“We’re not samurais, and we won’t go out on the streets with swords, but we sure as hell know how to stop the tanks”
NEON SIGNS advertising oysters and sparkling wine speak of an era that ended abruptly on the morning of February 24th, when Vladimir Putin launched his invasion of Ukraine. The Odessa Food Market on Richelievska Street was once a place of hipsters and flat whites. For 12 days now, it has served as a logistical hub for the war effort. It’s a hive of activity, with dozens of yellow-jacketed volunteers buzzing between the market’s two floors.
The city, like the food market, has been transformed by war. From an unsentimental place reluctant to take sides, it is now adorned in yellow and blue. Ukrainian flags fly from every street corner, from cars, from apartments. The city’s diverse populations—intellectuals, gangsters, artists, workers—are pulling together ahead of the expected attack. Young volunteers pack sandbags at the beach. Engineers at the tram depot make anti-tank “hedgehogs” from old bits of rail.
The invasion has united most strands of Odessa’s usually fractious politics. Mr Trukhanov not only finds himself acting in unison with political opponents, but also with the city’s usually disapproving intellectuals. They express mild bewilderment at the alliance.