When They Said ‘That’s America,’ I Stood Up

The café was warm. Too warm.

Wet coats by the door. Coffee slightly burned.

Minus ten outside, I had escaped the cold and found refuge.

The television was glowing with men’s figure skating from the Olympics. The screen brighter than that gray Kyiv afternoon.

For three minutes, the world looked stable.

An American skater stepped into the rink.

Behind me, a chair scraped.

“I’m not cheering for them”, a man said.

“The United States is a colonial power. Look at Trump. Look at the far right. That’s who they are.”

“Fascism in suits. That’s America”, the other added.

I didn’t expect to feel protective, but I did.

You know that moment when something inside you decides before your mind does?

I could feel my pulse in my throat.

I turned around and said:

“You couldn’t say anything more lazy than that.”

They looked at me, surprised more than angry. They were not expecting a war between tables.

“America is not one man and it’s not one party”, I said

They began listing headlines. ICE raids. Extremism. Authoritarian drift…

I let them speak, then I leaned forward and said:

“Let me remind you that both of us were born in the Soviet Union. Do you remember what it felt like when the world treated us as the system? When they saw Moscow and never us?

Silence.

We grew up inside a machine that spoke in our name. We know what it means to be mistaken for a regime you never chose.

And yes, America is in trouble.

I read the essays. I see Americans writing about due process being treated like a suggestion. About laws bending. About communities afraid. About neighbors forming lines to protect each other.

I remember parks cancelling celebrations because people are afraid to show up to the birthday of the country they live in.

That is a country fighting for itself.

“If not for the United States, we might not be sitting here arguing. We might be forced to speak Russian under occupation, or not speaking at all.”

One of them replied, “The American people aren’t here fighting with us.”

I looked at him and thought of you.

Of all the emails, the comments, the messages that begin with “I’m just an ordinary American but…”

The teacher in Ohio,

The veteran in Texas.

The woman in Minneapolis who keeps a Ukrainian flag in her window so her community remember what is at stake.

You fight in your own way.

I know you are exhausted. I read it in your letters.

You argue about your Constitution the way we argue about our survival.

You call your representatives. You push back when power stretches too far. You refuse to let Ukraine disappear from your conversations.

Public pressure in your country keeps aid alive. Keeps sanctions in place. Keeps our name present in rooms where decisions are made.

Without that pressure, we would be weaker. Possibly broken.

So when the American skater landed his jump, I clapped.

I clapped because when they said, “That’s America,” something rose in me.

I clapped for a country that is wrestling with itself instead of surrendering. For citizens who love their nation enough to argue about its soul.

If you are reading this from the United States, know that when someone here reduces you to your worst politicians, I will stand up.

Generations of Ukrainians know what it means to be mistaken for a system that ruled over them.

War tries to shrink everything. Identities, alliances.

Gratitude.

I will not let it shrink this.

You have stood up for us.

I will stand up for you.

—Viktor

🇺🇦🇺🇸

Books by Viktor Kravchuk