Close-Knit Community Strives to Keep Spirit of Ukraine Alive in S.D.

Gain knowledge, my brothers; think, read!

Study the culture of foreign e rs

But do not forsake your own,

For the one that forgets his mother

is punished by God. -- Taras Shevchenko, Ukrainian poet

Inside the small frame structure of Our Lady of Perpetual Help, 50 voices sing the Eastern rite Catholic Mass in their native Ukrainian. The plaintive melodies, derived from Ukrainian folk tunes, blend with incense and candlelight as Father Andrew Mykyta, 70, kneels before the altar. A tabernacle made by a parishioner is in the shape of a church in Kiev, and a painting of the Virgin of Kiev hangs above, draped with a rushnyk, or traditional embroidered cloth.

It is here that about 300 San Diegans of Ukrainian descent worship, socialize, feel a sense of community and preserve their heritage each Sunday.

For first-generation Ukrainians, the journey to San Diego has not been an easy one. Most came right after World War II. A few others have come more recently, escaping to other Eastern bloc countries, then asking for asylum in Western Europe before making their way to America and San Diego.

Mykyta came to the San Diego parish in December.

His own journey from Peremyshl in the Ukraine began June 30, 1944. After finishing his studies in theology he escaped to Italy and arrived in Rome in 1945, where he studied until his ordination Jan. 1, 1948. In May, 1950, Mykyta arrived in the United States, and after spending seven years on the East Coast was sent to San Francisco. He learned English from reading newspapers and watching TV.

Mykyta spend the ensuing years in the San Francisco parish and in Santa Clara, with a brief sojourn in Arizona, then back to the San Francisco parish before being sent to San Diego. He still has two sisters in the Ukraine.

Through a patio area next to the sanctuary is the church hall, where socials and dances are held.

Nadja Cham has brought her granddaughter to the church today. Cham escaped in 1949 to Poland and went to Michigan before moving to San Diego in 1956 because of her husband’s work. She is from the western part of the Ukraine and also has ties back home. She cautiously says she has been indirectly in contact with relatives since the Chernobyl accident.

Cham, who teaches Russian and German at Gompers High School, recently returned from Fulbright Scholarship study in Berlin, and she spoke of the numbers of refugees from Poland, Czechoslovakia and Yugoslavia she encountered in West Germany.

“I’m sold on democracy,” she says, “because I’ve seen Communism and Nazism at work. This country has so much opportunity for young people. Everyone has impact. No one else in the world has that.”

John Bumbar, 72, and his brother Peter, 68, sit together in the church hall and tell how John came to the United States in 1949--and Peter four years later. Both made the trek first to Canada, then to the States. The Bumbar brothers have been in San Diego 30 years, and John, started the parish church 25 years ago as a mission. This Oct. 26 the church will celebrate its 20th year as a parish.

Bob Klymkowych figures there are about 2,200 Ukrainians in the San Diego community. “Our concerns,” he said, “are to preserve our roots and heritage--our traditions. We believe very much in what America stands for. We are totally involved in the system and love this country, but we have a heritage where we’ve come from. And we would not want America to ever become prey to the force (of Soviets) that is insidious, inhuman, very calculating.”

Klymkowych’s family history, too, is one of oppression and persecution. “I had uncles tortured and killed by the Soviets, and my grandfather was a priest (formerly, in Eastern Rite Catholic churches, a man could become a priest after he was married) and died in a Siberian labor camp.”

Klymkowych came to the United States in 1948 at age 12 with his parents, migrating first to Canada, where later he attended the University of Alberta. He came to San Diego in 1969 because of his wife’s health.

“Here we have plans, hopes--to expand and retain the culture. Maybe someday we’ll have a community center--and we’d like to add to the crafts of America,” he said, with things like Easter egg decorating, music and woodcraft)

“We love to sing,” he added. Klymkowych belongs to an ensemble that meets often to sing and play the bandura , a national Ukrainian instrument.

“We like to get together, sing, tell stories. But it is fluid here in California--not like in the East where people feel ghetto ties.”

Klymkowych and others in the community want the world to know they aren’t Russian. “Even U.S. News and World Report called the nuclear explosion a ‘Nightmare in Russia,’ ” he said. The Ukraine, of which Kiev is the capital, is one of 15 major non-Russian cultures and republics within the Soviet Union, and the second largest country in Europe.

“When the Ukrainian soccer team came to San Diego, the headlines read ‘Russians are here.’ If something happened to Israel we wouldn’t say there was a tragedy in the Arab world.”

