Author: Alfredo Casuso

Ukraine: A Long Road to Independence

— by David Eugene Perry

24 August 1991: Ukranian Independence Day. Today, we salute the proud and brave people of Ukraine as they celebrate their national identity and continue the righteous fight to preserve their freedoms in the face of naked, lawless aggression and cowardly appeasement.

We stand with Ukraine and with all our friends from that country.

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From Empire to First Independence

For centuries, Ukraine endured domination under foreign empires—first the Russian Empire and later the Soviet Union. Yet the spirit of independence was never extinguished.

In 1917, with the collapse of the Romanov dynasty, Ukrainians seized the opportunity to declare their own state. The Ukrainian People’s Republic (UPR) was born, led by the Central Rada in Kyiv. On January 22, 1918, the Rada issued the Fourth Universal, proclaiming Ukraine’s independence. At the same time, in the west, the West Ukrainian People’s Republic emerged, centered in Lviv.

In 1919, the two republics attempted to unite in Kyiv through the “Act Zluky,” a symbolic gesture of national unity. But the young state faced impossible odds. Civil war, invasions, and the advance of Bolshevik forces brought the experiment to an end by 1921. Still, the flame of independence had been lit.

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The Soviet Period

Ukraine became the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, a founding member of the Soviet Union. On paper, the constitution gave republics the right to secede. In reality, the Soviet state crushed national aspirations.

The memory of independence was further scarred by unimaginable suffering. The Holodomor famine of 1932–33, engineered by Stalin’s regime, claimed millions of lives and sought to break Ukraine’s will. Despite repression, dissidents, intellectuals, and ordinary people kept alive the dream of sovereignty.

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The Second Chance: 1991

The collapse of the USSR in 1991 finally reopened the door to freedom. After a failed coup in Moscow that August, Ukraine’s parliament, the Verkhovna Rada, declared full independence on August 24, 1991. The document, the Act of Declaration of Independence of Ukraine, explicitly cited the people’s right to self-determination and the need to protect the nation from Moscow’s instability.

In December, Ukrainians overwhelmingly ratified this declaration in a nationwide referendum, with over 92% voting in favor, including majorities in regions like Crimea and Donbas.

For the first time in centuries, Ukraine’s independence was not fleeting—it was real, lasting, and affirmed by its people.

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Continuity and Courage

Ukraine’s modern Independence Day on August 24 is not merely a date on a calendar. It represents the culmination of centuries of struggle, echoing the first declaration of 1918 and honoring the sacrifices made along the way.

The dream that flickered in Kyiv in 1918 found its full light in 1991. But independence has never come easy. The ongoing war, triggered by Russia’s unlawful invasion in 2014 and escalated brutally in 2022, has made clear that the fight for freedom continues.

Yet Ukraine stands. Its people—resilient, proud, and unyielding—continue to defend not only their sovereignty but the very principles of democracy and justice.

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Standing With Ukraine

From the peasants and intellectuals of 1917 to the citizens and soldiers of today, Ukraine’s story is one of courage against overwhelming odds.

As the blue and yellow flag flies high this Independence Day, it carries with it the weight of history and the promise of a free future.

Slava Ukraini. Glory to Ukraine.

Bay Area Voices, Histories, and Futures: On View at YBCA

www.ybca.org

“Bay Area Then has a grassroots feel that’s rare for a white-walled, capital-A art institution,” wrote KQED in a recent review. Step inside the Yerba Buena Center for the Arts (YBCA) and you’ll understand why. The exhibition, now on view through January 25, 2026, is a bold exploration of Bay Area art and identity—past and present.

Featuring works by Nao Bustamonte, Mike “Dream” Francisco, Alicia McCarthy, Barry McGee, and others, Bay Area Then hums with the energy of communities shaping the region’s cultural landscape. From street art to installations, the show embraces the raw, the intimate, and the unapologetically local.

Alongside it, another powerful exhibition fills YBCA’s galleries: MAKIBAKA: A Living Legacy. Presented in collaboration with SOMA Pilipinas, this show celebrates the Filipino community’s resilience, creativity, and contributions to the Bay Area. Described by KQED as “like flipping a breathing scrapbook,” MAKIBAKA is both personal and political, blending memory and activism into an unforgettable experience.

