses quickly, “Fire Panorama” has portions that are similar to Serhij Zhadan’s Kharkiv proclamation of love “Mesopotamia,” but naturally without any humor. The journal is still active today even if it closes on April 18.
The destruction advances as the struggle for Kharkiv goes on without interruption. But Sergei Gerasimov continues to write and honor his hometown. He says that “certain things defy rationality” and cannot comprehend the madness of war.