Guest of the episode: Ukrainian soldier, writer, and popular blogger Valerii Markus.
Transcript of conversations
Nik Lysytskiy:
Hello, I’m Nik Lysytskiy, and this is Archetype of the Nation — a cultural project that explores the foundations of Ukrainian national identity: who we were, who we’ve become, what we have, and what we can be.
We search for answers in folklore, as well as in conversations with prominent representatives of our nation.
Today our guest is Valerii Markus — a soldier, writer, and popular blogger. Good afternoon, Valerii.
Valerii Markus:
Good afternoon.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Each episode of our project is dedicated to one of the core values that define the Ukrainian nation — one of the key elements of our identity.
Today, I’d like to talk with you about justice.
Valerii Markus:
Let’s talk.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What does justice mean to you?
Valerii Markus:
Justice is the harmony of society’s existence. We are all biological beings, and each of us has an inner sense of what is fair.
Even if we stay silent, at some point we begin to feel when something unjust is done to us — and when that injustice isn’t addressed or compensated, it builds up inside a person.
Inside one person, or within society as a whole. Think of the French Revolution — that tension eventually explodes.
Whether on the scale of an individual or an entire nation, it always erupts.
So justice is a natural, inner human need — a matter of psychology.
But it’s also important to distinguish between different levels of justice. The higher we rise up the social ladder, the more those ideas of justice differ from one level to another. Justice in our personal relationship is one thing.
When you’re responsible for a group of people — often without direct contact — your actions reflect a very different kind of justice. Because you’re not in direct communication with them, nor they with you. And the higher you go, the greater that difference becomes.
The criteria of justice shift with scale and context.
Understanding that is one of the key elements of leadership. And justice itself changes with each level of responsibility.
When you interact with people directly — that’s one thing.
When you command 3,000 or 5,000 people, or you’re a public official responsible for an entire community — that’s another form of leadership, a different way of communicating.
So justice takes many forms.
In daily life it looks one way, at work it’s another, and in politics it’s something else entirely. There are many such variations.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Next question. In one of your interviews, you mentioned that because of the videos you filmed and shared from the front, you were expelled from the ATO three times. That was back in 2015, right?
And you came back three times. Why? Was it a desire to see things through to the end?
Valerii Markus:
No, not at all. It wasn’t about any lofty moral or ethical ideals. I simply wanted to fight — and I wanted to make videos.
One contradicted the other, but somehow I managed to find a balance. That’s all. I was twenty, maybe twenty-one.
Of course, I wanted to record my participation in such a large historical event — not just as someone who happened to be there, but in a role that carried a sense of honor and respect.
Come on, we’re talking about a twenty-year-old kid.
So there was nothing high-minded about it — just a desire to show how “cool” I was at war, and to document my involvement in an important moment from a respectable position. That’s it.
The army is a conservative institution, especially back then, when social media was something distant and unfamiliar to most. Suddenly someone — me — was showing small pieces of the army’s inner life to the outside world. Not exposing secrets, just ordinary, everyday things, but even that was new.
The leadership didn’t like it. It didn’t cause harm, but for people used to total control, it looked like a loss of authority.
So the battalion commander ordered me sent back to base.
I was sent, but a week and a half later the company commander brought me back — someone had to do the work, after all.
Maybe he thought I wasn’t the worst soldier in the unit, so he compromised and sent me back to the front.
But somehow, word got back to the battalion commander that I was there again. During the next rotation, he sent me to the rear once more — or enrolled me in a training course somewhere far away, in the Mykolaiv region.
So I went. Spent a few months. And then — back to the ATO.
And that’s how it went.
By the way, that quote you mentioned comes from a really old interview — probably ten years ago. I must have been 23 or 24 then, and I likely said it to sound more impressive.
Like, “They kicked me out for that.”
But honestly, it was all trivial. It doesn’t really matter how I told it — the story itself was insignificant.
Nik Lysytskiy:
If you were to start blogging and filming today — the present-day Valerii Markus, with all your life and military experience — where would you begin?
Valerii Markus:
I wouldn’t start at all.
Nik Lysytskiy:
You wouldn’t start a blog?
