Publisher's Letter

Dear Reader,

In the ancient and exceedingly rarified print publication business, topics are assigned months in advance to facilitate getting the magazine into readers’ hands. In December, our IdaHome staff is editing pictures of yellow daffodils and green gardening tips, while in July, we’re surrounded by deep powder skiing photos and holiday themes. My job as the publisher is a lot like a professional fortune teller, always staring into the future, hoping to guess half-right at what content will prove relevant and pleasing. And usually, with luck and experience, I’m half-right. However, my former occupation as a war zone journalist also proved that no one can predict what will happen tomorrow. Therefore, I wait to write this page until the day before the magazine goes to press, expecting the unforeseen. This month, heartbreakingly, it’s Ukraine.

Rwanda, Iraq, Afghanistan, South Sudan, Myanmar–I’ve seen humans do more damage to other humans than most humans should ever have to imagine. I’ve also worked beside incredibly brave soldiers, facing mortal risk. Like them, I chose my job because my camera and reporting could save lives, dispute false narratives, document atrocities, and ignite moral outrage that could (hopefully, eventually) initiate peace. But now, safely isolated in Boise, I understand what it’s like to feel bereft and impotent as Russians bombs are falling and Ukrainians are dying.

What to do? I asked a Ukrainian woman, Olga Bedrytska-Meier, who has lived in the United States for 17 years. Olga lives in Nampa, with her husband, Joseph. I met them standing in front of the Idaho Capitol Building, holding blue and yellow signs in support of Ukraine. They had taken a day off from fulltime jobs, hoping to raise awareness about the desperate situation in her home country, while their six-year-old daughter, Zoriana, attended school. “I have a sister, family, including my grandmother in Ukraine,” Olga says. “I talk to them every day but my heart hurts and bleeds for my country… and…” Tears well up, and Olga silently bows her head.

“No one is sleeping,” Joseph says. “Not us. Not our family. Our six- year-old niece, and her parents, run to the bomb shelter several times a night. They live in the west of Ukraine. Nowhere is safe.”

“It was very difficult for my mom even before the war, trying to feed us,“ Olga says. “I remember once in spring time, I didn’t have spring shoes…I had to wear winter boots to school.” Olga’s voice trails off in tears again. “But it is still my country. I love my country, and everything is being destroyed.”

“I know it’s hard for others to feel the pain we Ukrainians feel,” she adds. “Yes, giving money can help, but Ukraine needs protection from the sky. We are strong and resourceful. We will fight and survive. I thank everyone who is showing us support. Please, do what you can, however you can, to help end this war.”

Today, I received a text from Olga. “Thank you so much for hearing me out and sharing with the world.”

I thanked Olga for giving me the opportunity to do what I can do. Here’s two things you can do.

Support the efforts of the Full Gospel Slavic Church in Meridian, bringing essentials to Ukrainians. Donate to the World Central Kitchen, founded by humanitarian chef José Andrés, feeding Ukrainian refugees along the Polish border.

Karen Day