When you know the value of every minute,
when you take everything life gives you,
then I am sure: you are a true human being
and you will earn your place on this earth.
“If—” by Rudyard Kipling, translated by Vasyl Stus
Have you ever felt like you were born too late? That you missed all the most significant events in Ukrainian history, an entire era? That revolutions fell to your parents, and the collapse of great empires to your grandparents? That you might never get the chance to live through something of that scale?
Vik-Mik thought so too. For a long time, it seemed true. As a child, he loved stories and history and followed them closely — but the greatest of them had already happened. You won’t become the leader who defends the honor of your home, the Plast scout who carries the message of Kruty, or the dissident who creates the Helsinki Group. Vik-Mik (like you and me) could hardly imagine what major historical events awaited him.
In July 2023, during his service near the Donetsk and Zaporizhzhia regions, Vik-Mik suffered a severe thigh injury from a drone strike. His leg required long rehabilitation and years of recovery.
“I am very grateful to the Plast community, which has mobilized across other organizations and individuals. It’s incredible support from people you may not even know or have shared experiences with — but you share the same values.
When I found a doctor who could save my leg, the question arose: private clinics abroad won’t accept me, and the Ministry of Health can’t fund my treatment. I had to rely on state hospitals, but they didn’t provide the help I needed. So I created a fundraiser that quickly raised more than 1.5 million. That was enough for surgery and rehabilitation.
I keep a list in my Monobank and realize that most people I don’t know personally — but that’s the power of community.
I have funds left over from the rehabilitation fundraiser that I no longer need. I want that money to keep working — to save lives. And since most of the funds came from the Plast community, I want them to return to the community — specifically for medical needs.”
I want money to keep working — saving lives.
By the day of the first Plast Oath, the 1991 Foundation, together with Viktor-Mykola and the Lviv Plast region, is raising 1.7 million UAH for first aid kits for Plast members currently serving in the Armed Forces.
On April 12, 1912, the first Plast Oath was made — a promise to be faithful to God and Ukraine, to help others, to live by the Plast law, and to obey the Plast leadership. Today, many Plast members, staying true to this oath, join the military and actively volunteer to help bring victory closer. This fundraiser is an opportunity to remain faithful to the Plast promise: to open a donation jar or contribute for those who are now on the front line.
The Road to the Oath
No one brought Viktor-Mykola to Plast — he found it himself. He was looking for something beyond school, because school did not interest him much. He was searching for something adventurous. A tourist club, a combat hopak group… He was an eleven-year-old boy who loved nature. From his cousins in Lviv, he learned about Plast.
“My teenage years were a time when red-and-black flags and the slogan ‘Glory to Ukraine!’ were still marginalized. So when you walked around the city in such attire, you were either seen as a pioneer or a ‘Hitler youth.’ Few people knew about Plast. I wore my uniform proudly, showing my belonging to Plast. That’s why I would always climb the city hall stairs in uniform, making a kind of statement.”
“Plast is a great game. I like this phrase because it reflects my life and my perception: first, a game is an adventure; second, it has rules. In my Plast experience, there was never an imposed emphasis on nationalism, patriotism, or a healthy lifestyle. It all came together organically: a small unit, but good mentors.
I don’t know how conscious it was for me when I took the oath — probably not enough. For me, it was more important to become a participant. I was drawn to the sense of adventure. But the real value of the oath came to me much later.”
But the true value of the Oath came to me much later.
The mystique of the moment. Continuity. Belonging to a community. A deep awareness. There are traditions that simply justify something. A statute is created, you approve it and call it a tradition. Someone invents a tradition, and it just happens. But something can grow organically — and then it becomes filled with meaning, precisely through its continuity.
Taking the Oath is not just a formal ceremony — it is something more. A well-crafted ceremony gives you a sense of importance. It’s not just signing a piece of paper saying “yes, I agree.” You speak it aloud to yourself, before God and your Plast community — and they affirm it by singing the Plast Oath after you. It creates a different kind of value.
Before taking the Oath, it’s important to talk it through with your mentor — whether you’re ready. It should be a deep conversation about your readiness. I didn’t have that, and many others don’t. Sometimes you’re simply called out as if by an alarm — and it’s exciting, a surprise, an incredible atmosphere. But this moment of acceptance should be deliberate. Because it’s hard to refuse the Oath when you’re already standing in front of everyone.
I love witnessing the moment of the Oath. The uniqueness of it. The Oath itself and the Plast promise that is sung afterward. For me, it’s the most powerful Plast song — the meanings embedded in it. And the melody always gives me goosebumps when I hear it.
I like one of the fundamental ideas of conservatism: we can see far because we are dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants. Those giants are history, continuity, and the values of Plast. Only by relying on them can we see far. We can adapt, reinterpret things for modern times — but we must not destroy those giants or the foundations they stand on.
We can see far because we are dwarfs standing on the shoulders of giants. Those giants are the history and continuity of Plast.
Personal development doesn’t come from something specific. It comes from small details. I didn’t have any clear mentor. Values came from all directions: life in nature, the nature of training, a sense of rebellious spirit, rifle songs, stories, military schools. And also the broader context — the Ukraine of Yanukovych, and a certain nonconformism in response to it. A teenage desire to stand out. An underground cultural environment and festivals. More and more knowledge about history. It gradually accumulates — and that’s how your ideas and worldview are formed.
