annual report

54 |in memoryofMYKOLA SUPRUN1923 – 2011Many Ukrainian stories are sad stories. Mykola Suprun’s life storyis a Ukrainian story.He was born on 17 December 1923 in Soviet Ukraine, into a familybranded by Communists as “seredniaky” or middle-class peasants.Their land was confiscated. Mykola’s father, Petro, resisted,insisting “it is better to die a free man in Ukraine than to be aslave in one’s own home.” For that defiance he was targeted by theNKVD, the secret police, and disappeared becoming one of themany millions of victims of Communism.Mykola’s mother Stepania was left to care forher children alone, amid a growing hunger.She entrusted 10 year old Mykola with takinghis two brothers, Sashko and Vasyl, to anorphanage, where she hoped they might survivethe Great Famine, the Holodomor. Whenit was discovered that they were“enemies of the people” the boys wereexpelled and returned home only to find theirmother bed-ridden. Mykola foragedin the nearby woods for anything ediblebut it was not enough. Sashko and Vasylstarved to death.Mykola was forced to work on a collective farm, made to runbehind the wagon that daily took workers into the fields, theprivilege of getting a ride reserved for those who complied withthe new regime. Decades later, in Canada, one of the childrenwho rode the wagon wound up living across the street fromMykola. Instead of holding a grudge or trying to settle old scores,he forgave that man.When Nazi Germany invaded the USSR, in late June 1941, theRed Army weapons depot near his village was blown up. Mykolabarely had time to run home and rescue his baby niece, Halya.Later, when the family cut trees to repair their damaged home theextra weight they were carting set off a landmine, killing Mykola’ssister, Maria. All he could find was her arm. In the spring of 1942he recovered the rest of her remains, and interred his sister asecond time.The tide of war turned against Germany and Mykola became aslave labourer in the Third Reich, clearing the rubble left afterAllied bombings. At war’s end he found himself in the British Zone ofOccupied Germany, at a Displaced Persons camp in Kiel. Although a“Soviet citizen” and liable to repatriation to the USSR, Mykola risked hisown freedom to sneak into the Soviet Zone and escort other Ukrainiansto the West. In July 1947 he found asylum in Canada, working for a pulpand paper company. After completing his two years of work, so paying forhis passage, he moved to Winnipeg. There he met his future wife, Iwanna(Jean) Chomischak, with whom he would raise a family of six.Instead of Saturday morning cartoons, the children were taken toUkrainian school and the Ukrainian Youth Association (SUM). OnSundays they attended the Holy Trinity Ukrainian Orthodox Cathedralwhere, from 1960, he was a parishoner. The family donned their embroideredshirts and blouses and in 1961 joined thousands of Ukrainian Canadiansin unveiling the Taras Shevchenko monument on the grounds of theManitoba Legislature. He often cited the words of Ukraine’s nationalbard: “only in one’s house does one have truth, strength and freedom.”Sadness returned to Mykola’s life when in 1970 his teenage son died inan unfortunate accident. Like Abraham of the Old Testament, Mykolaaccepted this tragedy as the will of God. Soon thereafter, he learned thathis mother, separated from him by the Iron Curtain, had survived, andwas being looked after by his niece, Halya.For years Mykola stomached the denial of the horrors he survived as ayoung boy, but thanks to the efforts of the Ukrainian Canadian Congress,in 1984 he attended the unveiling of the Holodomor Memorial at Winnipeg’sCity Hall. He wore the lapel pin reproduction on his suit for the remainderof his days.Eventually, Iwanna and Mykola became grandparents. He grewlegendary tomatoes and even managed to cultivate an orange tree in hisWinnipeg home as an homage to the forest that saved him. In retirement,he cared for his wife during her struggle with diabetes. She passed awayon 27 December 1996, aged 68. Mykola became a great-grandfatherwithout her.He faced the onset of Alzheimer’s with courage, even though he wasslowly robbed of many memories. He never complained and as his bodywas wracked he let his caregivers and family know that his spirit remainedwell by offering a loving smile. He passed away, on 7 September 2011,surrounded by family, knowing he was loved and will be remembered.Although Ukrainian stories are sad, Mykola taught us that the best way toget through the suffering that life brings to all is to do so with a smile.MARIA (MAKALO) LUCIUK1927 – 2012Maria Makalo was born in 1927 in thewestern Ukrainian village of Kurnyky.She was only 16 when the Germans came,transporting her to Bavaria, press-gangedinto the service of the Third Reich. She wasnot alone. Millions of Ukrainians suffereda similar fate. Many would not survive.Being young and petite, Maria was not thefirst choice of those selecting slaves for hardlabour. Paradoxically, that was lucky. Forwhen she was finally picked it was by a Bauer(farmer) whose ailing wife and two childrenneeded help. So Maria worked mainly inthe kitchen, able