Valerii Markus:
No. It’s just not interesting to me.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Throughout your life, you’ve probably heard phrases like “Don’t stand out,” “Follow the chain of command,” “This is the army — there’s order here.” How did you react then, and how do you react now?
Valerii Markus:
When people talk about subordination — it doesn’t happen often, but when it does — I usually ask them what subordination actually means. And it turns out they don’t really know themselves.
Nik Lysytskiy:
But did it affect you — back then or now — when people said, “Follow the chain of command,” or “Don’t stand out”?
Valerii Markus:
No.
Nik Lysytskiy:
It didn’t bother you?
Valerii Markus:
Not at all. I can’t even imagine why it would.
If someone says something like that, I can still do the opposite if I believe it’s necessary. Why should that affect me?
Nik Lysytskiy:
Have you ever experienced friends or close people turning away from you — not supporting you — because you went against the system or criticized someone?
Valerii Markus:
No, thank God. Among friends — never.
Maybe some people on the periphery, yes. That’s life: some come, some go. Some are temporary.
But that’s not about friendship. Real friends are different — they’re family.
There’s never been a case like that among friends.
Of course, people who are just passing through your life — that’s another story. Even if they don’t support you, I wouldn’t take it personally.
Because I firmly believe that no one owes me anything.
No one is obliged to support me — especially not at their own expense.
When someone does something that “the system” dislikes, and you publicly back them, the system immediately begins to see you as an enemy too. Why would anyone need that?
It’s someone else’s fight, not yours. Even if you sympathize, you’re not required to take up arms beside them — especially if you don’t fully understand the situation.
That’s why I never paid much attention to such things.
I don’t think that just because I believe I’m fighting for a just cause, everyone who disagrees with me is automatically a traitor.
Even neutrality doesn’t make someone “bad.”
If I’ve chosen my own path, that’s my decision, my problem.
Whoever wants to stand beside me — great. Whoever doesn’t — I still thank them, as long as they don’t stab me in the back.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Because that would be unjust.
Valerii Markus:
Why? Why is it unfair? What does “fair” even mean?
But it always bursts out — it always does.
Nik Lysytskiy:
So usually, when you criticized the system or went against it, you understood that, essentially, you were a lone warrior — that it all depended on you alone.
Valerii Markus:
You could put it more modestly. We were simply trying to do our job effectively.
If some rules made that impossible, we sometimes found ways around them.
“Fighting the system” sounds too grand.
We were just trying to do our work well — that’s all.
Nik Lysytskiy:
And what motivated you to do it well? What was the mission behind that drive?
Valerii Markus:
To build a solid case for myself — a good reputation.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Rebellion, protest, or even just criticism always involves a certain risk.
Have you ever felt like there was a line you couldn’t cross, because there’d be no way back?
Valerii Markus:
That line’s already been crossed — and everyone just galloped forward without even noticing.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Can justice exist without struggle?
Valerii Markus:
That sounds like a slogan, and it’s hard to discuss slogans constructively.
What does “justice without struggle” or “justice through struggle” even mean?
If one child hurts another and is punished — is that justice?
Probably, yes.
Was there a “struggle” there? No.
That’s why we need examples, something specific.
Nik Lysytskiy:
But in your life, haven’t you fought for justice — for yourself, for your family, your friends, your country?
Valerii Markus:
No.
When you find yourself in a position where you set the rules, the idea of justice stops being something spontaneous or abstract.
What people call “justice” is a tool.
You either know how to use it — or you don’t.
It’s like a drill: if you use it where it’s needed, everything works; if not, you’ll cause damage.
Justice works the same way.
As for “justice toward myself” — what does that even mean?
That I deserve better treatment, and if I don’t get it, I should feel resentment?
No. I’m not twelve years old.
The real issue is when people create rules that lead to injustice.
That’s when I draw conclusions about them — they’re just poor leaders.
It shouldn’t be that way.
Nik Lysytskiy:
So something needs to change.
Valerii Markus:
Well, yes. You just have to change it — not overthink it, just do it.
Alright, let’s have a drink to that.
Nik Lysytskiy:
But are you personally doing anything to change things in the country?
Valerii Markus:
In areas where I actually have influence — yes, I try to make a difference.
