The pandemic. Tragedy in Afghanistan. Crazy “freedom” convoy bullies who apparently don’t recognize freedom even when it bites them in the butt. Just when you thought things couldn’t get worse, the free world is teetering on the brink of all-out war with an authoritarian regime led by a Kremlin madman who rose to power by protecting Russian oligarchs and billionaires.
Russia’s brutal war on Ukraine is so horrifying ordinary Canadians are doing what we can in solidarity since almost everyone has a connection to Ukraine, or to someone who has collided with Russian oppression. Concerned calls, volunteer efforts, donations, protests, hugs, even a dish of perogies that evokes Ukrainian grandmas, or unforgettable friends and neighbours, can offer a kind of balm for anxiety and dread. It can also help raise funds.
It’s hell over there, and the fallout has just begun here. Not to freak you out more, but if you think $2+ a litre for gas is something, or notice a few holes on grocery shelves now, just wait. Sanction impacts have long, wiggly tentacles.
Ukraine and Russia are two of the world’s biggest suppliers of food and agricultural products, especially wheat. Russia is also a top producer of key nutrients in fertilizers, which can boost crop production up to 50 per cent. Plus escalating oil prices are already impacting world supply chains, causing soaring prices. Here comes a shockwave for the global food supply, especially for Asia, Africa and Europe. Stand by…
Some pretty bizarre fallout is also happening. In misguided protests, people are vandalizing Russian community centres and churches across Canada, not understanding that most Russians here are ordinary people who’ve fled Russian authoritarianism and are as disgusted by the invasion as you and I.
Others are boycotting shops, cafés, anything with “Russian” in its name or they mistakenly think is tied to Putin. (Poutine?! Come on!) The legendary Russian Tea Room in New York, with its gorgeous art and jewel-toned walls, is nearly empty. Again, come on! It was started in 1927 by members of the Russian Imperial Ballet who defected and White Russians—a loose coalition of liberals, social democrats and loyalists to the assassinated czar who fought the “Reds” in the Russian civil war.
My uncle Nick’s family were White Russians who fled Russia's civil war and ironically found peace in Alberta's Peace River country, homesteading a huge swath of land. It’s a story familiar to thousands of Russian and Ukrainian migrant families who were lucky enough to find a new life in Canada, especially on the prairies.
In the meantime, companies around the world are at least temporarily shuttering their Russian operations, including McDonald's, Pepsi, Coca-Cola and Starbucks. Bar owners are dumping Russian vodka down the drain. Stolichnaya Vodka has even changed its name to “Stoli” for markets outside Russia. Good luck with that rebranding: Stoli vodka sold outside of Russia is made by the Luxembourg-based Stoli Group, controlled by exiled Russian billionaire, Yuri Shefler, who apparently had to flee Russia after he misappropriated the Stolichnaya brand. It’s actually produced in Latvia, home to my husband’s dad’s family and another nation that has suffered Russian aggression.
Feet Banks—ex-hay farmer, longtime local, one of my favourite film reviewers and writers, and creator of Pie Quarterly—totally gets the implications of such aggression. His grandma Carolyn (née Marchinko), or baba Carol, was Ukrainian. She was born in Mikado, population 56, which, along with two other Saskatchewan villages, was named after Japanese victories over Russia in the 1903 Russo-Japanese War.
His reaction when the news first broke about Russia’s war on Ukraine was vintage Feet: “I felt two things: Are you fucking kidding me? We live in a world where people still do this kind of shit?” he said.
“So, disappointment and disbelief. But I’m also just so glad my grandma is not alive to see this bullshit because it would break her heart.”
Shortly after, he cooked up baba Carol’s recipe for beetniks, below. (“It smelled just like my grandma’s kitchen!”) Think 1950s beatniks, those leftie artist-rebels who challenged authority. Think drumbeats of war, and your own heartbeat. Think of the humble-but-noble beet, which has nourished so many new Canadians.
Once your tummy is full, please consider donating to the Ukrainian Canadian Congress/Foundation. It’s been active in Ukraine for decades, setting up education and medical systems based on ours. Or the Canadian Red Cross’s Ukraine appeal. Or the UN Office for the Coordination of Humanitarian Affairs’ Ukraine Humanitarian Fund—the quickest, most effective way to directly support urgent humanitarian relief on the ground. Volunteer for Ukraine is also good, and can help you match your Air Miles with volunteers.
Dyakuyu. Thank you.
Glenda Bartosh is an award-winning journalist who figures paying more at the gas pump is a small price to pay for putting the squeeze on Putin.
Feet's baba Carol's beetniks
Use bread dough, fresh or frozen, or fresh pizza dough, available at Squamish's Sunflower Bakery Cafe or Pasta Lupino in Whistler. Cut about 24 small chunks, approximately the size of your thumb, and roll them with your hands into small “logs.” Wash beet leaves, cut in half or as needed. Remove the hard stems. Wrap the leaves around the dough logs so the dough sticks out either end. Line a cookie sheet with parchment. Place your logs, seams down, on it and let rise in oven with just the oven light on for about 45 min. or until the dough rises. (It can double in size, depending on the dough.) Preheat oven to 350 F and bake until dough is lightly browned, about 12 to 15 minutes. While the dough logs are baking, cook about 1/2 cup diced onion and 12 or so mushrooms, sliced, with butter in a frying pan on low heat. Stir for a few minutes, then add baked beetniks and stir in a cup or more of cream (any kind you like). Add half a bunch of fresh dill, chopped. Stir gently until most of the cream is absorbed and serve, adding more chopped dill on top. Great as a meal or hearty side dish to roast pork.