to scrounge food and evensneak some to the Polish POWs the farmerheld captive. Somehow her father, Stepan,a First World War veteran of the Austro-Hungarian army, and fluent in German,learned where his daughter was. Fromoccupied Ukraine he posted letters ofencouragement, those few sheets of paperbecoming some of her most preciouspossessions—for she would never seehim again.Still a teenager when the Second World Warended, in May 1945, Maria again foundherself among millions of people cast adrift,political refugees unwilling to return toSoviet-dominated eastern Europe. Therethe Stalinist regime was brutally suppressingUkrainian nationalism, a counterinsurgencycampaign that continuedwell into the 1950s. Maria’s father was amember of the resistance. Captured by theCommunists, Stepan perished rather thanrenounce the cause of Ukraine’s liberation.His final resting place is unknown. The IronCurtain then severed Maria’s ties to hermother, three brothers, and a sister, a chasmun-breached until the Soviet empire felland Ukraine regained its rightful place inEurope, almost a half century later.Not able to go home, Maria instead foundsanctuary in the ‘Freiman Kasserne’Displaced Persons camp, near Munich.There she joined the Organization ofUkrainian Nationalists, (OUNb), becominga trusted underground courier. It was adangerous time. Hundreds of thousandsof “Soviet citizens” were forcibly repatriatedto the USSR, there were politicalassassinations, widespread criminality,and a climate of fear, many believing aThird World War was imminent. So mostDPs lived “on packed suitcases,” motivatedby a “compulsive need to return home,”seeing themselves as the “second line” ofthe liberation movement, determined tohusband their Diaspora’s resources untilthey could get home. They believed thatwould happen soon. They were mistaken.Their exodus would last for decades.Unbeknownst to her, Maria came undersurveillance. One day he stopped her, inMunich’s famous ‘English Gardens.’ Fortunately,the man who crossed her path wasanother nationalist. His name was Danylo.He became her unofficial escort andbodyguard and, eventually, her husband,rarely leaving Maria’s side until she died,peacefully, in his arms, in their bed, in theirhome, after more than six decades ofhappily married life.Resettled from post-war Europe toKingston, Ontario, in 1949, Maria andDanylo found work, she at Hotel DieuHospital, he at Brock Jewellers. At first theylived in a Queen Street boarding house, onthe edge of Kingston’s immigrant andworking class “North End.” Wanting to starta family they moved to 68 Nelson St.,infusing their home with all things Ukrainian.Anyone crossing that threshold immediatelyentered what Maria and Danyloremembered or imagined Ukraine shouldbe like, a welcoming and happy place. Itstill is. When their children were born theynamed them Lubomyr, “Lover of Peace,”and Nadia, “Hope,” signalling what theiradopted homeland had given them—peace,love, and hope.In their early years in Canada Maria andDanylo encountered many fellow citizenswho knew little, if anything, about Ukraineor Ukrainians. She dedicated herself toovercoming that ignorance. Maria taughtUkrainian school, pushed her children tostudy hard, was a leading member ofSt Michael’s Ukrainian Catholic Parish, afounding and lifelong member of the KingstonBranch of the Canadian League for theLiberation of Ukraine,helped establish theKingston and DistrictFolk Arts Council,the Ukrainian MakyDance Ensemble, theUkrainian CanadianClub of Kingston, andwas the heart and soulof the “Lviv, Ukraine”pavilion during Kingston’s annual “Folklore”festival, for 42 years. Her commitment toher culture and, in particular, to Ukrainianembroidery and traditional cooking, were adelight within her own hromada (community)and for the many thousands of Kingstoniansshe hosted over several decades. We will notsee the likes of her pyrohy (perogies) andholubtsi (cabbage rolls) again. And yet,while she always made sure people knewshe was a Ukrainian, and what that meantto her, Maria was equally keen on learningabout the lives and cultures of everyoneshe met, genuine in her advocacy of multiculturalism,believing it to be a strong pillargirding up Canada’s uniqueness as a society.Maria and Danylo’s enduring support forthe cause of Ukrainian independence—formany who knew them nothing but a quixoticémigré dream—was vindicated when theUSSR collapsed, in 1991. And, at almost thesame time, they became grandparents, whosavoured watching their granddaughter,Kassandra, become a woman and a youngscholar of modern Ukraine’s history. ForBaba and Dido (grandmother and grandfather)there could be no more satisfyinglegacy.On the evening before she died Maria spokeher last words, in Ukrainian: “Goodnight,my children.” Her family was with her whenshe passed on February 10, 2012. She wascalm and unafraid. Just like the Marywhose name she bore Maria had witnessedappalling suffering in her lifetime yetremained a woman of faith. Parting withmotherly words of comfort she finally wenthome, full of grace, to be with God, remindingus of the psalmist’s words: “for He grantssleep to those He loves.”| 55