But grabbing at everything is pointless.
That’s it. I don’t hold grudges against anyone.
Here’s an example — just yesterday, the wife of one of our soldiers called me.
He’d been wounded and lost his limbs. After that, he was assigned to the 47th Brigade.
She said he’d fought there, been wounded there — but once he was injured, they just dumped him into the 30th Brigade.
Is that fair? No.
Is the 30th Mechanized Brigade supposed to be some kind of shelter for the wounded and unfit?
Is that fair to the people already serving there? To his brothers-in-arms?
It’s not fair to anyone.
It’s more than unfair.
This man had ambitions, dreams, convictions, a future. His beliefs and moral values led him to us.
He grew as a fighter within our brigade. We trained him, he trusted us, became part of our unit — and the moment he broke, like a toy, they threw him away.
To call that “unfair” doesn’t even begin to describe it.
And he’s not the only one.
When we speak about injustice as if it’s just a natural occurrence, we strip away responsibility from those who caused it.
There are specific people behind every such decision — first of all, the unit commander.
Either he made the decision himself or chose not to interfere when someone above him made it.
Because no one fought for these soldiers.
Did anyone stop to think how they’d feel after being cast out?
You were given human lives — and you used them like disposable tools.
The tool broke, and you tossed it aside.
No — it’s your duty. These people are the ones doing the work with their own hands, while you sit behind a monitor in a basement.
You have to care about what happens to them next.
Because they are people — human lives.
Justice is a tool — and in this case, it was used horribly wrong.
The result? Hundreds, if not thousands, of soldiers feeling betrayed, humiliated, broken.
Some lost their support system, their team, their identity.
A man without legs sits in his room, a flag of the 47th Brigade hanging on the wall — he doesn’t want to be “from the 30th.”
He’s broken.
Why? Because one commander simply doesn’t care anymore.
This isn’t just injustice — it’s indifference.
An indifference that’s crippling our society, the consequences of which we’ll be dealing with for the next ten years.
Yes, it’s injustice. But injustice has names. It has ranks and titles attached to it. These are decisions made by people.
Justice is a tool — one that can either give people strength and motivation to live and work, or break them completely.
And many have been broken.
When soldiers get injured and try to get discharged, the medical commission process (VLK) is pure hell.
It’s a systematic act of humiliation.
You’ve lost your legs, you’re in a wheelchair, and you expect — rightfully — to be treated with respect.
You did what others were afraid to do.
You sacrificed your health, and yet they treat you like a nuisance, as if you’re wasting their time.
This is the highest form of injustice — one that cripples the nation itself.
And again, behind this injustice are names, positions, and decisions that created this humiliating system.
When those who deserve awards don’t get them — and those who don’t deserve them do — everyone sees it.
Because the awards system itself is also a tool — a manifestation of justice.
You perform a heroic act — you deserve recognition.
You fulfill your duty — you deserve honor.
You show courage when others turn away — you deserve respect.
But that’s not how it works.
So you go through one assault, then another — and you start asking: “What else do I have to do to get this little medal?”
Then you see some girl jogging near Cambridge receiving one.
Is that injustice? Of course.
But it’s not abstract — it’s the result of specific people’s actions.
If we strip away the word “injustice,” we have to name names: so-and-so, a damn fool, gave an award to someone who didn’t deserve it.
Meanwhile, countless others did deserve it — even more than the person handing it out.
Why didn’t they get it? Because their commander didn’t like them, or they were too independent, or simply inconvenient.
What we call “injustice” is always the sum of specific actions by specific people.
Nik Lysytskiy:
You were a master sergeant — and you’ve said that justice is a tool.
Did you use that tool in your work, as a measure of your approach?
Valerii Markus:
As much as my resources allowed, yes.
But not everyone I nominated for awards actually received them.
Still, I can say with certainty: no one undeserving ever did.
Once, I brought a batch of award nominations to the brigade command.
All that was left was to write down the names of those being approved.
While I was there, that bag of awards just sat untouched — because apparently, no one cared enough.
When I transferred to another brigade, I later saw on social media that almost all those awards were given out by the next commander — to people who probably worked hard, but didn’t take part in assaults.
