It is a dialogue between two poets: a woman and a man, a Ukrainian and a South African. They wrote their thoughts on the same topics, and despite the geographical distance between them, we can hear similar metaphors, similar ideas, similar melodies. Does this mean that we have more in common than we think? Let's hope so.
Literature cannot undo the differences of experience between us, but it can try to decrease the abysses that exist between human beings. It can help us look into the eyes of the other and see there an image — an always new and unexpected image — of ourselves.
Quaz Roodt is a poet, publisher, and literary curator currently serving as co-curator of the Centre for Creative Arts' Poetry Africa Festival on behalf of the University of Johannesburg's Arts and Culture Department. He is the editor of Poetry Potion, one of South Africa's longest-standing platforms dedicated to the publication of poetry in both print and digital formats. His editorial and curatorial work is complemented by a background in literary broadcasting; he co-hosted The Quiet Conversation on Jazzuary FM and was the founding anchor of the Poetry Potion Podcast on UBR. In 2020, Roodt was appointed the Mellon Writer-in-Residence at the University of the Witwatersrand, a role that further underscored his contribution to contemporary South African literature. He has published both a chapbook and a full-length collection of poetry, and his work has appeared in a range of local and international anthologies, journals, and academic publications. In recognition of his impact on the cultural landscape, he was named one of South Africa's Top 100 Inspiring and Aspiring Young People by Independent Media in 2016.
Yuliya Musakovska is an award-winning Ukrainian poet, writer, translator, and cultural activist. She is a frequent guest at international literary events, having participated in the Poetry Africa Festival in 2021 and 2024. She has published six poetry collections in Ukrainian, most recently Stones and Nails (2024). Her collection The God of Freedom (2021) was shortlisted for the Lviv UNESCO City of Literature Prize (2024) and nominated for the Shevchenko National Prize, Ukraine's most prestigious literary award. In 2024, The God of Freedom was published in the U.S. by Arrowsmith Press in English translation by Olena Jennings and the author. The Kyiv Independent listed it among the 10 best Ukraine-related books of 2024. Yuliya's work has been translated into over 30 languages and published globally. Collections of her poetry in translation have been released in the U.S., Sweden, and Poland. As a translator, Yuliya works with English and Swedish languages, having translated Tomas Transtromer into Ukrainian. Her current focus is on Ukrainian soldier poets. In 2023, Yuliya paused her 20-year career in international IT business to dedicate herself to cultural advocacy for Ukraine. She is a member of PEN Ukraine.
QR: Poetry cannot stop bombs or rebuild homes, but it can bear witness. In a time of war, poetry becomes a vessel for truth when facts are twisted, and a balm for the soul when grief feels too vast to carry. In South Africa, poetry was a weapon against apartheid — a way to say what could not be said in the language of courts or politics. Similarly, in Ukraine today, poetry preserves humanity amid destruction, offering glimpses of dignity where war tries to erase it.
YM: Poetry is a space of profound sincerity, where a unique intimacy forms between poet and audience. In Ukraine, where Russia's genocidal war has scarred nearly every life, poets respond not only to personal loss but to collective suffering. Poetry unites us in grief, pain, rage, and love. The traumas of war often leave us numb, silenced by pain too vast for ordinary language — the poetry breaks the silence with urgency, helping us grasp the unimaginable and speak the unspeakable. Also, like a fireball of emotion, it bridges the chasm between lived experience and distant empathy. It bears witness to war crimes, rekindles hope, and honors the courage of defenders and the resilience of civilians. More than art or record, poetry becomes a tool of resistance, testimony, mourning — and, you could even say, survival — making it as vital in Ukraine as it has been in South Africa.
QR: Ukraine and South Africa share striking parallels in their histories of colonial domination, linguistic suppression, and the struggle for national identity. Both nations have faced powerful empires or regimes that attempted to erase their languages and cultures. In both cases, asserting one's native language has become an act of resistance and a reclamation of identity. Literature and art have played crucial roles in documenting trauma, preserving memory, and inspiring resistance — with poets and writers standing at the forefront of cultural survival. The collective trauma of war in Ukraine and apartheid in South Africa continues to shape national consciousness, highlighting the importance of truth-telling and healing through art. These shared experiences foster a natural solidarity between their people, rooted in the understanding that the fight for dignity, language, and freedom is a global one.
YM: Though geographically distant and historically distinct, Ukraine and South Africa are similar in their struggles for identity, freedom, and justice — each shaped by the legacy of colonialism. While South Africa endured European oppression, Ukraine faced violent Russian domination marked by forced assimilation, the extermination of elites, cultural erasure, and falsified history. In both countries, literature — and poetry in particular — has been a powerful form of resistance, expressing the aspiration for freedom and justice while preserving the endangered cultures. Poetry goes beyond being a record of suffering and serves as a guide for recovery and reclaiming one's identity. The pain and resilience in Ukraine's wartime poetry, shared in South Africa, resonated deeply with the audience, stirring memories of their own struggles. Their empathetic reception made me feel more at home than in some places, much closer to Ukraine.
QR: Both Ukraine and South Africa have endured the trauma of colonial domination that sought to erase language and identity. Ukraine's linguistic struggle — where imperialism has often sought to displace language and culture — mirrors South Africa's long fight to assert indigenous languages against English and Afrikaans dominance. In both nations, language became a battlefield: who speaks, who listens, who is heard.
YM: Throughout history, the Ukrainian language has faced systematic bans and suppression by colonial powers. For example, the 1876 Ems Ukaz under the Russian Empire banned Ukrainian-language publications and education. Later, during the Soviet occupation under Stalin's rule, Ukrainian cultural institutions were targeted, closed, or severely repressed, with Russian enforced as the dominant language. These brutal policies aimed to gradually erase national identity by restricting the use of Ukrainian in both public and private life — similar to how indigenous languages were suppressed in South Africa.
