A serene bronze statue of a young woman graces my living room, a memento of more hopeful times in Ukraine. It was made by Oleg Chernoivanov, a young artist just beginning his career. I bought it at a newly opened art gallery in Kyiv shortly after Ukraine’s independence from the Soviet Union, part of a widespread cultural blossoming in the post-Soviet era that extended from churches and religious shrines to theater, art, and literature.

In the decades since, Oleg’s bronzes have scaled up to include public monuments in Kyiv, Odesa, and other cities. His sculpture and the works of other Ukrainian artists have become casualties of the war, some destroyed by Russian missiles and artillery, and others, like Odesa’s monument to Catherine the Great of Russia, taken down because of political controversy. 

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A close inspection of my statue reveals a young artist’s flaws. He sculpted her hair in delicate strands, without a vent in the mold to permit gas created by the scorchingly hot molten metal to escape. The result is uneven hair, some strands missing segments because the bronze, blocked by trapped gases, couldn’t flow all the way into the mold. I saw the imperfections immediately but purchased it anyway, using hard currency. The peacefulness of her face and mood Chernoivanov created displayed raw talent. I felt that if I bought his work, he would be encouraged to continue. 

To me, it was a metaphor for Ukraine’s budding democracy — imperfect, but worth investing in, something that might need nurturing for decades like an artist’s career before reaching its full potential. The year was 1992, thirty years before Russia’s brutal assault on a peaceful, pro-West democracy.

On my next visit to Kyiv, the gallerist told me Chernoivanov had used funds from the sale of his statues to go to Spain to study the craft of bronze work. I smiled at the news. It was in Madrid in the mid-1960s as a young adolescent that I fell in love with bronze artworks. 

It was also in Madrid that I learned about the opposite of democracy. 

Spain was a military dictatorship under Generalissimo Francisco Franco, whose title “Caudillo” is the Spanish equivalent of Duce or Fuhrer. While I lived in Spain, Franco cracked down on universities, shutting them completely at one point, and held a tight grip on Spanish media, politics, and culture. His Guardia Civil was a feared paramilitary force.  

We always knew when Franco would drive past our apartment building on his way to the airport. The Guardia would show up a day or two beforehand to check on the permit for my .22 rifle and inspect the gun’s serial number. They stationed shooters on our rooftop armed with Star submachine guns to defend against possible snipers, including me, apparently among them.

I later returned to Spain, studying the country’s unsteady transition to democracy. Spain’s success made me optimistic about Eastern Europe’s prospects in the post-Soviet era, when I worked extensively in the region, furthering democratic development.

In 1985, I was part of the White House team for a summit between President Ronald Reagan and Spanish President Felipe Gonzalez at which Reagan successfully pressed Gonzalez to join NATO.

Hanging in the Reina Sofia Museum in Madrid is a 1937 painting by Pablo Picasso titled Guernica. It memorializes one of the greatest atrocities of the Spanish Civil War, when German bombers from the Luftwaffe’s Condor Legion flew over the Basque town of Guernica on market day, dropping their lethal cargo on unarmed men, women, and children.  Hitler and Mussolini backed Franco in the war, while the U.S. and Britain embargoed arms shipments to the Spanish Republic. Picasso painted “Guernica” as an act of protest. When I grew up in Franco’s Spain, it was unthinkable that it might one day hang in Madrid.

The unthinkable happens. 

The Soviet Union’s sudden collapse is an example. So is China’s rise, and the newly formed Axis of Russia, Iran, and China. The unthinkable happened to Ukraine in 2022. Now it has its own Guernica, the town of Sumy, which Putin pulverized with missiles on Palm Sunday, killing thirty-five civilians and injuring more than a hundred. 

Let’s put the cost of aiding Ukraine in perspective. Our military aid to Ukraine has cost $167.4 billion over three years.  According to the Government Accountability Office, the federal government wastes $236 billion in improper payments annually and loses another $233 to $521 billion to fraud each and every year. Taxpayers get tapped for another $150.7 billion annually to support illegal immigration. 

In the three years we’ve given Ukraine $167.4 billion, Uncle Sam has squandered almost $2 trillion on improper payments and fraud, and taxpayers have paid some $450 billion to support Biden’s wave of immigrants. That’s enough to keep the Ukraine war going another thirty years if that’s what’s needed for a just settlement.

TRUMP IS RIGHT: HOUSING ISN’T HEALTHCARE

President Donald Trump should not accede to Russian demands that Ukraine be left stripped of territory and security guarantees. Any settlement that fails to guarantee Ukraine’s security will only embolden future aggression, just as the West’s failure to stop the Axis of Hitler, Mussolini, and Franco during the Spanish Civil War set the stage for WWII. 

Depending on the outcome in Ukraine, Taiwan could be next to suffer an invasion, and then the unthinkable will be happening to us.

John B. Roberts II is a former international political strategist and executive producer of The McLaughlin Group. An author and artist, his books include “Freeing Tibet: Fifty Years of Struggle, Resilience, and Hope” and the forthcoming “The Reagan Doctrine: How America Won the Cold War and Lost the Peace.” www.jbrobertsauthor.com