Joseph Zissels: "Ukraine must become a military power; otherwise, it will not be able to defend itself"

True unity is forged not around linguistic disputes, but around the defense of our shared home. In an interview with Intent, Ukrainian human rights activist, dissident, and public figure Yosif Zissels reflects on the specifics of Odesa’s identity, the challenges facing the South, and a sober view of the enemy. The human rights activist emphasizes: Russia will always encroach on our independence, so a country bordering such a monster must have very strong military forces and prepare for a protracted struggle for its very survival.

How did your attitude toward justice and human dignity develop during your childhood?

In their youth, everyone wants justice. And it would be strange if they didn’t. The question isn’t how to stand up for it, because almost everyone stands up for justice. The question is how to hold onto it within yourself and not let life’s circumstances bury it. Those circumstances can be very difficult and don’t always make it easy to be just. I managed to preserve it thanks to my stubbornness.

You mentioned that Stus was a maximalist. Maximalists are teenagers who never grow up.

Adolescence is the age of maximalism. But I’m not talking about maximalism right now; I’m talking about the drive for justice. Because teenagers and young people are always like that—not just here, but in the West as well. They believe they can’t change the world because adults built it primarily for themselves. Teenagers want the world to be more just, because the adult world, in their view, isn’t always just. The illusion arises that nothing can be changed anymore, because the adult world is very entrenched. But our own Ukrainian history has convinced us that this isn’t true. Young people in Ukraine have the opportunity to believe that they can make a difference. Our Maidans—we took an active part in the Maidans of 2004 and 2014—prove this. The Maidan protests testify to a certain maturity of our collective identity and push us toward progress. They show young people that change is possible, unlike their peers in Europe and America.

When did you first realize that you didn’t agree with the system you were living under?

The most important turning point was when, in ninth grade, I read a book published abroad. It was Boris Pasternak’s *Doctor Zhivago*. At the time, it was only available as samizdat. I was lucky that someone let me read it. That’s when I realized that what we know about history is a huge lie. That history isn’t what we thought it was. It’s more complicated. I think that very early childhood—when my relatives told me that my mom cried because of my stubbornness—was perhaps the very first turning point. That stubbornness. I’m joking, but in reality, you see a different picture. You might forget about it, but I believed it. The real history is being hidden from us, but you can search for and find its pieces and build your own picture of the world—one that’s different from the one taught in schools and universities.

Another important turning point for me was during my freshman year. I was studying at the University of Chisinau in the physics department. We had four exams. I got A’s on the two math exams and the physics exam. The fourth was the history of the Communist Party. And to my surprise, my friends and I were sitting there reading primary sources on the history of the CPSU. I began to fear that I wouldn’t be able to learn this. I couldn’t memorize it because I already knew it was a lie. And how can you study a lie? It’s impossible to learn something that doesn’t correspond to reality. No matter how hard I tried to pay attention, nothing worked. I went to take the exam. There was this party activist, a teacher. And she was not only a communist but also an anti-Semite.

Were there many, as you say, Ukrainian Jews in your class?

Yes. I applied to Chisinau because it was difficult to get into university in Ukraine—there was very strong state-sponsored anti-Semitism. And in Moldova, it was less pronounced, which is why I enrolled there. And we know that in Ukraine there was no point in even trying, because it served as a testing ground for the Soviet authorities—a much harsher environment. They feared Ukraine’s secession, realizing that if Ukraine broke away, it would spell the end of the Soviet Union. Which turned out to be true. So there I was, holding the exam paper, and I realized with horror that I didn’t know anything about what was written there. I started mumbling something. At first she listened, and then she looked at my transcript, where she saw three A’s. And then she exploded: “Did you think I’d automatically give you an A? Do you disregard history or something?” I tried to justify myself. She gave me a C. I was 17 years old, and this was a consequence of the fact that I was already reading samizdat. There were many more moments like this later on, but it all started with moments like this.

You were a Soviet—as you put it, a “Soviet”—political prisoner. What was the hardest part of your imprisonment, and what helped you stay true to your convictions?

I don’t say “Soviet”; I say “anti-Soviet dissident.” Everything I encountered went against what I believed. Thanks to my stubbornness, I still held on to my views and found the strength to endure. I served six years, but I was very interested in these issues; I read a lot and knew that there were people who had been imprisoned for decades and had endured it. And so, I figured I could endure it too. That was an example of resilience for me. It wasn’t that it was completely easy for me, but it was relatively easy because it was my path. When you follow your own path—even if it’s difficult—it isn’t hard for you. Because you understand: this is yours. God has destined you to walk your own path. And that’s very important.