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What’s On Beyond the Galleries:

Art at YBCA doesn’t stay on the walls—it spills into performances, workshops, and gatherings that bring people together.

Bay Area Then: Performances by A V Linton & Tony Molina

September 4, 2025, 5–9 PM

Free with RSVP

The galleries stay open late while these two iconic musicians bring their unforgettable sounds to the YBCA Forum.

Let Her Sing® 2025: A Celebration of Female Voices

September 13, 2025

Presented by Diaspora Arts Connection, this evening of music and solidarity uplifts the power and presence of women’s voices around the globe.

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Plan Your Visit:

YBCA is open Wednesday through Sunday, 11 AM – 5 PM (including regular hours over Labor Day weekend).

Yerba Buena Center for the Arts
701 Mission Street, San Francisco, CA 94103

At YBCA, art is more than what you see—it’s what you feel, remember, and carry with you. Bay Area Then and MAKIBAKA remind us that culture is living history, constantly in motion, and always worth experiencing together.

Michelangelo is in San Francisco Through September 14. Open Special Labor Day Hours

“I saw the angel in the marble and carved until I set him free.” — Michelangelo

In San Francisco this summer, you don’t have to fly to Rome to stand beneath the genius of Michelangelo. Instead, you can walk into the soaring space of the Cathedral of St. Mary of the Assumption and find yourself face to face with one of history’s greatest artistic triumphs: the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Of course, it’s not the original—nothing could replace the hushed reverence of Vatican City—but in many ways this exhibition makes the impossible possible. 

“Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel: The Exhibition” brings his frescoes down from the ceiling to meet you at eye level. Every crack of paint, every fold of fabric, every haunted glance in The Last Judgment is here in perfect scale, rendered with such detail that you can study the works as if you were in the artist’s own studio.

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Walking Through History:

The effect is transformative. Instead of craning your neck among the crowds in Rome, you wander slowly, in silence if you choose, or guided by the free audio tour app that whispers stories of faith, ambition, and defiance into your ear. Children tug at their parents’ sleeves asking who Adam is; grandparents pause, remembering their own pilgrimages. Everyone is caught, for a moment, in Michelangelo’s struggle to wrest angels, prophets, and sinners out of raw plaster.

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A Perfect Back-to-School Pilgrimage:

The timing couldn’t be better. September looms with the routines of school and work, but here is an hour or two of awe and wonder, an antidote to the ordinary. Families discover art history together. Students see how Renaissance genius still speaks across five centuries. Couples find themselves pointing out details to one another: “Look at the hand—the way it almost touches.”

And this Labor Day, the exhibit opens its doors on Monday, September 1, a rare chance to make a holiday about leisure into one about learning and beauty.

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Practical Magic:

The exhibition runs through September 14, 2025—just three more weeks to catch it before it disappears. It’s housed at 1111 Gough Street, in a cathedral that itself feels like a modern work of art. Parking is free on-site, a small miracle in San Francisco. Tickets are modest—less than the price of a night at the movies for most families—and for groups of ten or more, there’s even a rebate to make field trips and outings easier.

But the real value isn’t in the discount codes or ticket tiers. It’s in standing before a masterpiece that has shaped our cultural imagination for centuries and realizing that, for once, you don’t have to crane your neck or cross an ocean to experience it.

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Before the Curtain Falls:

Michelangelo himself once said: “A man paints with his brains and not with his hands.”Walking through this exhibit, you feel that truth. These are not just paintings on plaster, but visions—ideas hewn into color and form—that changed the way the world thought about art, faith, and humanity itself.

And you have until September 14 to stand in their presence.

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Stress-free logistics:

• Free onsite parking – easy drop-off and pickup.

• Group-friendly: Perfect for school excursions and organizations. Contact info@chapelsistine.com for group bookings (10+).Tickets & visitor info:
Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel: The Exhibition
Cathedral of St. Mary of the Assumption1111 Gough Street (at Geary), San Francisco, CA

• Hours (now through Sept 14):
Tuesday–Sunday:10:30 a.m.–5:00 p.m. (last entry 3:30 p.m.)