And this was a storm brigade.
If you have a hundred awards to give, you must set priorities clearly.
Those who take the greatest risks should receive them first.
Nik Lysytskiy:
The fact that you call justice a tool — when did that realization come to you? When you were already a master sergeant, or before?
Valerii Markus:
Honestly, I just put it into words now.
Nik Lysytskiy:
That’s a good idea.
Valerii Markus:
This maxim came out of dialogue. When you work with something long enough, you start to see the underlying algorithm—you read patterns from consequences, from how things manifest. A person might not understand what gravity is, but over a lifetime they learn that if you jump from the fifth floor, you die.
You might not know the formulas for gravity, acceleration, or mass, but you see countless examples: the egg you dropped as a child shattered. Justice works the same way. When you come into the army from the very bottom—not dropping in as a ready-made platoon commander who becomes a company commander two weeks later—you absorb things from empirical experience and from how people react around you.
These simple truths reach you almost at the sensory level. You just know you shouldn’t jump from that fifth floor—even if you can’t define gravity. Likewise, you grasp that if you do X, this group of people will be alienated.
And they’ll turn against you. And you command them. Next time you give an order, at best they’ll say, “Yes, sir,” walk away, and do nothing.
Then they’ll make up reasons why it didn’t happen. That’s it. Those foolish moves—which you could call injustices—have predictable consequences.
Work doesn’t get done. The unit’s effectiveness drops. Morale drops.
The unit’s trust in you collapses.
Nik Lysytskiy:
So injustice leads to loss.
Valerii Markus:
To a loss of trust.
Nik Lysytskiy:
And then that can lead to even worse outcomes.
Valerii Markus:
After that, anything can happen.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Your first book, “Footprints on the Road,” became a bestseller—5,000 copies in three weeks. And now it’s over a hundred thousand, right?
Valerii Markus:
Definitely more than a hundred thousand. I don’t know the exact number.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Did you expect that kind of success when you wrote or published it?
Valerii Markus:
We hoped for it.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What do you think drew readers to it?
Valerii Markus:
I don’t know. You’d have to ask the readers.
Nik Lysytskiy:
You self-published it with partners and even recorded a long video about how to publish a book yourself. You turned down offers from Ukrainian publishers. Why?
Valerii Markus:
Because the revenue split they proposed seemed unfair.
Nik Lysytskiy:
In your book, the main character says: “It was foolish people, in their endless desire to regulate everything, who invented good, evil, justice, and similar nonsense. Justice is not inherent to this world.”
Valerii Markus:
He says that.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Do you still agree with it?
Valerii Markus:
No. Not anymore. Back then, I hadn’t led large teams. I wrote that when I was 22 or 23. I didn’t have that kind of experience and I hadn’t yet realized that justice is a tool.
A collective, a society, can’t function without justice. It collapses. That’s why justice was invented.
It doesn’t exist in nature; it’s not a natural phenomenon. It’s a construct humans created.
And it works. It exists in our heads. It’s a social phenomenon.
That’s why justice exists. I wrote that people invented it—I still believe that.
Another matter is that I called it “nonsense,” and that’s not true. Maybe in a million years, after some evolutionary shift, it’ll look like nonsense. But not now.
It’s a human-made social construct as essential as money, the economy, the constitution. None of that exists in nature either. We invented it.
And these constructs inside us shape our lives and reality. So no, it’s not nonsense.
It’s essential for human society to exist and function. When people in charge don’t understand that, the results are tragic.
Nik Lysytskiy:
You wrote the book a long time ago. I thought about that earlier quote, and here’s another one:
“The real heroes in this war are few, and few know them. Few have the appropriate awards—because to receive awards requires not only a feat, but also a tongue, agile and moist. These are special people. They are naturally fair. And this is more a gift from God than a character trait. Being around such people makes you truly begin to believe that justice exists.”
Valerii Markus:
Something’s off in how that’s being read.
Nik Lysytskiy:
So you still believed justice existed back then?
Valerii Markus:
Let me orient it properly. “The real heroes are few, and few know them…” and so on—I remember. I get what you’re pointing at.