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Yosif Zissels. PHOTO: Natalia Dovbysh

There’s a quote by a 19th-century Japanese author that has stayed with me since my youth. I’ve always been afraid that I’d end up in the scenario she described in her book. She writes (I’ve translated this into Ukrainian): “A person from a Jewish, Russian-speaking family told me that this road leads to the ocean of death. And halfway there, I turned back. Ever since then, winding paths have stretched out before me.” I really didn’t want to end up on those “winding paths.” That’s what’s driven me my whole life. If God has destined you to find your own path—then follow it, bear that burden. Then you’ll draw inspiration from God for the energy that guides you.

In Jewish tradition, there is the concept of “tikun olam”—the repair of the world. That is, it is what God has commanded: if you have matured to a certain level, you can take responsibility for repairing the world.

Regarding political prisoners: Was the Soviet government right to keep all political prisoners together? After all, this gave them the opportunity to get to know one another and engage in some kind of activity.

First, it would have been very expensive to keep them separate; the authorities were frugal. They weren’t afraid of this. Moreover, Russia today, as the successor to the USSR, is learning very well from the “mistakes” of the Soviet authorities. I put the word “mistakes” in quotes because the Soviet regime was historically structured in such a way that it inevitably did what some people consider mistakes. And Russia is studying these things very closely. They’ve corrected many of them. For example, in our time, there were no such sentences as those currently handed down to political prisoners in Russia. The maximum one could receive was ten years in a labor camp and five years of exile, and it was considered sufficient to keep political prisoners in the camps. If that wasn’t enough, they’d give another sentence. When I was released for the first time, many people received a second sentence right there in the camp: they’d find some new evidence and extend the sentence. I was prepared for the possibility that I’d end up back inside again. But I was released—only to be sent back two and a half years later. The system took everything into account.

Now they’re giving political prisoners 20–25 years. But it doesn’t work. They seem to think they’re so clever—that they’ve found ways around it—but Russia will still fall apart. Just as all empires have fallen, so will Russia. Maybe not soon, but it will collapse. It takes a lot of effort on the part of the authorities to keep it together. As soon as the authorities weaken, it’s immediately felt on the periphery—in those national outposts where movements for secession and independence will begin to surge. Right now, while the government is strong, this is being held in check, but the time will come when it begins to weaken. I don’t believe it will happen in my lifetime. But you have plenty of time ahead of you; you may live to see it. I’m almost certain you will.

You were a member of the Ukrainian Helsinki Group. What united people who risked their freedom for the sake of human rights, despite differing views on the country’s future?

The Ukrainian Helsinki Group differed from the Moscow Helsinki Group in that it never disbanded on its own. Because Ukraine is stronger than Russia. The Helsinki Group included a wide variety of people: former communists, political prisoners, and nationalists. There were those who had served time under Stalin—for example, Oleksandr Tykhyi. In other words, even among the founders were those who had already been imprisoned before, and they risked going against the authorities once again. There were very young people—a new generation that had grown up in different circumstances, shaped by more modern European values.

There were also former communists. A staunch nationalist like Levko Lukyanenko in the early 1960s, when they were arrested… They were young Soviet lawyers; some were communists. They wanted a reform of Soviet rule. At first, they did not openly oppose communism; it was only after they were sent to the labor camps that they became anti-communists. They wanted communism with a “human face.” But there was also the National Front (which included Tritsko, and later Krasivsky). From the very beginning, they advocated for complete independence and were not communists. And the difference between them was only seven years. In other words, things developed very quickly, and by the 1980s, many were already staunch anti-communists. This is all part of the genesis and development. Some travel this path quickly, some slowly, and some don’t travel it at all.

What united us? A common enemy. Both nationalists and democrats understood: as long as the communist empire that opposes us exists—as long as it does not perish—no one will be able to realize the positive aspirations we held. I wanted democracy; others wanted an independent Ukraine. But we were united by the understanding that without the destruction of this empire, there would be neither democracy nor an independent Ukraine. The Soviet Union collapsed not because we destroyed it on our own (our forces were far too small). It collapsed on its own, just like any empire. Because it was doomed. And we simply accompanied this collapse. If we destroyed anything at all, it was, rather, the image of the Soviet Union, which many around the world perceived as a prosperous democratic state. The Soviet authorities very effectively used violence—brutal, totalitarian violence—along with lies and propaganda to cover up their crimes. This worked in the East, but it didn’t work in the West.

