The War and the Sparrows
War is a magnifier. It awakens, on a horrifying scale, the extremes of human violence, destruction, fear, and suffering; but also care, support, and generosity.
“There is a story in Romania about a forest fire,”
Dorin tells me, as we sit in his car pulled off on the side the road. The car is parked opposite a small construction site where one man in an excavator digs a hole. Around the hole stand 8 men looking inside with alternating degrees of intensity, 3 of which are supervisors he’s assured me. All of whom are being watched by a squad car with Politia Locala written on the side — the Romanian equivalent of something between a mall cop and actual police officer. He scoffs at the whole scene, “This is typical Romania.”
Dorin is a mechanical engineer that has been at the head of multiple large companies. But now, since the war started, he spends his days as a fixer for aid workers who have come to help with the wave of Ukrainians escaping the invasion of their country. He drives people around, he finds them accommodations not accessible through google searches, he gives out sim cards, and speaks on the phone to bus drivers. He is the extremely essential helper who helps the helpers. He may not know the solution to every problem. However, as he puts it, he will at least know someone who does.
In this story he tells me about a forest fire, which I will try to recall as accurately as I can, the flames grow larger and begin to engulf the trees. A small sparrow flies to a nearby stream and fills its beak with water. As it returns to the fire and drops the small amount of water onto the flames, a group of animals that have been watching from the sideline — let’s say a turtle, a fox, and a deer — mockingly ask, ”What are you doing you silly sparrow? You’ll never put out that fire?” To which the sparrow simply replies, in a strong Romanian accent, “I do my part. I do my part.”
In contrast to the construction site in front of me, I found this to be such a strong symbol of the current attidude of the Romanian people. The voice of the sparrow I saw echoed by the massive volunteer effort their country has selflessly engaged in, and embodied by the man driving me around. He does his part, which on its own would not change the situation, it won’t stop the war, it won’t stop future wars, it won’t put out the fire. But he does his part, and hopes that others do their part. Maybe in the end, the collection of all the small actions will have made a difference.
The story brought up a lot of feelings in myself as well. Like is that stupid fox right? I mean is that sparrow actually helping anything or just making himself feel useful. How much water does one need to drop on a fire for it to be worth it, for the effort, the cost, the risk, to be justified. My next contact was the embodiment of someone who would never ponder such questions, he would be too busy acting.
Eventually a car pulls up in front of us and I’m told this is my next ride. Cristian, who I had met earlier in the day at a refugee center for people with children, gets out, gives me a hurried handshake, and quickly gets back into his car. I hop in the back as his front passenger seat is filled with sandwiches, chip bags, volunteer badges, informational pamphlets, all the stuff you would expect to fall out the pockets if you shook a refugee aid organization upside down by its ankles. I wanted to ask him questions about everything going on, but from the moment the engine started he was on the phone. One call would end and the next would immediately begin, for the whole 20 minute drive to the border, without pause.
When we arrived Cristian hit the ground running. He was in and out of the storage locker taking note of inventory, discussing logistics with local authorities, but also taking a few minutes to calmly sit down and check in one-on-one with some of his volunteers before he left again.
Cristian’s organization was one of the first to begin actions when the war started. Small, local, social aid groups are often quicker and more agile than larger more well-known and well-funded ones. They immediately know where and how help can be provided in the community. His personal relationship with all of his volunteers allows him to know their skills and abilities, and thus, quickly deploy them in the ways that will be the most effective.
At the border in Galati the scene was sporadically cold, warm, chaotic, and calm as waves of people made it through Romanian customs. When a group would arrive, we would go out into the wind and snow to greet them and help carry their luggage inside the sheet metal-walled reception center. The war had brought with it a second winter, but inside there was heaters and blankets. Cristian’s volunteers would distribute hot tea, coffee, and food. They offered translation help and gave out Romanian sim cards so that once people were settled down and got their bearings they could begin planning their next moves. Transportation was constantly arriving as destinations of Romanian towns would be called out and the vehicle would be filled with people heading that way.
In the downtime between arrivals, I was able to speak with some of the volunteers who were mostly young women. Alina (the second one) is a flight attendant who had requested to change to part-time so she could take multiple 10 hour shifts per week at the border. Tatiana is a computer science student volunteering her time outside of class to help with the arrivals. This is how they spent their International Women’s Day.
Several days later, Dorin was able to set up a few minutes in the morning for me to speak with Cristian about his organization and the work they are doing. I met him at a center for Romanian veterans which he negotiated to turn into a shelter for refugees who have children with disablilities.
The problem that immediately presented itself was that families with such children were being forced to take the only rooms available which sometimes were up many flights of stairs and without the adequate facilites to provide them with the care they needed. For this purpose, the veterans center was perfect: ground floor, wheelchair access, bathrooms and shower facilities specialized for people with mobility issues, etc. They just had to get a some of the less child-safe military equipment stored away, bring in a bunch of beds, and not think too much about the overt atmosphere of war that lingered in the room. The place had just finished being set up when I arrived, and was ready to start receiving families.
When I talked to Cristian about how things are going and what kind of help he might need, he told me they are receiving a lot of donations from local people and businesses. Supplies, vehicles, especially labor are being generously donated. What they are running out of is fuel, funding for fuel. After 2 weeks of war most of his small organization’s previous funds have been depleted and he and his volunteers have started needing to pay out pocket.
I know when this year started none of you, especially the more climate conscious among you, would have have imagined you’d be getting petitioned to donate money for fossil fuels. But this is what war does, especially one this massive in scale. It snowglobes us and our fragile imaginations of the world. Anti-war protesters call out for no-fly zones and NATO involvement, people quick to call Putin a strategic genious for stacking troops at the border as a negotiating tactic change their tune when he starts flattening cities, and I end up in Romania asking you for gas money.
Some of you asked me before I left where I thought a good place to donate would be. There are a lot of good options, I’m sure many of you already have donated in someway, somehow, with time, energy, money, etc. But if you’ve got a another trip to the stream in you, this organization could use a few bucks. 1 gallon of gas in Romania costs about $7 now, and it might cost a dollar or two for the international wire transfer with some of the popular apps.
Oh, and as I ended the interview with Cristian, I thanked him for his tireless efforts. He brushed it off and said he was just doing what he could. I began telling him that Dorin had shared with me the wonderful Romanian tale about the sparrow. At which point Dorin quickly interrupted me saying, “No, no, this is not a Romanian story! I read it on Facebook.” …This fucking world.
Next stop, Odesa.