What I was trying to express is exactly what I said earlier: you see patterns before you can articulate a theory. You can’t yet write a law that explains the phenomenon, but through experience you start to catch regularities and learn how to work with them. That passage is about people who, at a visceral level, sense what justice is and live it out. Their deep awareness of justice shapes their worldview and their moral code.
They may not consciously analyze it that way, but I’ve met people like that. Many of them are gone now. That’s who I was writing about.
Nik Lysytskiy:
That’s probably the archetype of a hero—already a hero in folklore terms.
Valerii Markus:
It’s the archetype of the father—someone consistently fair. Even when he punishes you, the way he does it leaves you respecting him more afterward.
You feel it was just. You were punished, but even your inner defenses can’t convince you that he’s a scoundrel. That’s a talent.
The real leader administers punishment in a way that doesn’t humiliate your dignity. On the contrary, if you accept it with dignity, your self-respect can even rise—you’re given a path to exit the situation honorably, maybe even to demonstrate moral or physical strength. In the team, that can actually raise your standing.
That’s a talent. Those are true, natural leaders. And I think parts of it can be learned.
Nik Lysytskiy:
“Archetype of the Nation” is produced with the support of the Ukrainian Cultural Foundation and published in various formats. If you like what we do, listen, watch, read our episodes, and share your thoughts in the comments—every voice matters in this project. And of course, subscribe to our channels and pages so you don’t miss anything.
All the links are in the episode description. While preparing this episode, we looked into how justice appears in Ukrainian folklore and arrived at this idea: Justice is one of Ukrainians’ core ethno-mental landmarks.
The Ukrainian worldview is marked by a deep sense of truth, respect for fair judgment, equality within the community, and rejection of the ruling elite’s or an occupier’s imposition of will. Belief in punishment for wrongdoing and reward for just deeds runs through the entire folkloric tradition—from mythic prose to contemporary war songs.
Valerii Markus:
We said at the start this is a subjective story. A hundred years ago, a mass of people felt an injustice and, shouting “Take and share!”, simply seized property—including from people who had earned it honestly. From their point of view, dividing it was “fair.”
Nik Lysytskiy:
In our folklore, the hero usually fights injustice and confronts evil even without support. It’s an inner core—a conviction that truth is worth fighting for, even if the whole world is against you. Do you believe one individual can overcome injustice—change the system?
Valerii Markus:
One person?
Nik Lysytskiy:
Yes—one hero.
Valerii Markus:
People don’t change systems.
Nik Lysytskiy:
That only happens in fairy tales.
Valerii Markus:
A system is changed by another system. All systems are made of people. When an ecosystem forms within a system—small at first but self-sufficient and strong—it grows and begins to transform the host system.
That can be for good or for ill.
Nik Lysytskiy:
But can a hero inspire—society, everyone?
Valerii Markus:
If someone uses that hero’s sacrifice wisely, yes. That, too, is a tool. When we raise something onto a flag, we’re using a tool.
It can inspire—or it can be used to suppress or manipulate. The effects of a sacrifice aren’t automatic. It depends on what the living do with it afterward.
The person who sacrifices acts because of their moral system. You don’t make that choice for its long-term impact—you can comfort yourself with that thought, but it’s infantile because you don’t know. The certainty is that you must take this step now, even if you don’t know the outcome, because otherwise you betray yourself. Better to risk it—even die—than live with that shame inside.
So it’s less about “justice” per se and more about protecting your inner worldview—your value system.
Nik Lysytskiy:
But that value system is built, among other things, on an understanding of what’s fair and unfair.
Valerii Markus:
Everyone acts from a sense of fair/unfair—even thieves justify themselves. You think someone stealing money tells himself, “I’m scum; I don’t deserve to live”? No.
Everyone finds a rationale. “I stole it, and it’s fair—because of X, because of Y, because it was like this before, because Z. I do a lot of useful work, so I’m taking this upfront.”
Nik Lysytskiy:
In Ukrainian folklore there’s a fairly clear standard of what’s fair and what isn’t. If we ground ourselves in those basic values, we can judge accordingly. The real question is: which side will you choose?
Valerii Markus:
Look, justice is an entirely subjective matter. From a leadership perspective, the task is to define clearly what “justice” means — to find the average temperature in the room, so to speak — for the team you lead, while staying true to your own moral and ethical system.
