Author: Lubomyr Luciuk

When Ukrainians first began arriving in Canada, 131 years ago, they weren’t recognized for who they were, instead being called “Ruthenians” or by regional terms like “Galicians” or “Bukovynians.” Lured here with promises of freedom and free land, they were also not always appreciated. Editorialists at the Daily Herald in Calgary, for example, approvingly cited...

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A bloodied shirt, tattered pants, leather shoes sliced open and flesh shaved off by razor-wire are what I endured while getting a closer look at South Ossetia, a Russian-occupied region of Georgia. This rendering took place under the gaze of a nearby Russian watchtower, whose inhabitants thankfully chose not to sally forth. Meanwhile their Georgian...

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His creator made him ferocious. He was cast as strong and defiant, facing his foes. When made, he was given no name because, in those bygone days, anyone approaching him knew exactly what he stood for. Even in our time he remains known as “the king of beasts,” the lion. So, from whenever he first...

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I sat in the gallery as Canadian Prime Minister Justin Trudeau delivered these words on March 15: “Volodymyr, in the years I’ve known you, I’ve always thought of you as a champion for democracy. And now, democracies around the world are lucky to have you as our champion. Your courage, and the courage of your...

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I have written before that I am a man of conflicted faith. Yet, even though I lecture as a professor of political geography, I cannot but bear witness to Ukraine’s agony through the lens of my religion, the faith of my Ukrainian Catholic ancestors. To that I confess, wholeheartedly. And so, Ukraine’s tortures have become,...

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I have been getting a lot of questions about Ukraine of late, for obvious reasons. I haven’t been giving out too many answers because, frankly, I have no idea of what Russian President Vladimir Putin intends to do this week, next month or next year. Nor do the other pundits I have read. Of course,...

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I dreamt this last night. I was standing in a room on the ground floor of the home in which I grew up. I was not alone but am not really sure who stood with me. We were both alarmed. For out of a window, looking northwest, we could see something evil. Of that geographical...

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