A park that belongs to everyone
As a child, I felt the City Garden was something mysterious, magical, and distant. I lived across from Hurov Park, in a different district of Mariupol, and we mostly went to the City Garden during holidays, when the park looked especially elegant and festive. I always talked my mom into riding the roller coaster, my favourite amusement ride in the park. I always wanted to ride on the Ferris wheel. Unfortunately, it was dismantled before my dream could come true.
The archway at the main entrance commemorates the year the park was founded, 1863. I didn’t attach much importance to that number when I was little. Yes, it must have been a long time ago, but then it seemed to me that the park had always existed. My grandmother told me she used to take my mom to the rides when she was a child, and grandma herself was probably taken there by my great-grandmother. I dreamed that one day I would go there with my own children.
Apart from the rides, what drew me to the City Garden was its fountain. It stands right in the middle of the park, and there is a viewing platform offering an incredible view of the sea immediately behind it. There were several gazebos along the outermost alley, but you were seldom lucky enough to find a place to relax there: people often came to the spot precisely for this reason and sat there for a very long time, looking at the shore from up high.
As an adult, I chose an apartment as close as possible to the City Garden so that I could walk there whenever I wanted. My friends and I hung hammocks on the trees and considered this place “exclusively ours”. I think many townspeople viewed the park like that, but each person’s love for it was infused with their own private meaning. However, one thing united all of us: in our eyes, the City Garden was inseparable from everyday life, it was simply impossible to imagine Mariupol without it. The garden had been there, was there and had to always exist; it was difficult to imagine its fate differently. I think this tenderness, so customary for us, contained an unconscious claim: this city is ours, we have a right to it. I never actually reflected on the City Garden’s importance for me until the hand of oligarchy encroached upon it.
At the beginning of spring 2021, the community was shaken by the announcement of the Metinvest holding company: a private university was to be built in Mariupol on the very territory of the City Garden. I was indignant. The very idea of such a brazen assault on an urban oasis seemed outrageous. As an adult, the garden no longer seemed so big to me: I knew every alley like the back of my hand and could tell the trees where I hung my hammock apart from other trees. This green corner in the midst of major streets with their hustle and bustle was actually quite tiny, but surprisingly important. My friends and I, like everyone who loved and treasured the City Garden, could never agree to entrust it to people just wanting to make a profit. After all, places like our garden have their own value, a value that cannot be monetised.
The Metinvest project called for the construction of a 12-story building right in the middle of the park. This modern educational building was meant to become a student “magnet” and revitalise the old part of the garden. It was pointed out that the choice of this particular location was guided by the example of the world’s leading universities whose educational buildings were all located amid urban green zones. Among additional advantages, the restoration and reconstruction of the entire park were mentioned, as its territory was reportedly in a neglected state. But the townspeople were worried about quite a different matter. The park is situated on a slope which can crumble over time, so the construction of a multistory building could contribute to the further shifting of the soil, risking the final loss of our treasured City Garden. Above all, the community did not trust the potential investor: people were afraid that the garden would become simply a piece of land attached to a private building, nothing more. I shared such fears, and thus could not allow this to happen.
The plot intended for construction was already leased by Metinvest long-term. Earlier, there had been an open-air theatre there, but it did not leave a trace in my memory, as I was too young at the time. On the other hand, I remember the “funhouse” with distorting mirrors which later opened on the same premises. The plot of land was designated for recreational use, so the last thing that Metinvest needed done before the start of the construction was to change the land use purpose from recreational to educational. Issues like that are considered during city council meetings, where the council adopts or rejects the proposed changes. Local residents were set on ensuring the latter outcome and saving the City Garden from being built over. Education is great, but new educational opportunities shouldn’t come at the cost of the destruction of city parks.
The irrepressible voice of the community
The meeting of the city council deciding the fate of the park was scheduled for 31 March. On 28 March, the Sunday preceding the date, the park was filled with people holding posters and voicing their one demand to members of the city council: the construction on the territory of the City Garden should be stopped. On that day, it became clear how wide a variety of people wanted to preserve the garden: there were elderly people, active grandmothers, neighbourhood residents, young people and students, families with children, and teenagers among the protesters. No one was unmoved, it seemed. People chanted slogans and proudly raised the posters, delivered loud speeches and appeals into the microphone. But was the city council going to take the opinion of the community into account? We waited for their meeting.
