The price of shame

They were kissing on a bench in the botanical garden. It was hard to imagine anything more beautiful than two people in love surrounded by the overwhelming beauty of a Kyiv autumn.

And perhaps everything would have fallen into place for the universe, if not for one thing — it was two girls.

I walked past, utterly moved. My children, whose minds are still largely untouched by gender stereotypes, bullying, and shame, didn’t even notice them. We strolled calmly, enjoying the fresh air and the silence.

On the way back, we saw the same girls again, still embracing and gazing at each other. I lingered nearby, waiting for my boys to gather another bundle of leaves.

A middle-aged man walked past them. He noticed the couple, stopped, looked them over, and then, gathering everything he had in his mouth, spat at them with all his might.

And continued walking.

Thanks to the girls — they just smirked and kept enjoying each other.

But in moments like these, I lose all hope — not for a bright future, not for the triumph of good over evil, not for the hope that my children will have a better life than mine.

In these moments, I have no hope for anything at all.

We fight so fiercely against a culture of violence, bullying, and humiliation.

But it will continue to thrive because a child learns to hurt at the very moment they are hurt, because we are forced to retaliate when we are struck, and because humiliation breeds more humiliation and powerlessness.