OPINION
Former NZ Herald journalist Chris Birt and his Ukrainian wife have watched helplessly from this country for the past 24 days as Russia brutally invades. He reports on the very few highs and the multitude of lows since the Russian military machine smashed its way from its puppet state, Belarus, and into Ukraine.
The anger comes in waves.
Anger that a young, blossoming democracy freeing itself of the yolk of 75 years of oppression is being blatantly assaulted. In the middle of Europe. In the 21st century.
Anger at the misguided attempt by the hierarchy of the Russian Federation to re-create an empire that ceased to exist more than three decades ago - and to eradicate a rich culture and history that had, contrary to false claims to the contrary, existed for more a thousand years.
Anger at the blatant disregard for the territorial integrity and sovereignty of a nation of 44 million people who posed no threat to the biggest country in the world - one with immense military might.
And anger at what seems, to many, like very real impotence from the leading lights of the Free World to prevent, and now to halt, the naked aggression of a regime which, as history shows, has never had much regard for human life.
Anger is an emotion I've always been slow - and loath - to rise to. But I now have to acknowledge and do so freely, that this latent force has been unleashed within me, as Putin's war in Ukraine rages on.
Three weeks ago, on February 24, 2022, summer in idyllic, peaceful and adorable New Zealand was rapidly drawing to a close. So was the world as we know it.
The events of that day will be recorded in history. They are not something that anyone can erase, so grievous and outrageous are their implications. Nor can they easily be forgiven.
The directive of Russian President Vladimir Putin to order columns of armoured vehicles, transporters and aircraft to violate the borders of a sovereign country, home to 44 million - predominantly fellow Slavs - set off a chain of events that few believed was possible in this day and age.
In our family, the consequences have been dire, as they have for the 1600 other Ukrainians now resident in New Zealand and for millions of others in the far-flung corners of the world, especially within the largest country in Continental Europe itself.
What everyone must accept is that the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics ceased to exist on December 31, 1991. Just months before this, on August 24, Ukraine was established as an independent, sovereign country. There are no ifs, buts or maybes over that historical reality, just as there is none over the creation of 14 other former republics as sovereign states.
It's easy to be wise in hindsight but, reflecting on the past three weeks, I now realise that there was a lightbulb moment in relation to the circumstances in which my wife, her family and millions of Ukrainians now find themselves.
That was when I realised, against every desire to think otherwise, that Russian's increasingly erratic leader intended to attempt to rewrite history by subjugating - and if necessary destroying - the Ukrainian people as a race. Delusion was clearly driving a man to cast aside international norms, the rule of law, territorial integrity and the rights of every sovereign state and its people to exist in peace and happiness.
From my perch 17,000km away, I felt an overbearing sense that dark, ominous, ugly clouds were hovering over Continental Europe and that a firestorm of a magnitude not seen since 1939 was about to be unleashed.
The rambling, angry speech of Vladimir Putin on February 22 was designed to establish a pretext for what he had, we now know, he been actively planning for four years.
In that speech, the autocrat at the head of 144 million residents of the Russian Federation sought to erase the Ukrainians as a people, to deny that the Ukrainian culture ever existed and that Ukraine was always part of Russia and needed to be returned to the fold. Putin went so far as to blame his namesake, Vladimir Lenin, for creating an artificial Ukrainian republic when one never actually existed.
It's difficult to suppress anger because this delusional rewriting of history completely overlooks the eight centuries of history of those lands and the Ukrainian people prior to the Bolsheviks overthrowing the last Tsar of Russia in 1917 and establishing the USSR.
Two days after Putin addressed his nation, Russia's war machine rolled across the Belarus-Ukraine border, launching the first major invasion within the European Continent in 83 years.
In the weeks since that gross, miscalculated escapade was launched, our lives and those of millions of others, inside and outside Ukraine have changed forever.
My wife rapidly descended into despair. Frustration turned to hatred as the events in her motherland unfolded. As an only child with elderly parents living in Mariupol, the only city in the Donbas region to have avoided capture by Russian regular forces and Kremlin-based separatists in 2015, she was also gripped by fear.
