Support the European Go Journal: As reported previously, European Go Journal editor Artem Kachanovskyi,
a resident of Kyiv, has posted movingly on Facebook about how the Russian war on Ukraine has affected the go community and his own life and work as EGJ editor. When the war started, Kachanovskyi had to leave Kyiv and was forced to stop printing and distributing physical copies of the journal. He plans to continue producing the journal and distribute it digitally as a PDF until he is able to distribute hardcopies again. He takes subscriptions through Patreon and has about 235 subscribers right now. It’s $6.50 a month for a personal subscription to the monthly PDF version of the journal, and he offers a $3.50 per-person club subscription to groups participating in a Go club. – Spencer Rank
How desperate Putin has just three moves left against Ukraine… and is running out of time: War expert JUSTIN BRONK says Russian ruler is in a ‘dangerous position’ but his BIGGEST difficulty is ‘selling his disastrous war as a victory to his own people’
By Justin Bronk For Mailonline
Published: 07:04 EDT, 17 March 2022 | Updated: 08:33 EDT, 17 March 2022
Ukraine has to sustain the ability of its forces to continue fighting effectively and counterattacking to regain lost territory if it is to hold out against the Russians, military expert JUSTIN BRONK writes on MailOnline today.
President Volodymyr Zelensky’s troops are mobilising new Ukrainian forces in the west with modern weapons provided by Western countries and these could be sent to reinforce Odessa or Kyiv rapidly if needed.
Mr Bronk, a leading military expert in airpower and technology, added that Ukraine must sustain morale of its troops and citizens and ensure Western military and other assistance continues to flow into the country.
He added that Russian forces are in a ‘dangerous position’ which is likely to deteriorate in the coming weeks without a major pause in fighting – meaning that it is vital that the Ukrainians continue to battle hard.
In contrast, Mr Bronk said the Russians are likely to attempt three options – one of them being driving northwards from Melitopol towards Dnipro to meet with a thrust southward from Kharkiv at the same time.
The second is that the Russians will continue bombardments of Mariupol, Kharkiv and other smaller cities – while the third is that they will carry on attempting to encircle and bypass Mkyolaiv in the south.
He also said parts of Ukraine are ‘now beyond Russia’s capacity to influence or “regain” forever’, adding: ‘Putin now needs his forces to achieve something he can sell to his own people as a victory worth these huge costs.’
Here is the full analysis by Mr Bronk, a research fellow at the Royal United Services Institute in London:
Rather than publish excerpts I decided to print the entire articled because, “Ilya Kaminsky (@ilya_poet) is the author of “Dancing in Odessa” and “Deaf Republic.” Born in the Soviet Union, he lives in Atlanta, where he teaches at Georgia Tech.
Poems in a Time of Crisis
March 13, 2022
By Ilya Kaminsky
Mr. Kaminsky is a Ukrainian American poet and the author of “Dancing in Odessa” and “Deaf Republic.”
Two weeks into the war, the Russians are still menacing my birth city, Odessa, in southwestern Ukraine. It sits on high bluffs above the Black Sea, its famous steps leading from the water to a square.
I don’t want to imagine soldiers chasing civilians through my city. Some part of my brain turns it into a farce, based on something I remember from my own childhood: In 1984, in a village just outside Odessa, I’m a 7-year-old deaf boy running in the government’s corn field. Behind me, waving his arms, runs a policeman. My grandmother, in her 60s, sprints in front of me.
We are stealing corn from the government, my grandmother and I. We get away, and we don’t stop at corn. A different day, Grandmother hauls me up onto the roof of the state farm so my long arms can reach into the branches of the plum trees. Her lips say, “Pick only the ripest.” She makes jam. Years later, I read the Russian poet Inna Kabysh: “Whoever is making a jam in Russia / knows there is no way out.”
