It’s a warm Thursday evening in downtown Kyiv, and one of the numerous pizza restaurants near Maidan Nezalezhnosti square buzzes with life.
In the main dining hall, groups of patrons dressed in camouflage and T-shirts with paramilitary symbols occupy several long tables beneath banners of Ukrainian army formations and volunteer battalions hanging on the walls.
Relaxed and easygoing, the guests stuff themselves with pizza and beer. Some crack jokes to loud bursts of laughter. Others sit quietly, sipping drinks and listening to the surrounding conversations in several languages — primarily Ukrainian, Russian, and English.
But one seat at a small table in the corner is empty. There, a white candle burns in a glass next to a one-person dining set and a red rose. Not one of the guests takes this seat. It is a monument to soldiers who fell in combat.
Eventually, a well-built man in his 30s dressed in a gray suit takes the floor. His name is David Plaster and he is an American.
“Welcome to another Drinkin’ Bros. Ukraine meeting,” he says as the conversations steadily die down.
“We invite you tonight to celebrate the brotherhood and sisterhood of those who served in uniform, or in plainclothes, to make this country a better place and to support the heroes who are fighting for this country. We now have guests from all parts of the world, guys that served in the Ukrainian military, or for Belarus, the Scandinavian countries, and even France and The Netherlands.”
After the welcoming speech, Plaster asks everyone to rise for a minute of silence. “It’s to remember those who can’t be here with us tonight,” he says.
Once sixty seconds have passed, the pizza party of former soldiers returns in full force.
In Ukraine, as many as 350,000 men and women have taken part in military operations to resist Russian aggression in the Donbas since 2014. And many have returned home with wounds — both physical and emotional. But in Kyiv, a veteran can take comfort in the fact that his frontline companions stay with him in post-combat life.
This is the reason why Drinkin’ Bros. Ukraine meets twice a month on Thursdays: so veterans can join in this fraternal order and, if necessary, unburden their souls. The meetings are held at Pizza Veterano, a military-style pizza place iconic among those who have served in the Donbas.
At Drinkin’ Bros., “one can always count on support, advice, a joke, and the empathetic shoulder of a brother-in-arms who understands your situation perfectly and is able to help you psychologically better than a doctor,” Leonid Ostaltsev, a Ukrainian army veteran and the founder of Pizza Veterano, said.
Although it is mainly a military party, anyone is welcome to join and have pizza and a beer, community members say. As a result, since November 2017 the project has also attracted dozens of civilians, including foreigners with a military past living in Kyiv.
Members of the Drinkin’ Bros. community chat at Pizza Veterano in central Kyiv on July 19. (Volodymyr CHeppel)
‘Never drink alone’
Drinkin’ Bros. Ukraine actually follows an American tradition: “buddy care” among former soldiers.
It takes its name from a highly-popular American veteran-friendly comedy podcast, Drinkin’ Bros. on iTunes, that entertains its audience with dark, masculine humor peppered with enormous amounts of profanity. Since its inception in late November 2015, the podcast has presented itself as a group of friends who gather together twice a week “to make sure you never drink alone…at least that’s what their excuse is.” It also promotes veteran-owned businesses throughout the United States.
Moreover, the Drinkin’ Bros. has a huge Facebook group of some 97,000 subscribers that also presents itself as “a fantastic mixture of veterans, civilians, and misfits” where anyone can “hang out with other awesome people, raise a glass and have a good time.”
This philosophy of sharing thoughts and feelings within the metaphoric circle of friends having a beer together inspired David Plaster, who has lived in Kyiv since 2012, to establish a local Drinkin’ Bros. chapter for Ukrainian fighters in the war in Donbas.
Beyond that, Plaster runs a charity called Anomaly, which, among other things, provides combat medicine training for the Ukrainian military. Since 2014, at least 7,000 soldiers of Ukraine’s Armed Forces and National Guard have participated in Anomaly’s training programs, according to Plaster.
The organization’s veteran care projects have an extremely broad potential audience.
Despite its massive community of soldiers, Ukraine still does not run a proper universal program to provide decent social adaptation, employment, and psychological help to demobilized veterans. Instead, veteran care in Ukraine often still falls on the shoulders of civilian activists, charities, or veteran-friendly businesses.
Against this backdrop, the suicide rate among veterans has risen. According to rough official estimates, between 500 and 1000 Ukrainian combat veterans have taken their own lives since 2014, likely due to post-traumatic stress disorder, unemployment, drug and alcohol issues, or family troubles.
Drinkin’ Bros. primary goal is to not leave those who are suffering to face their own demons alone.
“We have this one rule,” says David Plaster. “And that rule is — if you do drink, never drink alone. Whether it’s alcohol or non-alcohol, it doesn’t matter, the goal is the same. The idea is if you have something to talk about, it’s better to think about it, speak about it, and if you need to: drink about it. ”
“But if you do that alone, you find yourself lost in the problem.”
Despite its unequivocal name, the community is not necessarily about drinking. The image friends having a beer is a metaphor: many of those attending the meetings do not consume alcohol at all.
“When you invite people into Drinkin’ Bros., you’re not necessarily inviting people to drink with you,” Plaster says. “You’re just sharing a community where they can talk about what’s most important to them, and a close setting that allows this.”
