For Ukrainian immigrant Olivia Babin, the fireworks bring back fond memories. She remembers Ukrainian Independence Day in Kyiv as a child – everyone gathered on the Maidan, the main square, and mingled under the sparkling sky. This year, her 23rd in the U.S., she's trying to decide where to see the fireworks best: Hampton or Tuscan Village. She's very excited.

But this attitude is not universal among Ukrainian immigrants. Many of those who fled the country after the Russian invasion in February 2022 prefer to avoid the Fourth of July celebrations altogether. The roaring noise overhead brings back memories of war.

“For families who have heard the sirens and bomb explosions,” Babin said, “fireworks are devastating.”

Babin left Kyiv in 2001 for New Hampshire. She and her husband Andre decided to join Andre's family in Manchester and crossed the ocean with their three-month-old daughter and $700.

Babin grew up as a Baptist. In the Soviet Union, this was basically unacceptable.

“People only worshiped the government and the Communist Party,” she said.

As a child, she had to face the consequences. The other children at school made fun of her. Despite her excellent grades, she was not accepted into the merit program. Under the Soviet Union, she was not allowed to pursue higher education.

Even when the Union collapsed in 1991, prejudice against Christians remained.

“A whole generation of Ukrainians has lived with this mentality,” Babin said. “It's not going away just like that.”

Moving to the United States gave her freedom. Here, Christians do not have minority status. After retaking her bachelor's degree at SNHU (she had already completed her studies in Ukraine), she earned her master's degree in community engagement at Merrimack College.

When she moved, she experienced the expected culture shock. Kyiv is a bustling city, and Manchester seemed like a ghost town in comparison. But now, after two decades in the US and a US citizen, Babin has adapted. She is heavily involved in her local Slavic church and has come to enjoy the peace and quiet. In fact, she recently swapped her home in Manchester for Pembroke – it's quieter there.

“The longer I live here, the more I appreciate it,” she said.

But her roots in Kiev remain. When the war broke out, it took over her life. Part of her family fled to New Hampshire and expanded their household by twelve members. Her two brothers are drafted. She worries about them every day.

She had always considered returning to Ukraine as a possible future prospect for herself. Now that is no longer the case. So, for her own good, she is trying not to worry about the news.

“It really makes me sad that it's still going on. There's no solution and my people are suffering,” she said. “So I'm taking a look at it, but I'm not going into all the details because that distracts from my work and my life.”

Maintaining their ties to their homeland while adjusting to their new life is a difficult balancing act, especially when their homeland is under such threat. And in their experience, it is almost impossible for the new wave of immigrants coming from war to find that balance.

“We decided to come here,” Babin said. “For them, it was not a decision. It was necessary.”

When she asked some friends from her church what they were planning to do on the Fourth of July, it never occurred to her that the fireworks would be a problem for them. She invited them to come with her to Hampton or Tucson Village. They said no.

This year, her third Fourth of July since the invasion of Russia, she is paying attention to the intricacies of the holiday for her people.

“For me, it's joy,” she said. “It's always been joy. It's always been a celebration and a fun experience. But for them, it's traumatic. So I put myself in their shoes.”

Sofie Buckminster can be reached at [email protected].