© Fred Weir/The Christian Science Monitor
Col. Alexander Kruk, commander of Kharkiv region border guards, stands amid a completed section of the planned border wall. On one side, barbed-wire topped fence, watchtowers with cameras and motion detectors. On the other, berms and tank traps to slow down invading forces.
He says it will stop smugglers, illegal immigrants, subversives and, in a pinch, slow down an armored assault for a few minutes. "It's a border. It has to be defended, doesn't it?" he says.
Col. Alexander Kruk, commander of Kharkiv region border guards, stands amid a completed section of the planned border wall. On one side, barbed-wire topped fence, watchtowers with cameras and motion detectors. On the other, berms and tank traps to slow down invading forces.
He says it will stop smugglers, illegal immigrants, subversives and, in a pinch, slow down an armored assault for a few minutes. "It's a border. It has to be defended, doesn't it?" he says.
If it's ever completed, the wall will seal a frontier that, until last year, had always been wide open. Inaugurating construction here last fall, Prime Minister Arseniy Yatsenyuk indicated that much more than just a physical barrier was intended. "This will be the eastern border of Europe," he said.
But in nearby Kharkiv, an overwhelmingly Russian-speaking city of one-and-a-half million, mention of the wall is mostly greeted with snorts of irritation. The idea of splitting permanently and irrevocably from Russia wins virtually no acceptance. Many people here have family and friends in Russia, the local economy is heavily dependent on trade with Russia, and some say they just can't wrap their heads around the idea of a frontier being there in the first place.
Comment: It is sad to see the people of Kharkiv in such a confused state with no outlet to live their life as it once was.