"A letter to Europe. A moral manifesto of freedom" by Karina Ivashchenko

"Come to your senses, be human…" – these words by Taras Shevchenko, a man who devoted his entire life to the struggle against tyranny and injustice, sound today like Europe's final moral warning. "...Because justice does not come on its own – it must be fought for!" I add to Shevchenko's words, for history has proven that where the struggle ends, people begin to grow accustomed to evil. And growing accustomed to evil is precisely how evil wins.

I speak to you, the people of Europe, and often you resemble those who hear thunder today yet convince themselves it is only an echo.

The line between humanity and apathy, between what is right and what is powerful, between a world where human life matters and one where value belongs only to whoever survives – is not the most terrifying form of neutrality in this choice, because silence always takes a side..

The world loves to speak about justice as though it were a word capable of existing on its own, yet justice does not live in declarations – it lives in actions.

I remember that cold day when we all stood together in the corridor discussing how to skip a difficult maths test on Thursday. We made elaborate plans, invented excuses, laughed, interrupted one another, and it all seemed truly important – whether we would sit the test or not, what grade we would get, how teachers and parents would react. Some were nervous, some pretended to know everything, some simply wanted the day to end sooner. Back then, our world was filled with these small worries, and we genuinely believed they defined our lives. We did not know what real fear meant.

We did not know what it was like to wait for a message containing a single word and be afraid to open it.

We did not know what it meant to listen to silence and hear in it the echo of something that had already happened. And now, when I return to those memories, they seem both painfully distant and painfully close.

Because I would give everything to stand there again in that corridor, arguing about a test, worrying about grades, laughing for no reason. I would trade thousands of those "challenging" days for one ordinary day in which the greatest problem was a math formula I could not memorise. Because now difficulty has a different face. It is not in assignments or grades. It is in the news that arrives suddenly and divides life into "before" and "after".

It is in the names that will never again be heard in familiar conversations. It is in the fact that plans are no longer made for weeks or months ahead – sometimes they do not extend beyond a single day.

We did not grow up when we graduated school or officially became adults. We grew up when we learned to read the news in silence and understand more than what was written there.

When we learned to bury fear deeper so as not to worry others. When an ordinary sound becomes a reason to stop and listen carefully. And what hurts most is not even that we lost our peace. What hurts most is that together with it disappeared the lightness with which we once lived. Because now every day is not simply another day. It is a chance someone else never received. It is a conversation that might never have happened. It is laughter that already sounds different – quieter, more cautious.

And when I think about that Thursday, about that test, about those ridiculous attempts to avoid it, I realise that back then we could not even imagine how happy we were in our ordinary lives.

That is why today it is important for me to speak and act – regardless of any titles or positions. And perhaps this is exactly what matters for each of us today – and this is what I quietly yet firmly appeal to Europe about as well.

I am not used to speaking about myself through a list of titles – for me, they are above all a responsibility that must be lived every day.

Through school self-government, as an ombudswoman and representative of the children's parliament, I saw what justice looks like not in theory but in reality: when after lessons we stay behind to organise collections for the military; when we persuade classmates not to ignore another person's problem; when we have to mediate conflicts in which remaining silent would have been easier.

I remember how we collected aid – at first these were small initiatives, a few boxes, a few dozen hryvnias, but each time more people joined us, and gradually it became not simply a campaign but a common cause.

I remember conversations with students who were afraid to speak about injustice, and the moment they first felt that someone was truly listening to them. And then you understand: justice is not something grand and unattainable – it is the choice not to turn away.

We are learning this together – imperfectly, sometimes making mistakes, sometimes becoming tired, but never stopping. Because today solidarity for us is not a slogan but a condition for survival. When we unite to help, support, and protect, we do not merely solve one problem – we create an environment where indifference is no longer normal. And this experience changes you: you begin to understand that even a small action matters if there is a team behind it.

So when I address Europe, I speak not from the position of theory but from lived experience: responsibility cannot be postponed "until later" – it is either accepted, or it is lost together with trust. We have already learned to act together, even when it is difficult. The question is whether a world that speaks about values is equally prepared to defend them with the same determination. Today we Ukrainians are defending not only our own front line. We are holding up a mirror to the entire world. And in this mirror one thing becomes clear: indifference also has weight.

But truth possesses a strength greater than fear. We must pass this test of humanity together. And we will not stop until truth defeats darkness. Because we know the greatest commandment of our freedom:

"Fight – and you shall prevail".