Anglican Perspectives

Crimea: Missed Opportunities

It was October of 1956 in Germany and already bitterly cold. My whole family gathered in the kitchen of the large stucco house to listen to the radio. The commentator was broadcasting from Budapest in English, but with an accent. The Hungarian Revolution was just hours old and the Soviet Union had responded with an iron fist. In the background of the radio signal I could hear the jingling rattle of tank treads as a vast armored column rolled into the capital to crush the rebellion. I was only seven years old, but I still vividly remember the grief I felt at the understanding that people were risking their lives for the hope of freedom, and their hopes had been dashed.

 

November 1, 1956 – Soviet tank with Hungarian flag

Later I learned how the Hungarian resistance had adopted ingenious methods to disrupt the Russian invading force. Long before GPS, Russian tanks had to use maps and street signs to navigate through Budapest. During the night, Hungarian patriots would sneak out and move street signs all over the city. When the Russian soldiers thought they were traveling on a street called Iskola u., they were actually directed instead up Ponty u., a different steep street heading up Castle Hill. The resistance fighters had also poured oil all over the cobblestone surface so the tank treads wouldn’t have any traction and would just spin on the hard stone street, unable to climb the hill. Of course, the superior numbers of Russian military pretty well overwhelmed the citizens of Budapest in short order, but the symbolic action spoke volumes.

 

As we gathered in the kitchen in Aschaffenburg, we sat listening to my lunchbox sized green Emmerson radio. It was magnificent. Before transistors were commonplace, my portable ear to the world could run on German 220v current or switch over to operate on giant internal batteries that lit up the tubes inside–at least for a few hours. My allowance and birthday money often had to go to buy replacement 45v batteries so I could listen under the covers in my bed.

 

Although my parents tried to downplay the situation, I was aware that soldiers from the US Army battalion under my father’s command had been sent out to guard our house during the night. I went to sleep that night with thoughts of soldiers, bullets, and bayonets.

 

The next morning, I awoke to tension as thick as honey in the house. People were engaged in anxious conversations in hushed tones, and it was obvious that they were trying to keep something from me. Desperate to know what was going on, I said, “OK! What is it!?!”

 

I guess they decided that disclosure was a better course than conjecture, so they told me what had happened. During the night, an armed gang had rushed toward the house and the guards had fired at them to stop the onslaught. There was an exchange of gunfire and eventually the gang left. I was stunned. Imagine the horror for a seven-year-old child. I couldn’t even imagine anything worse. Of course, my parents thought I was upset because the house had been attacked. That wasn’t it at all. I was devastated. A real gun battle had taken place in my own yard, and I had slept through it. I spent the next several nights wrapped in a blanket looking out the window for “bad guys,” but they didn’t come back.

 

The Hungarian resistance continued to broadcast for help from the American forces. Help that had been promised, or at least implied, but it was help that never came.

 

Over the last few days, those memories have been in the forefront as the Russian puppet dictator was ousted from Ukraine. Almost immediately Vladimir Putin has put his troops in play to recapture Russian influence in Ukraine. The current events in Ukraine and the earlier Hungarian Revolution are linked for me be because both carry powerful personal images. When President Nixon had flown to Yalta in 1974 I had flown the White House staff and Secret Service to Simferopol in the Crimean Peninsula. In addition to stark Soviet construction, I can remember being deeply moved by underground Christians that I had met there. The news stories over the last few days have been a stark reminder of both my trip to Ukraine and of the short-lived Hungarian revolution.

 

Russian influence is very strong in Ukraine. Huge numbers of Russians travel to the Crimean Peninsula for holidays. Abundant agricultural resources in Ukraine produce enough food to feed millions in Russia where the weather is much colder and harsher. Manufactured goods fill trains that travel north to Russian markets. Warm water ports are rare as hen’s teeth for the Russians, so they will go to great lengths to secure them. Sevastopol is a natural harbor that, unlike Russian ones, never freezes over.

 

The weak resolve of US leadership to stand up against this kind of Russian expansionism has really set the stage for many things to happen. Not only has a passive approach to Russian expansion brought about obvious immediate results, there are other issues that will surface as well. For example, where Soviet, or today’s Russian forces go, pressure and persecution of Christians is very likely to follow. That was true in the Soviet era, and we have seen it in Russian backed areas as well. In Syria, a despotic regime that owes its very life to Russia has brought chaos to the country. Complex forces vie for influence in Syria, but many find a common enemy in Christians as they are being rounded up, robbed, and killed.

 

While this is certainly a geo-political struggle, it is also a spiritual war. The diminished appetite for conflict in the natural sadly has a parallel in the Spirit, where Christians are not engaged. One pastor friend of mine says, “Before I realized there was a spiritual war going on, I was a P.O.W.” As we enter into Lent, we are called to a period of self-denial and self-examination. One of the things we need to address is our failure to engage in the kind of militant prayer that supports the cause of Christ. It would be foolish to equate the priorities of the Kingdom of God with any geo-political agenda, but it would also be foolish to ignore the problems that have risen from Christians’ failure to engage conflicts in a prayerful and godly way. Christians in harm’s way deserve our most fervent prayer.

 

Bishop Bill Atwood is Bishop of the International Diocese of the Anglican Church in North America.

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