There is no doubt about it. My career at the Royal Military College (RMC) of Canada began on Wednesday, 1 Aug. 1990, some 35 years ago.
From almost that first day, I learned the College motto: “Truth, Duty, Valour,” a precept I found useful for structuring these recollections.
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Let’s start with the Truth part.
I was a postdoctoral fellow in the Department of Geography at Queen’s University when I learned of a competition to replace RMC’s retiring geographer, Major Al George, by all accounts a real firecracker of a fellow. I applied on May 17. By then, it was evident I would not easily secure a tenured position at Queen’s, despite the concerted efforts of Professors Brian Osborne and Eric Moore, and the committed support of the Ukrainian Canadian community. Queen’s was plagued with decision-making inertia, and an unsubtle opposition to my appointment, conjured up by a few historians and political scientists who shared ethnic and political prejudices about Ukraine and Ukrainians, didn’t help.
Made aware of their skullduggery, I took comfort in an aphorism attributed to Oscar Wilde – “You can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies.” Nowadays, I’ve taken up this Irish wit’s better-documented prescription – “Always forgive your enemies; nothing annoys them so much.” So I do.
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On June 11, Professor Ivan Gagnon, then Head of the Department of Politics and Economics, left two messages on my answering machine, inviting me for an interview. I diarized: “How much I’d like to take that job, with the tenure it would bring, the prestige, and, I trust, the chance to teach some good minds, minds that I could influence along the right path, thereby helping develop Canada and an understanding of Ukraine. Now would be the ideal time for my life to go that way.”
My first examination was on Thursday, June 14. It lasted three hours. I noted: “I’ve got a very good chance at the job.” Then, just a few days later, Dr. Gagnon called again. The Principal, Dr. John Plant, wanted to see me. We confirmed another interview for July 5. No earlier date was available because I was off to the Soviet Union. A few days later, in Moscow, I stood observing how the lineup for a Big Mac at McDonald’s was longer than the pilgrimage queue outside Lenin’s Tomb, “just about all that needs to be said at the moment.” I’m glad I saw Soviet Russia then.
In April 2022, I was branded a persona non grata by the so-called Russian Federation, a distinction I delight in, even if it means I can’t return before the empire falls. At least, the KGB clown in the Kremlin no longer has those Golden Arches adorning his cityscape. Corporate headquarters ruled, in May 2022, that Putin’s genocidal war against Ukrainians was “not consistent with McDonald’s values.” Indeed.
Looking through my diaries, I am sometimes reminded of forgotten moments. For example, before my second interview, and also the first, I chronicled how I took the time to walk up Fort Henry Hill. From that vantage point, overlooking my hometown, I paused to think about two Ukrainian Canadians. There was Nick Sakaliuk, imprisoned as an “enemy alien” during Canada’s first national internment operations. And Private Nikita Natalsky, who volunteered for the Canadian Expeditionary Force at a recruiting station up in Barriefield. Even as Nick languished behind the Fort’s limestone walls, Nikita escaped being rounded up as an “Austrian” by lying about who he was. It didn’t save him. A soldier in the trenches of the Western Front, he suffered wounds that precipitated his early death. I still tend to his grave in Cataraqui Cemetery.
On July 5, 1990, I prayed for both men. Then I strode down the Hill to meet my fate. That second meeting lasted only 25 minutes. I was anxious after it was over, writing only that it went “OK.” That was at 11:30 a.m. At 12:15 p.m. Dr. Gagnon phoned and “I got the RMC job!” Within a few days, I was setting up my office, Girouard #407, “a nice one with a good view of the city and water – feeling good about it… even if I still can’t help but wonder where this is all taking me.” And, yes, I’m privy to the hearsay about how Principal Plant chose me by overruling the Department. I think he made a good decision. But then, I’m partial.
Was it worth it? Yes. I took a stand. I made a difference, even when I failed.
Now for the Duty part – I was told the goal of every RMC professor was to prepare our Officer Cadets for careers of effective service in the Canadian Armed Forces. I accepted this warrant unreservedly and, over several decades, gave much of myself to teaching. Student assessments reassure me that I did well, as charged:
“Very interesting lecturer. Lectures were some of the best I’ve ever attended at RMC.”
“Dr. Luciuk is obviously very highly motivated in his career. His effectiveness as a prof, his professionalism and his ability to stimulate interest provided a welcome relief in contrast to many other courses offered in the poli-sci-eco department.”
“If all profs at RMC were this enthusiastic about their work, and as motivated about communicating their thoughts, class attendance would not have to be made mandatory. Enjoyed it thoroughly. Used my brain to think instead of just memorizing.”
Finally, Valour.
I am no hero. The last time I was near any fighting, in Ukraine’s Donbas in 2017, I was unmistakably reminded that I’m way too old for that sort of thing. I certainly doubt I would be as brave as Corporal Filip Konowal, whose valor at the Battle of Hill 70 secured him the highest military medal of the British Empire, the Victoria Cross. However, I was motivated by the injunction of another Canadian-Ukrainian veteran of the Second World War, the late G. R. Bohdan Panchuk. He once wrote – “My simple gospel – Do Something!” I grew determined to get things done.
I helped recall Cpl. Konowal’s heroism by unveiling memorials to him across Canada, France and Ukraine. I recovered and returned his stolen Victoria Cross to the Canadian War Museum. I made sure the central pathway at the Hill 70 memorial, near Loos-en-Gohelle, France, was named in his honor.
Knowing of the wrongs done to Ukrainians and other Europeans during the internment operations, I orchestrated the campaign that secured official recognition and symbolic redress, including a $10 million endowment supporting research, educational, and commemorative initiatives across Canada. This crusade took nearly a quarter of a century to finish. But I endured.
When Dominion Command of the Royal Canadian Legion peremptorily shut down Toronto’s Branch No. 360 (Konowal Branch), I contested their fiat, helping recover half of the value of that Ukrainian Canadian property, $2.4 million, creating the Ukrainian Canadian Veterans Fund.
I promoted awareness of the genocidal Great Famine of 1932-1933 in Soviet Ukraine (the Holodomor), one of the greatest crimes against humanity to befoul 20th-century European history. That meant exposing the scoundrels who covered up this Stalinist famine while acclaiming the righteous few who told the truth. I did that for my godmother, a survivor.
I resolutely challenged Soviet-era propaganda, now being regurgitated again by Russians and fellow travelers in the West, about the “thousands” of alleged “Nazi war criminals” supposedly hiding in North America. I did that for my parents and their generation, veterans of a national liberation movement who refused to kowtow to predatory neighbors attempting to impose foreign rule over Ukraine.
And, doggedly, I called for the dismantling of the Soviet/Russian imperial project, championing the return of an independent Ukrainian state to its rightful place in Europe.
It’s no wonder I have experienced years of censorship and censure, and still will.
Was it worth it? Yes. I took a stand. I made a difference, even when I failed. Today, Ukraine is better known than ever before in history, a far cry from the ignorance, indifference, and hostility toward the Ukrainian cause I encountered over most of my life. Ukraine has won. It exists and can’t be undone. For the small role I played in securing this victory, President Volodymyr Zelensky honored me with the Cross of Ivan Mazepa.
On my last day at RMC, I sat alone in Sawyer #3427, an office from where I have enjoyed a splendid view of Fort Henry for years. Before taking my leave, I marched up Fort Henry Hill to gaze down at it all again, thinking and remembering much. And I felt grateful.
The views expressed in this article are the author’s and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post.
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