Special Labor Day Monday (Sept 1):10:30 a.m.–5:00 p.m. (last entry 3:30 p.m.)
• Ticket pricing (3 tiers):• Adult: $27 (weekday) / $29 (weekend)
• Senior: $25 (weekday) / $26 (weekend)
• Military/Youth: $19 (every day)

Special offers:• Limited-time 15% promo currently available (act fast).
• Groups 10+: 20% rebate off regular pricing – email info@chapelsistine.com.

Duration: 60–90 minutes per visitAccessibility: Fully wheelchair accessible, ADA friendlyParking: Free onsite parking availableAudio Guide App: Free download with multilingual, age-appropriate explanation.Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel: The Exhibition has attracted sold-out audiences in cities across the United States, including Chicago, Minneapolis, Charlotte, Charleston, and Atlanta.

The Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Assumption—known to locals as St. Mary’s Cathedral—is itself an architectural landmark. Built in 1970 after fire destroyed its predecessor, the cathedral incorporates both traditional and modern design and serves as the Mother Church for the Archdiocese of San Francisco.

Produced by Los Angeles–based SEE Global Entertainment, Michelangelo’s Sistine Chapel: The Exhibition holds the exclusive worldwide rights to the fresco reproductions through Bridgeman Images. For more information, visit chapelsistine.com

Tickets on sale: chapelsistine.com/exhibits/san-francisco/

ABOUT SEE© GLOBAL ENTERTAINMENT:The SEE© Family of Companies represents the finest in themed entertainment. Working with major Hollywood studios, record companies, sports franchises, and legendary individuals, SEE has become the one source for truly great, expansive entertainment. SEE is led by President Martin Biallas, a Hollywood veteran of 30 years. Visit www.seeglobalentertainment.com and www.martinbiallas.com.

ABOUT ST. MARY’S CATHEDRAL:The Cathedral of Saint Mary of the Assumption serves as the Mother Church of the Archdiocese of San Francisco, encompassing San Francisco, Marin, and San Mateo counties. Designed by Pietro Belluschi with engineering consultant Pier Luigi Nervi, the cathedral was dedicated in 1971 and is considered a bold expression of post-Vatican II liturgical architecture. Notable works include Richard Lippold’s baldacchino and bronze sculptures by Enrico Manfredi.

El Humo de América

— por David Eugene Perry

21 de agosto de 2025: España está en llamas. Incendios históricos han incinerado incontables hectáreas y cientos de hogares. Mientras conducimos hacia el norte desde nuestra base andaluza en Grazalema, provincia de Cádiz, tomamos una ruta alargada para evitar las llamas.

A mitad de camino, la carretera hacia Santander es amplia y recta. Alrededor, la tierra es llana, rica y fértil. Hace 89 años, la Guerra Civil se desató aquí, iniciada por el golpe de Francisco Franco contra la República Española democráticamente elegida, aunque con problemas. Tres años después, el 1 de abril de 1939, “ganó”. Habían muerto más de un millón. Cinco meses después, justo el mismo día, el amigo del Generalísimo, Hitler, invadió Polonia y comenzó la Segunda Guerra Mundial. Es imposible no conectar ambos hechos: uno un ensayo, el otro una producción plenamente realizada, ambos un asalto a la democracia, la diversidad y la decencia.

Mientras pasamos junto a campos antaño devastados por tanques y artillería, a lo lejos se alza el monumento que Franco construyó a su victoria: El Valle de los Caídos. De escala faraónica y diseño fascista, la inmensa iglesia, monasterio y complejo funerario inaugurado en 1961 es imposible de ignorar desde la carretera. Su cruz de 120 metros de altura y su fachada fortificada permanecen a la vista durante kilómetros. Desde 1975, cuando murió tras 36 años de dictadura, hasta que su cuerpo fue trasladado a un cementerio privado en 2019, Franco yacía bajo una cúpula excavada en la montaña, con frescos de ángeles y tropas nacionalistas ascendiendo al cielo sobre un altar. Ningún serafín republicano aquí, aunque fueron sus trabajos forzados los que lo construyeron.

Junto a “El Caudillo” reposaba durante años José Antonio, fundador de la Falange: el partido fascista español. Cuando Franco fue exhumado, también lo fue José Antonio para ser enterrado en otro lugar. Hubo gran angustia entre los nuevos y aún vivos franquistas, y muchos suspiros de alivio en un nuevo gobierno esperanzado de que —al fin— los fantasmas de la Guerra Civil hubiesen sido a la vez exhumados y exorcizados. Ahora renombrado Valle de Cuelgamuros, el lugar es “oficialmente” un memorial para ambos bandos del conflicto. Sin embargo, en España todos conocen su origen. Yo lo he visitado tres veces: con, sin y después de Franco. Es la fantasía de Albert Speer hecha piedra.