Dr. Yaroslav Kushnir came to the United States in 1952, and to San Diego as a result of being in the military during Vietnam. “Besides a loss of tradition, Ukrainians mourn a loss of contact with their families still in the Ukraine,” he said. “We can’t telephone, and people have to watch what they write. Even if a person in the Soviet Union wrote and said an accident has happened which they don’t understand, that person would be in danger.”

The Ukrainian cottage in Balboa Park is one of 27 cottages that make up the House of Pacific Relations.

Examples of the crafts of the Ukraine, including a bandura (a plaque reads, “Whoever would want to destroy the spirit of the Ukrainian people should collect all the banduras throughout the world, place them in one pile and burn them), pottery from the mountains of the western Ukraine, the well-known intricately decorated Easter eggs (pysanky), and portraits of the two most famous poets of the Ukraine, Taras Shevchenko and Lesya Ukraine, along with wall paintings which depict the dress of the various regions of the republic.

Ingrid Kutasty, president of the cottage, explained that many Ukrainians come to the cottage on Sundays to visit and talk.

She said the cottage is nonpolitical and secular “and is a focal point for Ukrainians.”

The cottage sponsors three or four programs a year, she said, including a celebration of the poetry of Shevchenko, which was held in Old Town in March, a celebration of Ukrainian independence in January, a demonstration of egg decorating at Easter, and a lawn program (in the grassy area in the center of the cottage area) once a year (this year on Sunday at 2 p.m.).

The community is planning a three-day celebration during Labor Day weekend at the Bahia Hotel, according to Klymkowych, including (besides the dance program at the park which will involve Ukrainian dance groups from all over the western United States) food, sports, chess and even a fishing trip on Monday. All events will be open to the public.

Bohdan Kolody is a professor of sociology at San Diego State University. Although he was born in the Ukraine he was brought out at age 8 months, and does not participate in the community activities in San Diego.

In addition to the people who consider themselves Ukrainian, Kolody said, “A substantial proportion of Jewish Americans are also from that part of the world, but Jews have traditionally been an oppressed minority and so had to gain their identity from their ethnic origin and put that before nationality.

“The Ukrainians in general have a strong sense of persecution and frustration as an oppressed people--which is a reality.

“When my father is in town he talks about Ukraine, and he said once that the Ukraine had one day of independence, between the German retreat and the invasion of Russia.

“Basically, it was a peasant culture of people in crisis who immigrated. The people who have come to San Diego, I would say, are atypical because most Ukrainian displaced persons came to Canada and the East Coast.

“After the euphoria of immigration to America, “ Kolody said, “a sense of euphoria and optimism is present. But then nostalgia begins--a very serious homesickness resulting from loss of one’s past.”

A young Ukrainian who wishes to remain anonymous has recently arrived in San Diego from the Ukraine, by way of Poland and Vienna, where she asked for political asylum. Timid, speaking carefully, she talks of the secret war in the Soviet Union against the citizens and the world.

“But it is so wonderful to be here, I can’t say. Someone told me, as long as you live here, the more happy you will be. Young people have a future here. I can’t get used to people smiling.

“It’s like a different planet here.” Then, laughing, she added, “even showering in the morning instead of at night--and drinking with ice in glasses! We were always told this will make you get a cold. Even figuring out how to turn on faucets is different! I feel like a small child--step by step--all new colors, forms . . .

“If I’m asked to do something--I’m so happy to be with people, so excited to dance rock and roll--or see American baseball. It’s great--it’s so American--and I never imagined I’d listen to jazz in America. To play jazz was forbidden.”

Then she looks down, eyes closed and says, “I will never see my relatives again. I would not have left the Ukraine except for circumstances.

“Even one Ukrainian in the free world should be embraced. It is so unusual (to be free). It is a miracle.”

When Mykyta is not at the parish he is in his small house surrounded by a white picket fence, half a block up the street.

This parish is relatively new for him. He is in the process of getting to know his parishioners, is especially concerned about young people, and is well liked. He is forthright, teasing in a playfully gruff way, loves to tell stories and joke. He is lively.

“Father is the guy with the toughest and biggest heart,” says Klymkowych.

It’s been 36 years now since Mykyta first came to New York. Would he go back to the Ukraine?

“Anytime, anyplace,” he says smiling, looking off into the distance, almost as if he can still see his homeland. “I wouldn’t wait for a boat or plane. There’s something in our background that makes us stick together. It’s important to stick to your roots.

“You can cry,” he said, “or you can smile. And if you smile, other people smile too.”