My veteran grandfather never celebrated World War II

Since the beginning of the full-scale invasion, I have come to deeply understand why people who lived through World War II spoke so little about "victory." Why veterans were mostly silent, and why their memories contained far more pain than triumph.

When military funerals take place every day, when cities and human lives are destroyed, and when families wait for years for their loved ones to return from the front line or captivity (while some, tragically, will never return), you begin to perceive the very nature of war differently. The heroic myth of war — with parades and fireworks — that was smoothly inherited from the Soviet era into my childhood in the 1990s has, through Ukraine's historical transformation, turned into an understanding of war as a profound tragedy, a day of silence, remembrance, and deeply personal stories.

One of my own personal stories of World War II is the story of my grandfather, Mykhailo Rohachuk, who was born in 1919. In 1939, when Poland was invaded by the Nazis and Galicia was occupied by the Soviet Union, my grandfather was immediately mobilized into the Red Army and sent to serve in the Far East, in Vladivostok.

After 1941, when the war officially began for the Soviet Union as well, he was transferred from the Far East to the Battle of Stalingrad. By that time, he was already commanding the Third Rifle Platoon of the 2nd Battalion of the 243rd Rifle Regiment, which was part of the Moscow People's Militia Division. Then came the Battle of Kursk. During the fighting, my grandfather was even captured by the Germans for several hours, but Soviet forces effectively fought him back out. He remembered how, during those brief hours in captivity, a German soldier furiously struck him on the shoulder with a rifle butt. That spot hurt him for the rest of his life — a physical reminder of war.

After the Battle of Kursk, his platoon was sent closer to the Baltic region. Eventually, the war ended for him, and Mykhailo returned home to the village of Lanivtsi in the Ternopil region. He came back, married my grandmother Maria, and it would seem that life should finally have become more peaceful. But three months after their wedding, 23-year-old Maria Rohachuk was arrested by an NKVD special unit. She was accused of ties to the OUN-UPA and deported to Siberia.

In 1955, when my grandmother returned after the Khrushchev thaw, my grandfather was waiting for her at the train platform. Then came difficult conversations, years after separation, and an attempt to learn how to live together again. But they managed. She was labeled a "Banderite." He was a "Red Army soldier." Yet love, respect, and humanity proved more important to them than ideology.

Because of her "reputation," my grandmother often suffered discrimination in the village. Meanwhile, Soviet authorities honored my grandfather as a veteran. Yet there were never ideological wars within our family. On the contrary — they always spoke Ukrainian, prayed to God, lived quietly, and treated people with dignity and respect.

My grandfather, by the way, never walked through the village carrying a Soviet flag or shouting about his own heroism. In fact, he rarely spoke about the war at all. Because for him, it was not a source of pride, but a terrible experience that remained with him forever.

And today, as Russia wages war against Ukraine, I understand the true meaning of this date even more deeply.

Because the memory of World War II should not be about the cult of a "great victory." It should be about responsibility, honesty toward the past, and the understanding that war is a tragedy — not a tool of state grandeur. It is precisely because Russian society never truly overcame its imperialism and has spent all these decades treating war as pride rather than catastrophe that Europe is now witnessing the largest military aggression since World War II.For the past 12 years, Ukraine has been going through its own profound rethinking of what war really means. Russia has not. On the contrary, it is sinking ever deeper into propaganda, raising children within the cult of the "great victory," where aggression, occupation, and violence are presented as heroism and national greatness. And this is a strategic challenge that will not disappear automatically even after this war ends.

At the same time, I am convinced that what will truly unite most Ukrainians after victory will not be fireworks or loud celebrations. It will be the desire to embrace loved ones, to simply be together, and to remember the Heroes and Heroines thanks to whom we still have our lives, our state, and our country.

Because Ukrainians now know the true cost of war very well.

My veteran grandfather knew it too.

That is why he never celebrated war.

Daryna Rohachuk