I typed ‘Nobody I’ve met has been killed yet’ in passing earlier this week, without particularly thinking about it. Then I realised how messed up it was that I automatically added the ‘yet’ on the assumption that of course they will, because that’s how things are. It certainly is if you’re Ukrainian, or spend significant time there.
This week was, however, the first time someone I knew personally and cared about died. Vita – callsign Snake – a German field medic who helped me with advice and contacts and general wisdom over an extended period online. Not many foreigners did meet her in person, once she stopped doing humanitarian aid runs and joined the army in late summer 2022, as she hardly ever left her unit. They were often on the front lines, which meant Snake heading out to literally drag wounded soldiers to safety under fire. The most dangerous work a medic can do, and she was utterly devoted to it, and to Ukraine’s victory. It was hardly a shock when a mutual friend messaged to say she’d been killed in action; except that you are of course never prepared for someone to die, any more than you would be prepared to open your eyes and suddenly see one less colour in the world.
I posted about this on Facebook, which attracted the attention of russian trolls, an ‘exciting’ first for my very obscure personal Facebook. One of them – likely these are paid staff at a state troll factory in a basement in Moscow or St Petersburg, though there are also individuals spending their time this way – responded with a poo emoji. Posting an obituary graphic for a friend who died saving hundreds of Ukrainian soldiers to fight on against russia, and having a representative of the russian state respond literally with shit seemed so perfectly emblematic of the whole situation that I decided to leave the abuse there as a little teaching moment. History will judge, if not on my Facebook page then elsewhere.
The graphic was created by blackmaplecompany on Twitter. The left-hand text says Savita Diana Wagner was a military medic with the first storm platoom, first storm company. Callsign: Snake. 36 years old. German.
On the right: ‘Heroes die’. ‘Heroes don’t die’ is a common saying, meaning eternal memory to them.
Heroes die. Heroes don’t die. Look at Snake.
A Ukrainian friend told me this week how, earlier on in the war, each death made her angrier, more determined, more productive. But a tipping point was reached, and now she feels that each death squeezes a little more life out of her. As a foreigner who is not in the army and so has the luxury of living away from the missiles for as long as I choose, and with most of the people I care about also being in safe countries, I am at the ‘angrier and more motivated’ stage, and I think my biggest personal goal has to be to stay there, so that no matter how exhausted Ukrainians get I am still waving my righteous stick and conniving to get more supplies and money to them so they can use their energy for the existential battle they have to fight regardless of how tired they are.
So Snake died, and I got up early the next day because a friend’s husband who’s a software engineer brought me six(!) laptops to send to Zaporizhzhia for Freefilmers and the Radio Resistance to fix up and distribute to refugees.
Those two things do not meaningfully connect. Laptops do not cancel out death. But look at the total December and January haul:
A few real clunkers for the spare parts pile here, but hopefully a dozen of them are useable: that’s a dozen people getting online for education, work, benefits applications, connection to family or general solace they couldn’t otherwise access.
death + poo emojis + laptops = laptops