If you act solely to please the majority, that’s one extreme — unfair treatment of individuals, like when injured soldiers are simply thrown out of the system as if they’re useless.
“You’re no longer needed.”
The opposite extreme is populism: when you see what the majority wants and just give it to them for the sake of approval.
Justice is subjective. As a leader, your task is to gauge how your actions affect the team’s climate — and how that reflects on you.
But that doesn’t mean the team’s sense of justice is always sound.
You might have a group of ten people who decide to “divide the loot,” so to speak. From my perspective, that’s wrong.
And if I follow their lead to satisfy their poor sense of fairness, that’s populism.
I’m no longer setting the rules — the crowd is setting them for me.
So it’s always a balance.
What matters most is that people at least have this inner compass — that they act guided by their own sense of fairness.
We’re talking about extreme cases here, thank God. I haven’t faced anything that bad personally.
I’ve worked with some difficult teams — very difficult — but I can’t recall a case where communication couldn’t be built, or where trust was impossible.
In most cases, you can find common ground, define the rules of engagement, and make it work.
Because there’s collective justice — and there’s individual justice.
And that’s an important distinction.
Nik Lysytskiy:
It’s time for our traditional game with the guest — let’s open our Folklore Chest. Today we’ve got proverbs and sayings about truth. Here’s how it works:
I start a proverb, and you finish it. You can use the traditional ending — or make up your own. Ready?
Valerii Markus:
Alright, let’s do it.
Nik Lysytskiy:
“The truth is brighter than…”
Valerii Markus:
(laughs) What’s so funny about it?
Nik Lysytskiy:
That’s allowed.
Valerii Markus:
Nothing comes to mind… I’ll make something up. It has to be clever and interesting — but still nothing’s coming. Next one.
Nik Lysytskiy:
“A lie stands on one leg, but the truth…”
Valerii Markus:
I don’t remember the original either, but… the truth doesn’t.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Let’s recall something about propaganda: “Not the friend who smears honey, but the one who…”
Valerii Markus:
Licks it off.
Nik Lysytskiy:
“The trouble in the world is when there is no…” What?
Valerii Markus:
Light.
Nik Lysytskiy:
And what else?
Valerii Markus:
Justice. Truth. Though… the truth isn’t that interesting, is it?
Nik Lysytskiy:
“Everything will pass, but one truth…”
Valerii Markus:
Will remain. Yes.
Nik Lysytskiy:
One last question before we wrap up. Are you working on a new book? I’m sure many people are curious.
Valerii Markus:
From time to time.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Will there be a place for justice — or injustice — in it?
Valerii Markus:
I haven’t thought in those terms.
Nik Lysytskiy:
After this interview, will you?
Valerii Markus:
Let’s say this — there’ll definitely be moments of injustice in it.
Nik Lysytskiy:
So it’ll be another personal story?
Valerii Markus:
Of course. We all write about ourselves.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Alright — time for our Blitz round. Seven questions, seven quick (or not-so-quick) answers.
What trait do you value most in people?
Valerii Markus:
A subtle sense of justice.
Nik Lysytskiy:
And which one do you think is the worst?
Valerii Markus:
Pride.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What inspires you?
Valerii Markus:
Pride.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What frightens you?
Valerii Markus:
Pride.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What helped you get through hard times in life?
Valerii Markus:
Pride.
Nik Lysytskiy:
What’s the main goal or mission of your life?
Valerii Markus:
To get rid of pride.
Nik Lysytskiy:
And finally — if you had to choose three words to describe Ukrainians, what would they be?
Valerii Markus:
Army. Language. Faith.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Thank you.
Valerii Markus:
Thank you.
Nik Lysytskiy:
Do you think justice is one of the core values of the Ukrainian people?
Share your thoughts on justice in the comments.
You can watch all episodes of Archetype of the Nation on YouTube, listen on your favorite podcast platforms, or read them at magicworld.com.ua — where you’ll also find popular science essays by folklorist Maryna Demediuk, and recordings of Ukrainian folklore performed by well-known actors.
Thank you for watching — and see you next time.