For me, Plast has always been about personal growth. It is often labeled as political or even too nationalistic. But Plast is about community, youth development, and self-realization. A place where you can express yourself — for example, through civic engagement. Of course, you can connect Plast to political contexts. But for Plast members, it’s not necessary — and for Plast itself, it’s not the point.
Active citizens should be involved. The goal of Plast is to raise good citizens. A good citizen cannot be indifferent — they must do something: build a business or live an active civic life. But they do it as individuals. Plast stands above basic ideologies, above left or right — it is a worldview.
For me, the example of upbringing in Plast is my entire group (we were called “Velyki Shyshky”). Everyone who was part of it — even those who didn’t reach senior Plast membership — went to fight in 2014 and are still fighting now. I don’t know anyone who has deviated from core values, withdrawn, or chosen to live within the context of Russian culture. For me, that is completely unacceptable.
For me, the example of Plast upbringing is my entire group — everyone who was part of it went to fight in 2014 and is still fighting today.
Creating stories
Vik-Mik came to meet us wearing a cap and an elegant green vest. If he weren’t so tall and slender, he could easily be called a hobbit. And if you imagine him in Tolkien’s world, among all the mythical characters, Vik-Mik would most resemble a human — a person of indomitable spirit and body.
When asked how he ended up on the Maidan at seventeen, he replied: “How could I not be there?” In the turmoil of a great war, we often forget who we were before 2014. What did our school portraits look like, and what stories did our textbooks tell us about our past?
Vik-Mik belongs to the generation of Ukrainians who came of age during the Revolution of Dignity and grew up in protest against the pro-Russian government. Before they took up arms, their tools of resistance were diverse: “We organized performance protests against Yanukovych. I threw eggs, but they threw them at me too.”
Vik-Mik studied political science in Lutsk: “I wasn’t a good student — because the revolution and the war had begun. Why did I study political science? Because I was interested in civic activism and history. I didn’t want to miss all the historic moments. Why? Because I could either study history — or create it.”
He spent his academic years traveling — first between trips to Kyiv, and later between military service. In between his service, he studied at UAL and went on expeditions to Antarctica: “One day a fellow Plast member, a veteran, called me and said: ‘Vitia-Kol, do you want to go to Antarctica?’ I answered: ‘Yes, of course. What do I need?’”
“I wasn’t a good student — because the revolution and the war had begun. Why study political science? I was interested in civic activism and history. I didn’t want to miss historic moments. Why? Because I could either study history — or create it.”
Vik-Mik first went to the front in early June 2014. At the time, he was trying to join Azov. He spent three months at a mobilization base, then returned home and started looking for another unit. He heard about the Plast battalion “Harpun” and joined them — “There were just a lot of Plast members there.”
Vik-Mik served in Harpun until 2015, later volunteered in military hospitals in 2018, and in the autumn of 2021 — when talk of a large-scale war with Russia intensified — he joined the 1st Separate Assault Regiment.
In February 2022, while he was at a Plast camp, the camp commander woke him up with the words: “V-K, get up — the war has started.” At first, he thought it was a joke, but it wasn’t. Early in the morning, he had to decide what to do with the 40 children at the camp.
As the evacuation began, Vik-Mik started thinking about where to go next. He realized he wouldn’t make it to Avdiivka, where his unit was, so he headed toward larger cities. “I imagined rockets flying across the whole country. I thought of war as something localized, not expecting a breakthrough toward Kyiv or an offensive from Belarus. I contacted my unit and passed on Vinnytsia’s message: ‘Volyniaks, sit tight and wait for the Belarusians — don’t rush to us.’”
But we went to Kyiv. I was called from Harpun, my old unit. We were joined by a group of people — a bit of a roaming crew — and after moving around a bit, we were offered to officially enlist in the Armed Forces.
At that base, a group from Lviv arrived, including an assault soldier who said to me: “Oh, Kurka is about to come — you should meet him.” Kurka was someone I already knew — we had been in Harpun together, crossed paths during the Maidan, and even in Azov. He was good at finding ways forward. Then Lozynskyi arrived, and we all went to his apartment to have coffee and talk. That was the first week of the full-scale war.
This is a typical story about community. The world is very small — and you are very big. When you come to your own people, you realize you will always find even more connections.
This is a typical story about community. The world is very small — and you are very big.
We, the veterans, were waiting for this. We understood that a major war was coming. This moment did not allow us to plan our lives — because you no longer think about how you will build your life if “something happens.” That “something” had already happened.
We lived in a state where there is no Plan B. We knew what to do if a full-scale war began, but we didn’t know how to live through it — how to build a life, how to build a family, when you understand that a greater war is coming.
We knew a great war was coming. When it finally began, things became simpler. You no longer think about how to build your life if “something happens.” That “something” had already happened.
But the full-scale invasion came suddenly — everything was so intense. Yet wherever you go, you keep running into your own people. You arrive at positions somewhere in the Kherson region and see a familiar face. You head back — and meet someone you know again. This community is very close-knit. It keeps bringing people together — in volunteer work, on the front line, and in civic life.
On Viktor-Mykola’s bag, next to a toy penguin, a Plast ruler, a trident, a medic’s snake, a SSO wolf, and a 73rd Maritime Special Operations Center horse, there is also a peace symbol pinned on: “Peace cannot be achieved by simply wishing for it. Otherwise, you become a victim. A true peacemaker must be a warrior.”
Interviewed and recorded by Ira Didych
Photographed by Olia Shakhnyk