QR: Absolutely. Writing in isiZulu, Sesotho, or Xhosa in South Africa has always been more than a stylistic choice — it is an affirmation of existence in a system that once told us we were not fully human. When a poet writes in their mother tongue today, it is an act of defiance against erasure, just as it was when poets and writers penned verses under apartheid. Language is not neutral; it carries the rhythm of belonging, and to write in it is to say: "I was here, and I will not be forgotten."
YM: Ukrainian remains an endangered language today, despite enduring numerous bans and restrictions while being a colony. Writing in Ukrainian is both an honor and a great responsibility — to the generations of writers executed during Stalin's 1930s purges, known as the Executed Renaissance, and to those of my generation who have been killed, both on the battlefield and among civilians, since Russia began its war on Ukraine in 2014. Coming from a multiethnic background, I take pride in choosing Ukrainian as my language of writing despite the legacy of Russification that weighed heavily on Ukraine in the 1990s and early 2000s. I chose it not only for its rich expressiveness and musicality, but also because it is the language of reclaimed freedom. I loved hearing how South African poets brought the words of their languages into English; they mean: I am proud of who I am, I'm celebrating it.
QR: Yes. Literature holds what official history omits. South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission gave us some testimony, but our novels, plays, and poems gave us the silences in between. They ask us not only to remember the wounds but to confront the systems that caused them. Ukrainian literature — what I have managed to get my hands on — today is doing the same: documenting grief, yes, but also reimagining resilience.
YM: Literature gives voice to suppressed truth and personalizes national suffering. Through poetry, memoirs, and fiction, Ukrainian writers process events like the Holodomor (the man-made Soviet famines), Stalinist purges, and Russia's war of aggression, transforming pain into narrative and memory. For example, Vasyl Stus's poetry, written during his imprisonment in the 1970s and 1980s, conveys the suffering inflicted by Soviet political repression. Contemporary poets like Artur Dron', writing from the front lines, blend stark imagery with reflections on trauma, memory, and the human cost of war. In doing so, literature helps society process and reshape trauma into a source of resilience and identity.
QR: It does — especially in countries where the archive has been or is actively being manipulated or erased. In South Africa, literature has often taken up the task of memory when institutions failed. It reminds us that remembering is not nostalgia, it is a political act. To forget is to repeat. Literature refuses that.
YM: Literature preserves what must not be forgotten. Unpunished for its numerous crimes since Soviet times, Russia has returned to Ukraine with a genocidal war, continuing its decades-long colonial efforts to rewrite history and erase memory. With KGB archives largely inaccessible and hiding evidence of repression, torture, murder, and cultural annihilation, Ukrainian literature has played a vital role in revealing the truth and keeping silenced voices alive. Contemporary Ukrainian writers challenge Russian propaganda by uncovering individual stories behind the statistics, highlighting acts of courage and resilience, and documenting the aggressor's war crimes.
QR: Deeply. When a Palestinian or Ukrainian poet or a playwright speaks of loss, exile, or the fight to name themselves in their own language, it echoes the experiences of so many South African and African artists. In fact, it speaks back to the voices of the oppressed peoples around the world. Solidarity is not pity; it is the recognition of shared pain, but also of shared strength. It is knowing that we are part of a global chorus that refuses silence.
YM: We connect without needing many words. South Africans instinctively understand why we cherish the Ukrainian language and take pride in our national identity. They know what it means to reclaim freedom after centuries of oppression — and the deep urge to speak out when an aggressor wants us silenced. They know that dignity cannot exist under occupation. More exchanges between writers with similar historical experiences can deepen understanding and strengthen our collective resolve to confront injustice and defend freedom. After all, this is about safeguarding our basic human rights in a world where the international law-based order is crumbling.
QR: I imagine a South Africa that finds its footing in a world unraveling, where chaos, conflict, and uncertainty are everywhere, and leadership often lacks the vision we so urgently need. In this future, our languages do more than coexist; they shape our thinking, our art, our politics, and our public life with intention and dignity. I see a country where the legacy and trauma of apartheid is not only remembered but actively repaired through bold justice, radical care, and a collective imagination that refuses despair. We need artists who are not sidelined, but central; communities that are not just surviving, but building with purpose. I am hopeful, but clear-eyed. I know that peace is not a distant dream; it is built, piece by piece, word by word. It is my responsibility, and ours, to steady our corners of the world — one poem, one text, one act at a time.
YM: Ukraine will be a free and victorious country. In many ways, Ukraine has already won this war. It holds moral ground against the aggressor that commits countless war crimes, while the Ukrainian army defends its homeland with discipline and strategic precision, focusing on military targets to minimize harm to civilians. The bravery and resilience of the Ukrainian people, our ability to find and implement extraordinary solutions, will shape our future. Yes, there will be deep wounds to heal, cities and villages to rebuild, and as a society, we will have to learn to live side by side with our very different war traumas. But I'm confident Ukraine will remain a country of remarkable opportunities, where talent thrives, the army stands strong, and culture is deeply cherished.
We fight not only to survive — but to live freely and with dignity. We demand nothing less for ourselves, and we believe the same for all people. Ukraine stands today as a powerful reminder to all nations that freedom can never be taken for granted. When a sovereign nation is invaded and terrorized without consequence, it sends a dangerous signal to imperialist powers around the globe. No country, no person, is safe in such a world. Together, we must raise our voices and stand firm — as poets, as people, as citizens — for peace, justice, and for the future we all share.
This text was written as part of a joint initiative by UkraineWorld, the Ukrainian Institute and PEN Ukraine.