Now I spend most of every day online, in America, trying to find ways out for Ukrainian poets and translators. Many literary organizations are willing to open their doors, bring in refugees, but unlike my grandmother and me, lots of Ukrainians writers don’t want to leave. They want their freedoms. They want their own languages — Ukrainian and Russian — in their own streets. I understand. My Jewish family keeps running from Odessa — and then returning.
Since the war began, I have received emails from journalists asking me to explain my poem “We Lived Happily During the War,” which went viral on the day Vladimir Putin’s troops began bombing my birth country. The poem was published on Poetry International in 2013, the same year the Maidan protests began in Ukraine. Viktor Yanukovych, Ukraine’s president at the time, was trying to lean closer to Putin and crush protests. Ukrainians rejected him; Putin stole Crimea; and the war in Donbas began.
“We lived happily during the war,” the poem begins, “and when they bombed other people’s houses, we / protested / but not enough, we opposed them but not / enough.” As I was writing the poem, my adopted country, the United States, was in the middle of its own “freedom” campaigns.
How are Putin’s bombardments of Kyiv different from George W. Bush’s bombardments of Baghdad? Both invasions used false premises: imaginary weapons of mass destruction in Bush’s case, and imaginary protection of the Russian language, among other justifications, in Putin’s. Odessa is a largely Russian-speaking city and Putin is sending troops to bombard Russian speakers — that is how he “protects” the Russian language.
“I woke up because of explosions,” my cousin Petya emailed me recently. “They were bombing the beach. Who do they think they’ll hit? This isn’t vacation season!” His jokes are typical of Odessa, a city of good humor, where April 1 is one of the most important holidays.
When I think of Russian troops arriving at the bay, I imagine them in their heavy gear, trying to huff and puff up the stairs, while Ukrainians throw Molotov cocktails and stones. My grandfathers fought the German tanks on tractors. This war feels like something out of a movie or a poem — but it is real. The city trembles.
“And when they bombed other people’s houses,” the poem goes. Who remembers the blitz of Grozny, Chechnya’s capital city, now? American politicians shouted for a bit. Then they forgot. It is lucrative to forget. The oil companies like doing business with Putin. “In the street of money in the city of money in the country of money,” the poem says, “our great country of money.”
And yet on the first day of March, over 800 people gathered for a Zoom poetry reading bringing together Ukrainian and American poets. It was one of the largest poetry readings I have witnessed. Why did so many turn to poetry in this time of crisis?
While we read poems, the 40-mile Russian military convoy threatened north of Kyiv. The West watched as young civilians took up guns, sand bags, Molotov cocktails. It’s not an especially large country, only 44 million people. There’s no one to fight for us but us.
“The West is watching us,” a friend writes. “This is their reality TV war, they are curious to see whether we will go on living, or die.”
Another friend emails: “We saw fighter aircraft, helicopters and Russian paratroopers from our window. But we walked for miles.” He tells me that they’re safe now: His wife is in Poland and he’s in Ukraine. He sends photos of the city where they lived.
A different day, a friend from Kyiv writes: “Am in Bukovina, took 2 dogs and 1 cat with me, Sophie’s choice, left 3 cats behind, being cared for by a neighbor.” It’s unbearable, she tells me. She is 12 miles from the Romanian border. Eventually, she crosses with only one dog.
An Odessa friend contacts me to say: “I’ve seen today 10-km queue in Palanca and approx 500-600 people that were walking by feet. Mamas with kids and it’s snowing and some kids crying, others have serious men’s eyes.”
Another friend, who remains in Odessa, tell me he just got back from the store: “People are grabbing any food they can find. I’m trying to do art. Read out loud. To distract myself. Try to read between the lines.”
I ask how I can help. Finally, an older friend, a lifelong journalist, writes back: “Putins come and go. If you want to help, send us some poems and essays. We are putting together a literary magazine.”
The title emanates from the New York Times March 1 column written by Paul Krugman.
The Ukrainian miracle may not last. Vladimir Putin’s attempt to win a quick victory on the cheap, seizing major cities with relatively light forces, has faced major resistance, but the tanks and big guns are moving up. And despite the incredible heroism of Ukraine’s people, it’s still more likely than not that the Russian flag will eventually be planted amid the rubble of Kyiv and Kharkiv.
