I need ammunition, not a ride

Leadership is often portrayed through the symbols and ceremony of office. In I Need Ammunition, Not a Ride, Olga Harhaj strips those conventions away. Volodymyr Zelenskyy appears in the plain green shirt that became his wartime uniform, marked only by Ukraine’s trident. He sits before us not as a distant head of state, but as a person carrying the weight of a nation under attack.

The title invokes the words widely attributed to Zelenskyy when he declined evacuation from Kyiv during the first days of Russia’s invasion. His reported response became an immediate expression of defiance: a leader choosing to remain among those he had asked to resist.

Resolve tempered by exhaustion

Olga does not present a triumphant hero. Against a turbulent, unsettled ground, his direct gaze conveys resolve tempered by exhaustion and the burden of what may still be asked of him.

For Canadians, Ukraine is not a distant abstraction. Successive waves of Ukrainian immigration over more than a century have helped shape this country; today, more than a million Canadians claim Ukrainian heritage. These enduring ties of family, culture and memory help explain why Canada’s support for Ukrainian sovereignty grows not only from shared history, but from a broader belief that nations and peoples have the right to determine their own future.

Olga’s portrait asks what it means to stand on guard when sovereignty, freedom and identity are threatened. It also turns solidarity into a personal encounter. More than four years into Russia’s full-scale war — and more than a decade into its illegal occupation of Ukrainian territory — Zelenskyy’s gaze asks whether our concern can endure as public attention moves elsewhere, and whether standing on guard for our own values must sometimes include standing beside others as they defend theirs.