The Freedom Convoy

Those driving the 27th Freedom Convoy are a mix of people from across Europe and as far afield as Turkey, the U.S, and Bolivia. They all share a passion for Ukraine’s cause, but none were involved with Ukraine before the war. They all share a sense that this is a bigger fight.

Stefan, 65, is retired and this is his first convoy. He was born in the German Democratic Republic. As a university student he did an exchange year in St Petersburg during the Soviet Union: “I know the Russians, I know that if Ukraine does not win, the war will come to us, I don’t have children, but I have friends who do, and I know what will happen to Europe is we lose this.”

Renaud, 76, from Belgium, normally runs a twice-yearly flower festival on his family estate. He drove in his first convoy a year ago. “I’ve never liked or trusted Putin, so I had to do something to help,” said Renaud, who was a soldier during his national service. “My heart is with the soldiers; I have an affinity to those who serve.” This is his seventh convoy, he has paid for two 4x4s.

Florence, also from Belgium, is a senior manager in corporate PR. She has a husband and son. Looking back, she is embarrassed at how little she understood about Ukraine and the war. As the images of suffering filled the news, she followed Ukrainian mothers online whose sons were serving in the military, empathising with their perspective. Video of the Freedom Convoys popped up her feed: “I assumed these were guys with big connections, so I will never get there.”

Not long after she connected with Renaud on Twitter and realised that the convoys were open to those who contributed. She used to donate monthly to the traditional big NGO. Now she donates to the 69^th where she can see the impact. Her first convoy was two months ago: “I was emotional, happy to do something bigger than myself.”

The power of the internet is that people no longer have to passively consume news nor rely on traditional NGOs to make a contribution. Intermediaries are increasingly unnecessary. People can take direct action. And for Ukraine, they do.

The core of the convoy remains the Estonian tech and startup community.

There are two generations, those who were born and lived under Soviet occupation, and those born after.

Jurgen, 49, owns a software company, has a wife and teenage son and this is his first convoy. His view of the threat to Estonia reflects many of the group born in Soviet times: “We understand this in our bones. Everyone in Estonia has a personal connection in their family to this history. Mothers, fathers, grandfathers, grandmothers, they have been through the "Russkiy mir" (Russian World), and they know what it is and what it brings.”

“It's very simple for us, that Ukrainians do what they do for all of us, all Europeans," he says.

Friends Birgit, 30, who works for an IT start up, and Helery, 31, who works for a tech investment fund, are the youngest members of the convoy, both born in a free and independent Estonia. For them, the war had changed their perspective of the future.

Helery decided to make the trip when she listened to someone who had driven on a previous convoy talk at a charity art auction in December to raise money. “One day Ragnar told me - now is your chance to go. I said yes," she recalls.

She told Birgit who replied: “I'm coming!”

“It was a three second decision,” said Birgit, who decided not to tell her mom. “She will know after I'm back,” she says.

The war has made the stories of Soviet occupation they grew up listening to more real. “We were generation for whom war was has always been a far topic, you see it in movies, but now it was in Europe, and the attacker was Russia,” Birgit says.

Helery agrees: "Even though we haven't experienced itself, it's like part of our DNA. We know that we don't want this and we have to do everything that we can to make it stop before it reaches us.”

The biggest change for Helery has been her perspective of the type of work she might do: “As an investor, my main goal has always been like, can we save the polar bears? And can we save the forest? And what can we do to find solutions to problems that help us all live a better life?”

Helery recalls the comments of an Estonian military officer at a tech conference in Tallinn. He was asked what three ideas the tech sector could work on to help Ukraine. “My first thought was that, okay, we're gonna talk about how to de-mine the country or rebuild schools or something," Helery says. His answer surprised her: "The military guy said, 'We need three things, guns that kill at 5, 10 and 50 kilometres,' and this just like, it made this really big switch in my mind. Everything that I have been working towards until now has to change if we want to be able to work on those things later."

Neither Helery nor Birgit are comfortable with the change, but as Helery reluctantly concludes: "I do see that it's really necessary to do it. We don't have the luxury in tech to say that I don't invest into defence tech, because I don't like shooting people, that moment has passed.”

For now, for both, the biggest anxiety is the 30-hour drive ahead.

“On Monday, I woke up, and I was just telling myself, there's only one big thing I need to do this week, which is just drive to Ukraine, because the car is the thing that we're bringing, and you can, like, fall asleep and crash it,” says Birgit.

They have packed their car with healthy snacks and a made playlist to get them through.

“I do it for their future.”

As we leave, people are already planning their next fundraiser and convoy. “The power of Help99 is the humour of NAFO, and the camaraderie,” says Renaud.

We are all tired, buzzing and emotional. I ask Helery about it: “It kind of makes you feel strange, because it seems like it's us that should be thankful and not them. So, it's kind of it's like a little bit cringe. Why are you thanking us? It should be the other way around!”

Three days later I’m having dinner at a friend’s apartment in Kyiv with the random assortment of people around the table. I tell them about the convoy. A Scottish farmer next to me laughs: “I’m doing exactly the same.” He raises funds among the farming community, buying 4x4 vehicles and driving them to Ukraine. In three weeks, he will deliver vehicles to Ukrainian friends on the frontlines in the east. He does this as often as he can.

Each week, since the first days of the war, groups of ordinary people from across Europe travel to Ukraine, delivering whatever vehicles, medical supplies, and aid they can. The Freedom Convoy is just one of many. Alone, they cannot sustain Ukraine. Only the industrial strength of governments can. However, these convoys are an expression of people's determination to do something practical to support Ukrainian soldiers.

As they get ready to catch the train back to Poland, I ask Peeter why he does this. He looks tired. He has a long trip home ahead of him, work on Monday morning and his family waiting for him. Next month, as he has done every month, he will lead another convoy from Estonia.

He pauses, looks at me directly, and says: “For my children. They are young. I do it for their future.”