A week or so ago, regular Russian armoured forces swept south from military bases built up in the Crimean peninsula, annexed by Russia in 2014, to encircle Mariupol.
Ukraine's second-biggest port city and its 420,000 people have been under siege since. Much of the civilian infrastructure has been deliberately targeted and destroyed - water supplies, power reticulation, sewage and communications facilities. Passage in, and out, has largely been denied by the invaders.
We lost communication with Ada's elderly parents nine days ago. The levels of stress, for both of us, intensified. Loads of tears have flowed, often easing only with the stunning support, caring and comforting of many - family here, friends, neighbours and acquaintances - who have called in, personally or by phone. Kiwis have always rallied in times of conflict or natural disaster and they once again do so for the Ukrainians who have made this country their home.
Mariupol has been systematically and methodically smashed, street by street, apartment by apartment. City officials report that more than 2700 civilians have been killed, the biggest loss of life in any city in Ukraine. And the toll of death and injury grows by the day.
Late winter in eastern Ukraine is tough. This past week has seen the temperatures dip to -7C at nights. Almost half a million people are huddling in the basements of bombed-out buildings. The city is desperately short of clean water and food. Medical supplies are almost now non-existent and with thousands of civilians wounded, doctors are performing operations without anaesthetics in a bid to save the lives they can.
Mass graves have been dug in the snow-covered streets as the Russians bomb roads leading to the city's cemetery. The Ukrainians have great respect for their dead but right now in Mariupol, burials in the civic facility are impossible.
Amid such conflict and carnage, it's essential that we, as human beings, search out whatever there is in the way of escapades that can lighten the mood and reduce the levels of stress. My personal coping mechanism involves sharing with my wife some of the lighter moments amid the darkness. In this era of digital connectivity, it's not only the horrific recording of history being made that is beamed from Ukraine.
The band of Romani who stole a fully-operational Russian tank while its crew was attending to the call of nature and drove it away, the three guys on the World War II motorbike with sidecar who filmed themselves while towing a 120mm mortar down a road at break-neck speed and the farmers who have connected Russian armoured vehicles to tractors - in one case two farm machines because of the sheer weight of their prize - reflect the heroism, resilience and determination of ordinary people. The declaration of their President that anyone assisting to reduce the capability of the invaders would not have to pay tax on their ill-gotten gains was classic.
But for every light moment, there are hundreds more that are infinitely darker, and not all involve the Ukrainians. Images of captured young Russian conscripts, many just 19 or 20 and most not knowing the truth of why they were sent there, has been gut-wrenching.
Bewildered and frightened, they are allowed to call home to advise that they are alive, and to their surprise it seems, being treated kindly and with consideration by those who now have them in custody. The anger from mothers who did not even know a war was being waged against cousins and friends on the other side of the border is a common theme in these conversations.
One of the heart-stopping memories that will remain with me came via an impassioned address by the Ukrainian Ambassador to the United Nations Security Council during an emergency meeting aimed at stopping the senseless destruction.
Holding up a transcript, Ambassador Sergiy Kyslytsya read a text message sent by a young Russian to his mother, in which he expressed his love for her and his desire to return home. His column came under attack and minutes later he was dead.
And, as we view this naked aggression from afar, let us dwell on the future of a Ukrainian policeman who was talking to his wife on the phone when Russian troops opened fire on her car, killing her, their two young children and her parents.
These are the war crimes being committed, every minute of every day in Ukraine right now. As hard as I strive to not let anger rise to the surface, at times that is all that I can feel.
When the missile slammed into the courtyard at Mariupol's maternity hospital last week - so massive was it that it created a crater three storeys deep - images of severely-wounded, heavily pregnant women being carried across the bomb site on stretchers spread around the globe like wildfire.
The Russian propaganda machine claiming this was not a maternity hospital - as a nurse in that city for 20 years my wife knows it was - and that the military was using it as a base. The further claim that the Mariupol defenders staged this horrific scene, using actors, in a bid to whip up hysteria in the West, is outrageous.
Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov then proclaimed that he was tiring of the "pathetic hysteria" of those who, globally and universally, condemned this outrageous act of war against defenceless women trying to bring new life into the world. What a despicable, loathsome specimen.
In this era of smartphones and digital, global communication, one of the biggest challenges we face is the desire to shelter those we love from the rapidly-escalating flow of bad news and distressing images, as best we can. What is seen cannot be unseen and just as city authorities throughout Ukraine have imposed strict curfews for security reasons, I've had to do the same in our household.
While the need for good, reliable information is entrenched in people in times of conflict, the past few weeks have demonstrated the need also for some constraint, even with an element of compulsion if necessary. If that requires a no-fly zone - in this case, a no-computer zone - then that's what has to happen, as difficult as it is to enforce it.
A constant flow of "selective" information designed to reassure but not to alarm is now in force between us. Although this may sound draconian, it's crucial that we protect our loved ones from the worst of the worst.
I know that more dark days are ahead before someone, or something, ends Putin's war on Ukraine. But, as I constantly remind my wife, this is a fight for truth and justice and no invader driven by evil and ill-intent has ever succeeded in suppressing the spirit of a people who are determined to resist to the last.
On Thursday, a glimmer of hope emerged, with a brief message from Ada's besieged city that her parents were seen trudging through the snow, on foot over many kilometres while doing their best to avoid incessant bombing from the Russian forces encircling Mariupol. The latest is that they got to an elderly relative living away from the centre safely, although the entire city itself remains under siege.
The relief has been palpable. Prayers from many have been answered.
But amid that brief moment of joy, there was more distress, with news filtering out that 400 patients and medical staff at Mariupol's intensive care hospital had been taken hostage by Russians who had been able to infiltrate the defensive cordon that has kept the invaders out for three weeks.
City authorities reported, also on that day, that the convoy of civilian vehicles using the humanitarian corridor agreed to by the Russian military command had been shelled by their troops on the ground. Seven people were wounded in this agreed safe zone and everyone fled back into the city.
This is the nature of Putin's war on Ukraine.
As the week was drawing to an end, there was hope that a new round of peace talks would produce a ceasefire, to at least allow the citizens of cities like Mariupol and Kherson to evacuate their wounded, ill and children, although where this human exodus would go to remains uncertain. Right now, I am pessimistic about a positive outcome.
No one knows when, how and why the war Russia has mounted against its nearest neighbour will end. What I do know though is that history can provide a valuable pointer to the absolute courage and determination of the Ukrainian people - a people who are not, as Putin grossly asserts, Russian.
Putin's prize, the capital city of Kyiv, is unlikely to fall any time soon, if ever. Military analysts have determined that the invading force does not have the manpower, supplies or munitions to achieve this.
Kyiv has sustained two major invasions in the past 1000 years.
In 1240 the hordes of Mongolia smashed their way into the heavily fortified settlement, as it was then. Only 2000 of the 50,000 defenders survived. So impressed was he of the courage of the Ukrainians, the Mongol chief spared the life of Kyiv's commander, Volhvnia Dmytro, in recognition of his bravery.
In August and September 1941, the might of the German army fought to surround and secure Kyiv. More than one million of the defenders died in that month-long bombardment. Kiev was lost, but two years later the Soviet Army swept back in on their way to defeating Nazi Germany.
No one will be happier than us when the war in Ukraine comes to an end. It will allow us to bring some semblance of normality to our lives but things will never be the same.
The horror that has been perpetrated by the leadership of Russia can't be erased from the minds of millions of Ukrainians and by many others worldwide who have been personally impacted by this treachery, lies and deceit.
Putin and his generals may never stand in the dock of the International Criminal Court, which has prosecutors on the ground in Ukraine collecting evidence, at the insistence of New Zealand and a swath of other nations. But, upon conviction, nor will they ever be able to step foot outside Russia for fear or immediate arrest or something else.
As an old man in Moscow told a Western film crew last week, Vladimir Putin is now destroying not one country, but two. "Russia will be going back to the Stone Age," he lamented.