‘IF YOU WERE 30% BRAVER, what would you do to be a better ancestor?” An enthusiastic facilitator posed this icebreaker to a roomful of delegates in New York, gathered for a confer-ence on democracy. “Take 60 seconds to think and share your answers in your small groups.”
My small group consisted of seasoned activists from different parts of the world. They were eager to discuss their opinions on courage and legacy. “I’d spend more time with my kids,” said one. “I would speak to people I disagree with more often,” said another. I kept quiet hoping no one would notice.
“You’re being quiet,” said one of them when everyone else had spoken. My small group turned to me.
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a difficult question.” I tried to get myself out of the trap. “I need more time to think about it.”
The thing is, I didn’t need time to think about it. My answer was right there, staring me in the face. Now that my small group was staring at me just as insistently, I couldn’t face sharing my thoughts with them. It seemed like I needed to be 30% braver just to utter the answer.
“If I were braver, to be a better ancestor, I’d join the army. The Ukrainian armed forces.”
At that moment, it was the only answer that rang true.
My response was met with the sort of uncomfortable silence I seem to bring to most social conversations. A friend has found a good term for that: a Ukrainian killjoy. It applies to those of us who keep talking about the war when people want to talk about their kids, the future and all those wonderful things that give us hope. Sometimes, we don’t even need to offer a digest of Russia’s recent bombardments, we end conversations just by entering the room.