Did independent Ukraine live up to the dissidents’ hopes?

It depends on what each person’s hopes were. For those who were more nationally oriented, pro-Ukrainian, independence turned out to be the outcome they had been waiting for. For me—no. Because I wasn’t that much of a Ukrainian nationalist. I had a certain degree of that, but I’m not Ukrainian at all—I’m Jewish, although I do emphasize that I’m a Ukrainian Jew, with the emphasis on the word “Ukrainian.” But I was, after all, a democrat. And until I saw the kind of democracy I’d dreamed of, I couldn’t consider that we’d achieved our goal.

We had disagreements on this issue. I believed that the mechanical independence we gained in 1991—largely not as a result of our own efforts, but simply due to the peaceful collapse of the Soviet Union, without a war. Now we’re fighting for our independence. You see, it had been postponed for so many years. Processes like breaking free from a totalitarian regime never end without war. It has caught up with us now. And the war has served as a marker, showing that this is the final card Imperial Russia is playing against us.

Our independence is like the foundation’s baseline. After that, we have to build everything: democracy, the economy, the legal system, the state apparatus, and most importantly—the military aspect, the Armed Forces. A country bordering a monster must have very strong military forces. But almost none of our presidents understand this. I cannot consider this a mistake. It is a trait of our national identity.

Some dissidents didn’t believe that Russia would attack Ukraine. I remember fringe Ukrainian nationalists who warned that we needed to learn how to fight and build up our military forces, because we would have to go to war with Russia. They learned to fight: they went to Transnistria in ’92, to the Balkans in the ’90s (fighting on both sides), and to Georgia to fight the Russians, because they understood that this would eventually come to us as well. But there were few of them, and they were marginalized. If we didn’t listen to them back then, let’s listen to them now. Even now, the government isn’t preparing for the next war. Even if there is a ceasefire, the government won’t use it to prepare for the next war. Every day we must strengthen ourselves, militarize the economy and society, and prepare for the next war. We find ourselves on the border between Russian authoritarian and European democratic civilizations. You can’t sleep peacefully on the border; it’s always dangerous there—the border shapes a different kind of character.

Look at Israel. Israel finds itself on the border between Asian and European civilizations and realized immediately that if it is not strong, its very existence is at risk. We aren’t afraid for our physical existence: there are 65 million Ukrainians in the world—it’s impossible to wipe them out. But there are few Jews, and a third of them have already been killed. This has taught them to always be ready for war. But we can’t get this message across to those who don’t feel it. I’ve been saying this throughout all the years of independence: “Be prepared, be prepared!” I didn’t know there would be a war in February 2022, but I anticipated it, because this is the price of independence—that monster couldn’t let us go so easily.

We’re recording this interview in Odesa. Odesa is often described as a multicultural, Russian-speaking city. How do you view this perception, and does it overshadow our Ukrainian Odesa?

There is no single collective identity in Ukraine. There are many regional clusters, and the Odesa cluster has its own distinctive features. In 2014, I said that I saw Russian-speaking Ukrainian nationalism in Odesa. Who said it has to be Ukrainian-speaking?

We are moving not toward an ethnic state, not toward an ethnocentric entity, but toward a Ukrainian political nation that will include everyone: Jews, Russians, and Moldovans. This is the path that all European countries have taken, becoming political nations (France, Britain, Belgium). There, different peoples are intermingled, but there is a fundamental understanding: they live in one state, and it must be defended.

Listen to interviews with our guys on the front lines—every other one speaks Russian, but they ’re fighting for Ukraine. What do you want from them? On the other side, there are those who speak Ukrainian, unfortunately. It’s not language that divides us, but a sense of belonging to our country—a country for which people are willing to suffer, to sacrifice their health and their lives. What difference does it make what language they speak? Their children and grandchildren will speak Ukrainian. Because people don’t study history. I always use the example of Israel. In the late 1940s and early 1950s, they had very heated debates about language. What language should the state use? Those who came from Europe believed it should be Yiddish. The language spoken in Moldavanka. But the majority didn’t know Yiddish. In parliament, lawmakers came to blows over the language. Hebrew prevailed and became the official language. Arabic also has special status. At the same time, Yiddish is currently taught in 200 schools in Israel. If you want to study Yiddish—go ahead and learn it. The founders of Israel were realists. So things will turn out as they will.

Odessa had its own famous dissidents, including Sviatoslav Karavansky and Nina Strokata.

