Minnesota-raised 'Succession' director and his brother plead for help for Ukraine

Cinematographer Andrij Parekh, who grew up in the suburbs of Minneapolis, would love to work on a movie that explores the humanitarian crisis unfolding in Ukraine.

"It would be incredible to make something once this all settles down," said Andrij. "It's just right now, we're in a moment of shock. Civilians are being targeted. Cities are being decimated. It's an important story to tell."

We've all been shaken by the horrific images of Putin's bombardment of Ukraine. The outrage sears in Andrij not just because the onslaught is depraved — but because it is personal. It's an attack on a culture and country to which he has deep ties, including his younger brother, Mark, who had been living there for nearly two decades, right up until the invasion.

A feature film about Ukraine will have to wait, but Andrij, 50, is still using his lens to raise awareness of the crisis. On Instagram he posted a picture of himself holding his hand in the shape of the trident symbol of Ukraine and wearing a traditional shirt his grandmother gave him. He donned that same shirt while performing with the Cheremosh Ukrainian dance ensemble of Minneapolis in the 1980s.

"I wore it proudly when Ukraine was granted statehood in 1991 after the USSR crumbled. And I wear it proudly now, in the face of Russian aggression," he wrote in his post.

"I want people to choose a side. It feels like a watershed Churchillian moment in the history of the West," he told me. "It just feels like America and Europe have become very comfortable with their freedoms, and forgot where they come from and how they need to be defended. Ukraine has become a shining example of that."

If you are a fan of HBO's "Succession," you might recognize Andrij Parekh's name (pronounced AHN-dree PEAR-eck). Last year he won an Emmy for best director of a drama series for his work on the show. The Blake School and Carleton College alum lives in New York but spoke to me recently from Brussels, where he's shooting a new film. His brother, Mark, joined the call from Warsaw, after having made a dramatic voyage out of Ukraine.

A harrowing exit

A graduate of the University of Minnesota, Mark, 46, moved to Kyiv in 2004 for business. He says he had grown accustomed to Putin's bluster and previous invasions of the country.

"With a neighbor like Russia, you get on with your life," he said.

He had packed a light duffel bag just in case, but continued to stay in the capital even as troops built up around the nation's borders. A friend, a fellow American, came over to his apartment the night before the invasion.

At 5:05 the next morning, his buddy called him.

"He said, 'Did you hear that? I heard a bomb. It's time to go.' And so I said, 'I'll be downstairs in seven minutes,' " Mark recalled. "I closed everything up, went downstairs, and his car pulled up. And we were driving 100 miles an hour out of the city, and people were still going to work."

Mark had made one preparation that was key to him getting out of Ukraine: A few days before the invasion, he had mapped out a route to Romania, assuming that most people would flee west to Poland. He and his friend drove 600 miles on back roads until, after about 11 hours, they arrived at an impossibly long line leading up to the Romanian border.

Eventually, the men ditched their vehicle and finished the last three miles on foot.

They were standing in line when border guards announced that all men of Ukrainian citizenship ages 18 to 60 needed to stay in the country to fight in the war.

"It was terrible, because you have young couples, some with a 1-year-old or a 6-month-old," Mark recalled. "You see the wife holding the child, crying and begging for the border guard to let the husband go with them. The border guards are saying to the men, 'Are you Ukrainian patriots? If you're Ukrainian patriots, then turn around and fight.' "

Because they are U.S. citizens, Mark and his friend were able to cross into Romania. He's since resettled in Poland, where he and his boss, a Ukrainian American who runs a car import business, are trying to help other refugees find work and housing throughout Europe. Mark is planning to stay in the region as long as possible, to provide what help he can.

He said he's been humbled by the bravery shown by everyday Ukrainians who are holding their ground against the brute force of Russian troops. The woman who watches over his apartment building is in her 60s, and Mark calls her every day to check in.

"She says, 'Listen, Mark, I'm all right, I got my gun, and I'm ready to kill these guys,' " he said. "You see that heroism of the Ukrainian people, the spirit of the Ukrainian people, and the toughness of the Ukrainian people."

Mark said Americans who want to support Ukraine should consider donating to journalists in that country, so the truth can be told in the face of Russian disinformation. He suggested giving to Ukraynska Pravda or The New Voice of Ukraine. (I would also include a recommendation from my former St. Paul Pioneer Press colleague Brian Bonner, the Kyiv Independent. Bonner was previously editor of the Kyiv Post, and his former colleagues started the Independent.)

Ukrainian roots, planted in Minneapolis

The Parekh brothers are a long way from their childhood in Plymouth and Medina. Their father, Pravin, is from India, and their mother, Lesya, was born in a German labor camp and immigrated to the United States after World War II. The couple decided to lean heavily into Lesya's Ukrainian heritage while raising their boys.

On Saturdays, the brothers attended Ukrainian weekend school for language and culture followed by youth scouting activities — similar to Boy Scouts, but for Ukrainian kids. On Sundays, they served as altar boys in the morning at St. Constantine's Ukrainian Catholic Church and practiced Ukrainian traditional dance in the evening.

"We haven't been back to church since we were 16," Mark said with a chuckle. "We have enough credits to not ever have to go again."

Their mother, who taught at Wayzata Sunset Hill Elementary School, instructed a generation of students on how to decorate pysanky, Ukrainian Easter eggs.

But the culture that her boys clung to when they were growing up in the 1980s was cast under a shadow because Ukraine was not free. It was still part of the USSR.

"So there was a very strong cultural sense of what it was to be Ukrainian," Andrij said. "That has now re-emerged with this attack of Ukraine by Russia. I think Putin's desire to crush the Ukrainian identity has only fostered it in the strongest way."