On 31 March, people gathered near the district administration, where the meeting was taking place, in order to reiterate their position. Some held hand-drawn posters, some collected signatures against the construction of a high-rise building on the territory of the century-old park… Someone else had a bucket of coloured children’s chalk. Together, we started drawing trees and flowers symbolising the City Garden and its primary purpose on the asphalt. In addition to the drawings, an inscription appeared in front of the administration: “Save the City Garden from the Tower Blocks”. People in the administration building could easily read the huge colourful letters through the windows. “Akhmetov is a profiteer”, although written in smaller letters, was also easy to read from above.
It turned out we waited in vain that time: the city council never got to the issue of the City Garden, leaving it unresolved. The question was to be discussed during the second part of the meeting, the date of which had not been set yet. So it was too early to throw the posters away: the next protest action was planned for 4 April in the City Garden. People began to disperse. I, too, left and went about my business: I had several meetings in the area. In a few hours, when I was about to go home, I saw public utility services cleaning the asphalt next to the administration building. Supervised by a member of the city council, a cleaning machine was brushing away the chalk flowers and words we had drawn on the ground. Without having to comment, the position of the city council was still abundantly clear. If the inscriptions on the asphalt were being wiped off, it meant they had been noticed, the council just chose to continue ignoring the opinion of the community. At that moment, I felt the urge to proclaim our right to the city even louder.
On the next day, 1 April, the fight continued, but events took an unexpected turn. The City Council organised “public hearings” regarding the City Garden. They forgot to inform the public, though. We learned about the event by chance, from a friend who happened to be passing by. Of course, there was no way we could miss it! We quickly called a taxi and rushed to the event. Moreover, we told our journalist friends what was happening. The organisers probably expected to hold a question-and-answer session and get the picture they wanted, that of a satisfied community, but the opposite happened. The hearing turned into a raucous brawl in which everyone, including the facilitators, tried to outshout the other. The community didn’t waver. We firmly stood our ground in the face of manipulations along the lines of “If you are against the university, you are against education”: the university could be built elsewhere. The hearing ended without reaching an agreement. Later that week, the authorities tried to feign interest in hearing the public’s opinion again, with much the same result.
The last battle
The date of the second plenary meeting of the city council was announced. The fate of the city’s favourite park was to be determined on 15 April. We prepared for action again and agreed to hold another rally in the City Garden on 11 April. Our office at work turned into a revolutionary headquarters: we printed leaflets and distributed them to passers-by on the streets, pasted up announcements about the event, and spread information on social media. Everything we did became part of a big outreach campaign. We wanted to engage as many city residents as possible, getting them to take an active role in determining the park’s fate. A number of people said, “We already know, we will come!”; some hadn’t known about the attempted attack on the City Garden until they heard the news from us. People expressed outrage and promised to come to the rally. I felt I was a part of social change and realised clearly, probably for the first time in my life, that the park belonged to each and every one of us.
On the day of the rally, the City Garden was full of people. It looked like there were many more of us than before, and this produced a feeling of collective strength and support. The potential construction site had been fenced off. However, can anything stop an idea whose time has come? That time, chalk would not have sufficed. The fence was painted with the words “THERE SHOULD BE A GARDEN HERE!”. After all, that really was the case. The people of Mariupol read poems dedicated to the City Garden into the microphone, and a woman who lived in a nearby street composed a song. I looked at what was happening and found it hard to believe that the city council could just take our favourite place away from us. Given the resistance, it seemed out of the question.
Now we were waiting for the final city council meeting. Discussing likely scenarios of how events could unfold, activists clearly indicated that they were ready to continue fighting even if city authorities allowed the construction of the university to proceed. The wait proved shorter than we had expected: the day before the meeting, “Metinvest” withdrew its project. Nevertheless, many people gathered near the administration building: we came there to rejoice together. Members of the city council expressed sadness and described the feeling of “emptiness”, which became a meme. We talked animatedly about the events of the past weeks and felt overjoyed. The garden was to remain a garden, we had won!
The legacy of the struggle
In the end, the City Garden remained intact. I could say that everything continued as before, but this would not be entirely true. As well as the garden, we have something else now: a powerful and inspiring sense of unity. Before, we hardly gave much thought to the fact that we have such a beautiful garden and, most importantly, that we have an indisputable right to decide its fate. To decide it together, as a community, as a well-coordinated team brought together by common values and love for our native city.