Beneath a three-story atrium in what was once the Lenin Museum, young and old Ukrainians shuffled up to counters labeled Shelter, Legal Aid, Information, Psychological Counseling and Lost and Found. Exhausted youths reclined on dingy mats in the basement among piles of fruit, potatoes and bottled water. Hawk-eyed security guards wearing white knit caps queried aspiring visitors about their business and their documents.
This is the nerve center for demonstrations that have shaken Ukraine for the past 13 days. It houses the commanders of ranks of student groups, political activists and professional and women's organizations. Together, they have formed part of a massive civic mobilization mounted by supporters of Viktor Yushchenko, an opposition candidate fighting to win a disputed Nov. 21 runoff election for the presidency in this fractured country.
Demonstrators, who by the hundreds of thousands have occupied Independence Square in central Kiev and blockaded government buildings, celebrated a Supreme Court decision Friday that threw out the results of the runoff. The court scheduled a new election between Yushchenko and Prime Minister Viktor Yanukovych for Dec. 26.
Yet the demonstrators — students, workers, retirees and business people — have not packed up, even though fatigue was visible on their drawn faces. Many spoke darkly about their fears that maneuvering by President Leonid Kuchma and his favored candidate, Yanukovych, would somehow undermine their aspirations.
'Orange revolution'
So the self-declared "orange revolution" goes on. The protesters in Independence Square, decked out in orange ribbons, scarves, caps and slickers — the color of Yushchenko's campaign — wiggled to the rhythm of live heavy metal music and listened intently to political speeches.
Along sidewalks and cobblestone streets, crowds chuckled at caricatures of their political adversaries: Kuchma, the outgoing president, Yanukovych, and Russia's President Vladimir Putin, who through his support of Yanukovych has become a villain among opposition forces.
The demonstrators' desires, however, transcend the destiny of their candidate. In conversations over the past few days, protesters expressed a wish to carry Ukraine not only to democratic rule but also to alter the fundamental direction of the country's history.
For more than three centuries, Ukraine has been the prize of Russian czars and Soviet leaders. Its territory has been a battlefield of vicious wars and political repression. Yushchenko's supporters say their goal is to face West, a compass point they believe will end Ukraine's history as a pawn of their northern neighbor.
"This is not a movement about one candidate or clean elections. It is much wider in scope. We want to take Ukraine to a new level and a common vision. For 300 years we have been the playground of different states. We didn't feel ourselves Ukrainian, but millions of detached atoms. Now, we are becoming one large community," said Andriy Parubiy, self-styled "commander" of the operations at the former Lenin Museum, now called Ukraine House.
"We want to have a civilized country like all the civilized countries in the world, for the first time," said Nina Pikrotenko, a store owner in Kiev, expressing an oft-repeated desire of many Ukrainians.
A disciplined, determined protest
To reach such goals, activists have organized a disciplined and determined protest. The atmosphere is as intense as the crushed democracy rallies in Beijing's Tiananmen Square in 1989, as unflinching as the demonstrations that swept Eastern Europe on the eve of the Soviet Union's collapse and as light-hearted as Woodstock, without the overlay of drugs and sexual abandon.
Kuchma has launched a struggle of attrition, international diplomats say, in hopes of derailing Yushchenko's candidacy and getting an ally of his own into power. Kuchma has not commented on the Supreme Court decision. Nor has he ratified recent parliamentary votes to dismiss Yanukovych and his cabinet and fire the Central Elections Commission, which the court ruled had permitted "systemic violations" of electoral law.
"Tactically, Kuchma needs time to find his way out of a maze," a senior diplomat said. "He is a survivor."
If Yushchenko ultimately wins, he would face an array of severe economic problems that include heavy deficits, difficulties in making pension payments and high unemployment. He also would have to deal with unhappy voters largely concentrated in the eastern and southern sections of the country who supported Yanukovych.
Yushchenko's political inclination to compromise has also worried the more idealistic among his supporters. The divisions surfaced last week when he agreed, after talks with Kuchma, Yanukovych and foreign mediators, to withdraw demonstrators from around public buildings. The protesters disobeyed.
"There is a certain tension between Yushchenko and the street," Parubiy said. "The street wants action, but it respects Yushchenko's desire to succeed through political channels."
The former museum is effectively the headquarters for the opposition supporters. Shortly after the Nov. 21 vote, protest leaders commandeered the building, which is officially under control of Kuchma's administration. They say the building overseers let them in voluntarily, but government prosecutors have opened a criminal investigation of its takeover.
Parubiy works out of a small office in the basement. Unarmed security guards screen visitors. On the floor above, a beehive of volunteers assign housing to out-of-town demonstrators, provide advice to weary protesters seeking psychological help, medicine to those with sore throats, cheese and baloney sandwiches to the hungry, and attorneys in the case of arrests.
Hospitals, mostly in Yushchenko's stronghold in western Ukraine, have sent medications. Private businesses in Kiev have provided everything from paper to computers. Restaurants and grocers have sent food. Residents of Kiev have volunteered space in their apartments. University students pile into dormitories. Money is collected at a desk in the atrium. Parubiy said everyone is a volunteer.
Parubiy organized protests in the 1990s, when Ukraine negotiated giving up half the naval Black Sea fleet to Russia. He is currently a member of the town council of Lviv, near the Polish border which favored Yushchenko and is fervently oriented toward membership in the European Union.
"I've never set up anything so big," said Parubiy. "I'm a bureaucrat, after all. I have to know how to organize logistics."
It is hard to go far without meeting someone who is from Lviv or other western cities. Natalya Hot, an obstetrician from Lviv, arrived a few days ago after hearing a televised appeal for physicians. "My husband is not too happy about it," she said. "I left the two kids at home with my mother. He thinks I should be taking care of them."
Just a few blocks from headquarters, protesters on Khreschatyk Street have set up a tent town, one of several scattered across Kiev. Clusters of pup tents alternate with kiosks dispensing dumplings, wood for fires set in rusty barrels for warmth, medical clinics and prayer tents.
On one side of the street, the Shato Restaurant — pronounced "Chateau" — houses an office of Pora, an anti-Kuchma student organization.
"It's not just getting rid of Kuchma and this criminal government. We want to be with the West and be sure to be able to work in freedom," said Aleksander Zakletsky, an graduate student in environmental studies who dispenses medicine and information. He sports a black beret and abundant beard.
On the other side of the street stands a sound stage, one of several in Kiev from which rock groups have blared music in support of the protesters. The orange revolution has projected an image of cool. While government television broadcasts images of Kuchma's unchanging, dour expression, videos on private stations show pink-cheeked youths bouncing to hip-hop music.
In televised imagery produced by the orange campaign, there is also a nod to the Ukraine popular iconography: wrinkled babushkas in rough woolen shawls shaking their fists and calling for change and kids in overstuffed jackets flashing V-for-victory signs. This may have been history's only political protest where graffiti has been written on walls with snow.
"This is fun and it's very serious," said Oxana Atamaniuk, 20, a psychology student running a small counseling service in a tent. "The music helps relieve stress, and believe me there is a lot of stress."
Back at headquarters, Parubiy fielded calls on requests for food and computers. Parubiy said he was both confident and wary. "We know victory is almost there, but not there yet. I believe we will make it, but ... " he said, his voice trailing off to silence.