Василь Горняк Vasyl Gorniak

Yes, of course, I tell my children, my boys, and my girls — this and that… I constantly tell them what I went through since my youth and what my parents told me — what is forbidden, what is not allowed. I tell my children the same thing: you must follow these rules—this is forbidden, that is forbidden. That’s what you should follow, this is forbidden, that is forbidden, that is forbidden, that’s how we have it, how my mother taught me, and I’m teaching you now. Even when it comes to our language — I try to speak to them often, throwing in some words. But mostly, it’s my older sister who is interested in the Gypsy language. She even looks things up online, checking if I’m speaking correctly. Well, the dialect online is a little different, but overall, it’s our one language. I tell my children, I tell them that our Gypsies… You ask about culture — well, our Gypsies love, hold on to their roots… Regarding music… it’s inborn, it’s ingrained, I don’t know where from, but Gypsies are a joyful people. They are true, whether they have finished or dropped out of school, this is simply… from God. Gypsies know how to play guitars, accordions, bayans. In general, the Gypsy people are a joyful people. It even gets passed down, just look at my sons. I’ll put it this way: it came from the great-grandfather, passed down… playing the guitar. He never studied anywhere, just automatically… came to him, and now he plays the guitar well. We have Gypsies who play instruments beautifully and sing wonderfully. My children also sing, my nephews sing well. In general, when Gypsies gather, they sing. They sing in Gypsy. Singing in Gypsy — we practice it more than speaking. Now, singing in Gypsy, we do that a lot. Before the [full-fledged] war, we had this [tradition] — it was a wonderful time — we would all gather, the whole family, go out to the woods, take guitars, sing, dance… It had some Gypsy [character] to it — lighting a fire, and you felt… this atmosphere where you truly felt like a Gypsy, such company, songs, children, jokes, and so on.

I’ll tell you honestly — during the Soviet Union, people treated us better. It felt that way. We lived in the Banya neighborhood, our relatives lived there, we lived here, and our Ukrainian neighbors in Boryslav were friends with us — there was no division. Every penny was shared — bread, cookies, candies. There was no such thing as "those Gypsies," none of that. There was no strong division. People cared for each other, were friends. Back then — and even now — there were different districts in Boryslav, microdistricts: the Banya microdistrict, Komsomolska, Kovaliva. Gypsies mostly lived in Banya, in that district. Yes, there were quarrels, group fights, district against district, but specifically in Banya, there, Ukrainians and Roma were friends, they were considered friends. But now, if you look at it, now, in our independent state of Ukraine — there are huge divisions. Nowadays, it's scary for Gypsies, it's scary for Gypsies... I'll tell you honestly - it's tough for Gypsies to live, it's tough now. They'll judge. Even though you try to live with your neighbors, the neighbors would be nice to you, but they will judge that you are a Gypsy... It's hard...

I went there [to Germany, where my family had evacuated] for a visit as well, I stayed there, and then I ended up staying with them for four months. But the people there… They would sooner tear you apart than their own. It surprised me. Then, at one point, an older man started yelling at my daughter. I said, "Listen, what right did you have to yell at her? She’s just a child!" She came to me crying, "Dad, he [yelled] at me…" So I went up to him [and said,] "Listen, why did you, what right did you have to yell at her? You’re an older man, I’m her father — why didn’t you knock on the door and explain it to me?" I said, "What’s wrong with you?" And those people… I greeted him with “Jesus Christ be praised,” and he just [responded with] “Good day.” You understand? There was already something off in the conversation. Then it became clear for them… They called us “Gypsies,” treated us [differently], avoided us… — Were these the neighbors you lived with? — Yes. And, to be honest, no matter where you are, if you’re a Gypsy, you’ll be judged. You’re a Gypsy, and with you… There are those — I won’t say everyone — there are people who eat with Gypsies, who have shared meals with us, celebrated with us, partied with us. But there are also those who seem kind [to your face] but talk and judge you later. That’s just how it is. But it doesn’t matter whether you’re a Gypsy or anyone else — everyone was accepted…

This is our problem, as I’ve already said, the older generation’s. We are irresponsible, we don’t reflect on the fact that we are the ones to blame for not teaching our children our language. And we forget that soon, it really will die out. A different generation will come, many generations will pass, and, if God doesn’t come, they won’t know a single Gypsy word at all. And that’s our fault. We need to… It’s good that you told me this, and now I’m thinking about it myself — now this thought has come to me, "Indeed, why don’t I speak Gypsy with my children?" If it dies out, they won’t know it, and yet… We are Gypsy. Then, you see, in Zakarpattia, there are Gypsies… He married my sister, he is a Gypsy, but he doesn’t know the Gypsy language. In some way, we, the older generation, are to blame because we are not interested in… We had planned, by the way… We had planned — my sister, who is the head of a Romani organization, was given an office, but it still needed work. I don’t know if she finished it, and we wanted to open an educational school for the Gypsy language. We had planned this. Before the war. But then the war started, and, as I say, that war disrupted all our plans because everyone left [the country], and we wanted to make it happen. But I think that despite everything… I think the war will end, and we will think about opening a school to restore our language, traditions of ours.