Odessa is a major bridge on the historical path. It really stands out. When I gave my first lecture on Jewish identity in Odessa back in ’99, I concluded by saying: “Look, I’ve told you about the paradoxes of Jewish identity. But Odessa’s identity is its own, distinct one. It doesn’t fit into other frameworks.” I’m at peace with that. Odessa is what it is, and we love it just the way it is.

The Jewish history of Odessa is one of cultural flourishing, pogroms, the Holocaust, and Soviet repression. In your opinion, what has modern Odessa still not come to terms with regarding its past?

The time to talk about it will come when it’s right. I know this Jewish museum that tells the story of the pogroms and the Holocaust. We’re standing in a museum where they’re trying to tell the story of the past. People live more in the present. Not many people are interested in history. History, as part of a humanities education, is a very important resource. History teaches those who try to understand it. Those who do not know their history are doomed to repeat it.

Has the full-scale war changed perceptions of Odesa and southern Ukraine?

I was very worried about the South. I understood there was a threat. I was glad when that operation fell through, when the landing force was stopped—what happened on May 2, 2014. Russia didn’t have enough strength. Thank God, they got bogged down in the East. 

In this context, what worries you most about southern Ukraine? 

If we managed to hold our ground at that critical moment, when Russia’s forces were still fresh, then that’s how it will remain. Sooner or later, the occupied territories will be liberated as well. Just look at how long Finland waited for its independence. So we need patience and strength.

It’s impossible to overstate the importance of having one’s own state, and this doesn’t depend on the government. The government might even be against it. This has been developing since the Yanukovych era, and the communists didn’t really care about it. People are born and grow up in their own country. It’s so important: to be born and live in your own country. We’ve reached the point where the older generation, who helped raise the new generation, can step aside. Those who were born here have no other countries. Only Ukraine. I have others—I was born in the Soviet Union. What could be more important than growing up in one’s own country? Nothing.

To justify its aggression, Russia often uses the argument that it is protecting the Russian-speaking population. How can Ukraine counter these manipulations while at the same time guaranteeing the rights of national minorities? 

We shouldn’t react to every move Russia makes. Here, Russia has said something—demilitarization, denazification. Are we going to start worrying? Prove that we’re not like that? We just need to live our lives and move forward. We must remember that we have our own national interests, and they come before everything else. We must constantly grow stronger—economically, socially, and militarily. We shouldn’t worry about what to say to the Russians.

Ukraine must become a military power; otherwise, it won’t be able to defend itself. This war is dragging on for so long that Russia needs to take a break at least once in a while. A break is needed to prepare for future wars. If you don’t want to live on the border with Russia, go live in other countries. Those who are fighting—and those who support them—must stay. 

What should unite Ukrainians today, regardless of language, ethnic origin, or religion?

The state of Ukraine. Not the Ukraine it used to be, not the Ukraine it is today, but the Ukraine of the future. Europe is very diverse. And it’s very difficult to compare, for example, Norway and Greece. They are very different countries. But they are all European. And they have chosen the European model for themselves. They all signed the Lisbon Treaty in 2009. And we need to look at this: if we want to become part of Europe, we must comply with the Lisbon Treaty. 

We must not beg Europe to admit us as an exception: “Admit us, and we’ll catch up with you later.” We won’t catch up. Ukraine was not considered European. No matter what we said there, no matter how hard we fought, they weren’t ready to accept us yet. We ourselves must understand that we are not yet Europe. We want to be Europe.

If there is a ceasefire, will a window of opportunity open for Ukraine to join the European Union? 

To me, all of this is a myth. Do you see a ceasefire? I don’t. If a ceasefire does happen, we must do everything we can to prepare well for the next phase of the war. And that phase is inevitable. As long as Russia remains within its current borders, with its history, it will always threaten our independence. Whether through hybrid warfare or openly, they will always try to defeat us. So we must prepare for this. 

Have we, as Ukrainians, succeeded in forming a political nation?

No. We’re still in the process of forming one. There’s a concept called “national consensus.” This is when approximately 70–75% of the adult population can unite around certain ideas and values. Children aren’t included in this calculation. That 30% who give everything for victory was enough for us to stop Russia. But to win, that’s not enough. We need more. If we reach 80%, we can say that no one will defeat us. But for now, you can see how hard it is for us. And it will remain difficult for a long time to come.

What makes you happy today?

I’ll be 80 soon. My energy and ability to work—that’s what inspires me. I really want to hold onto that and be of service through what I know, understand, and do. And my children, of course. They don’t always bring me joy, but they’re important. I have five of them. Public life is one thing, and my personal life is another. Both inspire me.

Ольга Лопатюк