Mientras “El Valle” desaparece en el retrovisor, consulto en mi iPhone los últimos titulares de hace 9 horas: Trump dorando nuevas SUVs del ICE. El dúo de Washington, Miller y Hesgeth, expulsando a “viejos hippies” de Union Station. El Pequeño Marco garabateando un plan de paz para Ucrania en su Etch-a-Sketch antes de que el 47 lo sacuda en la nada. Un enclave totalmente blanco en Arkansas cuya biblioteca guarda Mein Kampf y sin duda también los Protocolos de los Sabios de Sion.

En mi propia zona horaria, El País informa sobre ciudadanos estadounidenses que ahora se apresuran a llegar a las costas ibéricas para huir del autoritarismo errático pero creciente de Trump. La ola de “exilados” aún no es un tsunami, pero sí una marea ascendente. Mejor jurar lealtad a un rey constitucional que a un rey que olvida que lo es. Y sin embargo, no olvidemos: el 47º presidente fue elegido, una prueba de democracia cuyo “pudding” ya se muestra rancio y podrido tras apenas siete meses.

La noche de la elección de Trump en 2016, me volví hacia mi esposo español y le dije: “Es el momento.” Empezamos el proceso de que yo me convirtiera en ciudadano español, aunque en el fondo desestimé mi alarma como teatralidad. Dos elecciones, dos impeachments y tres nuevos jueces del Tribunal Supremo después, ya no veo mi pasaporte español como un gesto dramático. Lo veo como una opción cada vez más deseable: un bote salvavidas que nunca pensé que sería bajado al mar.

¿Cuál será mi punto de quiebre? Ya ha habido tantos: Charlottesville, el 6 de enero, la extorsión a las universidades estadounidenses, la resurrección de líderes confederados y el entierro de la historia negra. El asesinato de la PBS y la censura del Smithsonian. No hay un único punto de quiebre para mí. Simplemente me siento roto al sentir que lo que una vez fue verdadera democracia en Estados Unidos ahora está roto también. Si de alguna manera se anula mi matrimonio, ese será verdaderamente mi nadir. No viviré en un país que revocaría un derecho tan largamente conquistado.

En España, y en Europa, saben reconocer a un dictador cuando lo ven. Aquí no hay ilusiones sobre el camino que Trump está emprendiendo ni sobre su posterior abrazo de la religión y el nacionalismo blanco como herramientas para afianzar su poder. Como opinó Arthur Schlesinger Jr. (historiador y asesor de John F. Kennedy) en 1960 —parafraseando una versión anterior de Sinclair Lewis—: “El peligro es que el fascismo en América llegará no envuelto en esvásticas, sino en nuestra propia bandera y en la cruz.”

Hay una frase española que describe la inclinación posterior a la Guerra Civil de tratar de olvidar su fealdad: “Barre el pasado debajo de la alfombra.”

Desde la Ley de Memoria Democrática de 2022, España ha ido levantando la alfombra y exponiendo décadas de dolor calcificado, poniéndolo en perspectiva. Continúa un desempolvado largamente debido, y el aire es más limpio por ello. Tristemente, mientras miro por encima del hombro la antigua tumba de Franco y nuestra antigua República, el aire está lleno de humo.

David Eugene Perry es autor de la galardonada novela Upon This Rock. Está en España trabajando en su secuela, Thorns of the 15 Roses, cuyos personajes centenarios son sobrevivientes de la Guerra Civil Española.

The Smoke from America

21 August 2025
The Smoke from America
— by David Eugene Perry

Spain is on fire. Historic infernos have incinerated countless hectares and hundreds of homes. As we drive north from our Andalucían base in Grazalema, province of Câdiz, we take an elongated route to avoid the flames.