But even if that happens, the Russian Federation will be left weaker and poorer than it was before the invasion. Conquest doesn’t pay.
An aside: Isn’t it extraordinary and horrible to find ourselves in a situation where Hitler’s economic failures tell us useful things about future prospects? But that’s where we are. Thanks, Putin.
I have read many Krugman columns over the past few decades and cannot recall Paul including music with any previous column. He used the following video after writing, “I’ve seen this group live; they were awesome.”
NPR Music 6.63M subscribers People always ask me, “What’s your favorite Tiny Desk Concert?” Well, right now it’s the one recently performed by DakhaBrakha. The creative quartet from Kiev, Ukraine make music that sounds like nothing I’ve ever heard, with strands of everything I’ve ever heard. There are rhythms that sound West African and drone that feels as if it could have emanated from India or Australia. At times, DakhaBrakha is simply a rock band whose crazy homeland harmonies are filled with joy. All the while, they play tight-knit tunes featuring accordion, drums, reeds and shakers while wearing tall, Marge Simpson-looking wool hats that made me jealous.
I want the world to see this Tiny Desk Concert more than any other right now. It’s refreshing to hear the power of acoustic music and the many worlds of sound still waiting to be explored. — BOB BOILEN
Set List “Sho Z-Pod Duba” 0:00 “Torokh” 3:43 “Divka-Marusechka” 8:07
Credits Producers: Bob Boilen, Maggie Starbard; Audio Engineer: Kevin Wait; Videographers: Morgan McCloy, Maggie Starbard, AJ Wilhelm; Assistant Producer: Annie Bartholomew; photo by Colin Marshall/NPR
Ukrainians are posting videos of the Russian invasion to Pornhub, while Russians are using one of the last online spaces they have to speak against the war.
by Samantha Cole
In a video uploaded to Pornhub on Monday, (https://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=ph621d1c10782e4) Kyiv sits in quiet darkness. Few lights are on in apartment buildings across the landscape, while the camera pans across the city. Kate, behind the camera, breathes shallowly. As the air raid sirens begin to blare in the distance, more lights blink on, people waking up to the sounds of the fifth day of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine.
This week was the first time Kate, an adult performer, has ever heard air raid sirens in her life. Before Russia started bombing her city last week, Kate uploaded videos of herself and a partner having sex on that balcony overlooking Kyiv, playing in nightclub restrooms and naked in the woods. Now, she’s hoping people see her video on Pornhub, hear the sirens, and remember that it could happen to them.
“I’ve never heard an [air raid siren] before. I’ve never been in a bomb shelter,” Kate told me in a direct message. “I live in a city with over three million people. I want to go to restaurants, bars, theaters, cinemas. This is how many people live in Europe, America, Asia… With this video, I want to say that even today no one is immune from war.”
Others in Ukraine are using Pornhub to get the word out about their situations.
The Ukrainian Chorus Dumka of New York sang behind a table of candles that spelled out “Kyiv”
By Ilana Kaplan
While Saturday Night Live more often than not opts for comedy in its cold open, this week, the laughter was on hold.
Given the devastating Russian-Ukrainian conflict, this week’s episode began on a somber note. The Ukrainian Chorus Dumka of New York, introduced by Kate McKinnon and Cecily Strong, performed instead. They delivered a mournful song for the audience with “Prayer for Ukraine” before the camera panned to a table of candles surrounding the name of the Ukrainian capital, “Kyiv.”
You don’t know me but I’m your brother I was raised here in this living hell You don’t know my kind in your world Fairly soon the time will tell You, telling me the things you’re gonna do for me I ain’t blind and I don’t like what I think I see Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets
Take this message to my brother You will find him everywhere Wherever people live together Tied in poverty’s despair You, telling me the things you’re gonna do for me I ain’t blind and I don’t like what I think I see
Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets Takin’ it to the streets