By Julia Oberda, Economics with Management for Art student at Bocconi University from Warsaw, Poland. This article is published in collaboration with the Luxury Bocconi Student Society.
Julia Oberda was volunteering at the Polish-Ukrainian border during the first three days of the war. She is reporting to the London Financial on her first-hand experience of the emerging humanitarian crisis.
I was waiting on the Polish-Ukrainian border to pick up refugees and transport them to Warsaw. From there, they would be able to reach their families or find a place to stay. I was motivated to drive hundreds of kilometres by social media mostly. I saw friends, influencers and celebrities posting about donations spots, fundraisers, accommodation, transport offers and needs.
That was the only topic anyone in Poland with an Instagram account posted about. Instagram stories were, and still are, taken over by information about help for the refugees intertwined with the hourly updates of what is happening next door. I could not sleep, and I was checking the news constantly. Sunday morning, feeling helpless against the terror happening a few kilometres east, I packed the car and rushed towards the border. Warsaw was panicking – the drive took longer than the GPS showed, and I spent an hour waiting in line at the gas station. I arrived at the border early afternoon.
I had expected to find myself in the midst of chaos and disaster, yet, everything seemed to be under control by local authorities and volunteers. The war had been going on for three days. We saw two cars filled with various supplies, diapers overflowing from the dedicated hangar, and containers filled with food that had already started to go bad stashed altogether.
After days of horrifying news, seeing so many people helping made me calmer. I saw people holding cardboard signs with “FREE TRANSPORT” in the Cyrillic alphabet, most probably rewritten from Google Translate. I saw volunteers preparing warm tea and behind them a parking lot full of cars with Polish, Ukrainian, and German plates. There were friends and families of those who were to arrive soon, as well as complete strangers trying to do their best to help.
For a brief moment, it seemed to me as if more people were willing to help than those who actually needed it. Yet, if you stopped on a hill a few miles away from the border, you could see cars lined up to the horizon. To cross the EU border, the refugees need to queue for days on the Ukrainian side. The temperatures in Dorohusk reach -5 degrees Celsius at night – the children have no warm clothes or sources of heat. There were shortages of food and medications, as everyone left in a hurry and did not know what they would have to endure at the border. The lucky ones are in their cars, but most are on foot. Some are forced to leave their cars on the side of the road when they are out of fuel. And yet, all of them trudge towards the border – full of hope to find shelter and a better tomorrow in the EU. Think of their families, who are anxiously hoping that their relatives will survive the attacks, endure the piercing cold, and manage to cross the border.
I headed to the refugees’ reception point a few kilometres away from the border crossing. I felt proud of Polish people coming from all over the country to help – delivering all necessities, serving hot meals, ensuring that the refugees feel safe. Yet, at the same time, as I was standing in the shanty canteen, I felt dreadfully helpless. I could not stop thinking about those who were not there yet, those who decided to stay to defend their country, whom I could not help, who are left at the mercy of diplomacy.
And this is just the beginning. At least half a million people have already escaped Ukraine, but this huge number of refugees constitutes only a small percentage of the Ukrainian population. Considering the size of the Ukrainian diaspora, a lot of those who arrived could have had a family, a friend, or a friend of a friend living in the EU waiting to receive and accommodate them. But what about those who will come not knowing anyone?
Ukraine is a prisoner of its geography. Ukrainians for many years have been struggling to join the ‘Western world.’ Yet, their pursuit to join NATO was harshly stopped by the military invasion of Russia, which prevents Ukraine from joining the alliance. Consequently, it limits the possibility of NATO’s eastern expansion. Even though such measures can be considered a direct threat to the safety of Eastern Europe, it does not seem that Putin would invade NATO. He would have to face the military forces of all 30 members, including a superpower such as the US.
Nonetheless, the involvement of the European Union is not based merely on its geography. Putin’s confidence that the invasion of Ukraine would be undisturbed is a result of the economic and political net of dependencies between Russia and Europe. Needless to say, Putin did not expect any external intervention in the conflict, because of the energy vulnerability of the EU and the lack of its response in 2014 during the invasion of Crimea. Perhaps, if Europe and the rest of the world had supported Ukraine more during the Crimean Crisis, we wouldn’t be witnessing what we see now.
The violent Russian invasion motivated the EU to impose unprecedented and heavy sanctions, which, aside from pressuring Putin to withdraw from Ukraine, are gradually diminishing the European dependency on Russia. It is an opportunity for the EU to reinstate its position of autonomous power and untangle itself from suspicious deals with authoritarian Russia. The resistance of Ukrainians induced a long-overdue reflection on the role and core values of the Union.
And here we are, proud of Europe’s quick response, hoping to become stronger as an autonomous and united front against Putin’s imperialistic ambitions. Yet, no matter how much money or weapons Ukraine receives, they are the ones paying the highest price defending the eastern border of the EU and NATO. This is a debt that Europeans will have to eventually repay.