Midway, the road to Santander is wide and straight. Around the land is flat, rich and fertile. 89 years ago, the Civil War raged here, started by Francisco Franco’s coup against the democratically elected, albeit troubled, Spanish Republic. Three years later, on April 1, 1939, he “won.” Over a million had died. Five months later to the day, El Generalisimo’s pal Hitler invaded Poland and WWII began. It’s impossible not to connect the two: one a rehearsal, the second a fully realized production, both an assault on democracy, diversity and decency. 

As we drive past fields once ravaged by tanks and artillery, in the distance looms the monument Franco built to his victory: El Valle de los Caidos – the Valley of the Fallen. Pharaonic in scale and Fascistic in design, the massive church, monastery and funerary complex inaugurated in 1961 is impossible to miss from the road. Its 400 foot tall cross and fortress like façade stay in our sight for miles. From 1975 when he died after a 36 year dictatorship until his body was moved to a private cemetery in 2019, Franco lay beneath a dome carved out of a mountain, frescoed with angels and nationalist troops ascending to Heaven over an altar. No Republican seraphs here, although their forced labor built it.

Next to “El Caudillo” was for many years the final resting place of Jose Antonio – founder of Falánge: Spain’s Fascist party. When Franco was disinterred, so, too, went Jose Antonio to burial elsewhere. There was much angst from nuevo and still living Franquistas and many sighs of relief from a new government hopeful that – finally – the ghosts of La Guerra Civil had been both exhumed and exorcised. Now renamed El Valle de Cuelgamuros, the site is “officially” a memorial to both sides of the conflict. However, in Spain, everyone knows its nativity. I have visited three times: with, without and moving on from Franco. It’s Albert Speer’s fantasy in stone.

As “El Valle” disappears in our rear view mirror, I iphone the latest headlines from 9 hours in the past: Trump gilding new ICE SUVs. The DC duo of Miller & Hesgeth rousting “old hippies” from Union Station. Little Marco doodling a Ukraine peace plan on his Etcha-Sketch before 47 shakes it into nothingness. An all-white enclave in Arkansas whose library holds “Mein Kampf” and undoubtedly the “Protocols of the Elders of Zion.” 

In my own time zone, “El Pais” reports on US citizens now rushing Iberian shores to escape Trump’s erratic but growing authoritarianism. The wave of “exilados” is not yet a tsunami but is a mounting tide. Better to swear allegiance to a constitutional king than to a king who forgets he has one. And yet least we forget, the 47th president was elected: a proof of democracy whose pudding is already rank and rancid seven months in.

The night of Trump’s 2016 election, I turned to my Spanish husband and said: “It’s time.” We started the process of my becoming a Spanish citizen, even though deep down I poo poohed my alarm as theatricality. Two elections, two impeachments and three new Supreme Court justices later, I no longer see my Spanish passport as dramatics. I see it as an increasingly desirable option: a lifeboat I never thought to be lowered.

What will be my breaking point? There have already been so many: Charlottesville, January 6, extortion of American universities, resurrection of Confederate leaders and burial of Black history. The murder of PBS and censoring of the Smithsonian. There is no one breaking point for me. I merely feel broken as I feel that what was once true US democracy is now itself broken. If my marriage somehow gets annulled, that will truly be the nadir for me. I won’t live in a country that would rescind a right so long in the making. 

In Spain, and in Europe, they know a dictator when they see one. There are no illusions here about the path on which Trump is embarking and its subsequent embrace of religion and white nationalism as tools to further his power grab. As Arthur Schlesinger Jr. (historian and adviser to John F. Kennedy) opined in 1960 — paraphrasing an earlier version by Sinclair Lewis: “The danger is that fascism in America will come draped not in swastikas but in our own flag and the cross.”

There is a famous Spanish phrase that describes the post Civil War penchant for trying to forget its ugliness. “Barre el pasado debajo de la alfombra.” Sweep the past under the carpet.

Since the 2022 Ley de Memoria Democrática (Historical Memory Law), Spain has been peeling back the rug and exposing decades of calcified pain and putting it in perspective. A long overdue dusting continues, and the air is cleaner for it. Sadly, as I look over my shoulder at Franco’s erstwhile tomb and our own erstwhile Republic, the air is full of smoke.

David Eugene Perry is the author of the award winning novel “Upon This Rock”. He is in Spain working on its sequel, “Thorns of the 15 Roses” whose centenarian characters are survivors of the Spanish Civil War.