Ukraine Through the Eyes of Christian Borys

This interview delves into the role of social media in dunking Russian propaganda, the changes of Western perception of the full-scale invasion since 2022, and the impact it has on the Ukrainian and Polish communities in the West.

Ukraine Through the Eyes of Others is an exclusive series featuring international intellectuals, experts, and activists who have made Ukraine the focus of their research and advocacy. In this series, we explore their perspectives on Ukraine and discover how they support Ukraine in its fight against Russia’s aggression.

Let’s talk a bit about your journalism background. Could you go back to when Saint Javelin first began? Why did you create something like this, did you know what it would become?

No. I had no idea it would turn into what it has. I started this back in December 2021, when news first broke about the Russians amassing troops along the border. I had these group chats with journalists, analysts, and political experts who followed Ukraine and Russia. People started to talk more seriously about the possibility of a full-scale invasion. And when I was a journalist, that theme was brought up. I would go to Mariupol, and people would talk about it. “Is Russia going to conduct a full-scale invasion?” Every year, that topic would come up, and it almost became a joke because of how people would say it. At that time, it seemed impossible, so nobody took it seriously.

Then came December 2021, and people started talking about it much more seriously as evidence emerged that the Russians were aligning troops along the borders. At that point, I was just an ordinary person – not a journalist. I had a marketing company in Toronto. But I started looking and paying much more attention to what was happening. Then, I began to post on my social media – it made me feel like I had no followers; I was just posting to my friends. And I was posting stories I saw in the news, giving my perspective on it, and saying, “I can’t swear, but this is exactly why this is so stupid”. The Russians were saying one thing, but the evidence of their actions told a different story. So I started posting more and more about that. People seemed to like my perspective as a former journalist who no longer maintained neutrality. I was very openly pro-Ukraine, sharing my perspective from a personal point of view rather than as a neutral journalist. People started finding it funny, and it was getting shared and circulating widely.

Saint Javelin’s story goes back to February 15th or 16th. By that time, Biden had already made it clear that the US knew what the Russians were planning — they intended to invade, and it was only a matter of days. By then, I was convinced it was going to happen. A friend of mine mentioned that he had printed some Saint Javelin stickers. Saint Javelin (a meme which depicts a saint-like figure holding a Javelin missile, symbolising Ukraine’s resistance against Russian aggression — ed.) was a meme that existed at the time, but very few people knew about it.

It’s interesting because many think that “Saint Javelin” was coined afterwards.

I don’t even remember the origin of the name or anything like that at this point. Some thought I designed it, but I can’t draw, so that definitely wasn’t the case. On 16 February, a friend told me he had printed the stickers and sent them to friends and others to put on their laptops or wherever they liked. I thought that was a great idea for a fundraiser.

In my mind, I kept thinking back to when I was a journalist here. I visited the Carpathians (the mountainous region in the west of Ukraine — ed.) and attended a rehabilitation program for women and children whose husbands and fathers had been killed since 2014 (in 2014, Russia began the war by annexing Crimea and invading the east of Ukraine — ed.). That memory stuck with me. I wanted to do something to help those people – this was just days before the full-scale invasion.

I printed the stickers and posted a picture of them on Instagram, saying something like, “Hey, if anybody wants to buy one of these, they’re $10, and we’ll donate the money to Help Us Help,” which is the organisation that ran the rehab centre. I remember posting late at night, around 10 or 11 p.m., and within 30 minutes, people started messaging me saying they wanted one. I quickly built a website where people could buy a single sticker. That night, I received two orders before going to bed. By the next day, sales had reached $1,000.

I was shocked. I had thought it might reach $500 at most, but it had already doubled. Then, the day after that, it was $5,000. I only had 100 stickers, so I started to panic. How was I going to ship all these? What should I do? Do I need to buy stamps? How does this even work? And from there, it went viral. Donating to a cause or an organisation is one thing, but this has become something bigger. Saint Javelin became a symbol — something you could put on your car or laptop to say, “I support Ukraine.” And then, it just exploded.

Saint Javelin is essentially a company and an advocacy platform for Ukraine on social media. Why did you decide not to pursue the NGO route and instead take a business approach with social entrepreneurial aspects?

For me, it was a long-term strategy. Yes, you can donate to causes, but if we could create products people want or need to buy, they could become sustainable. There wasn’t any elaborate strategy at the beginning, but I figured we could create something that would last a long time and contribute consistently over time. I looked at companies like Patagonia and other social enterprises and thought, “If we can build something that has its engine, it can stick around for the long term.”

Initially, it was just the sticker, but then people started saying, “Oh, my country is contributing to this — can you create a saint for my country’s contribution?” Others requested hats, shirts, and various other merchandise. With all the demand for Saint Javelin products, I started thinking, “How do we make them here?” That’s when I realised we needed to turn this into a full-fledged business. Until then, it had just been a fundraiser.

What will happen to Saint Javelin once the war is over?

I realised I had created something bigger than I initially understood. I thought, “Okay, let’s turn this into an organisation that can endure in the long term. Let’s bring the maximum economic benefit to Ukraine.” So, we started looking for suppliers in Ukraine, differentiating products, and focusing on quality, among other things.

You were sanctioned by Russia in 2022. What did it mean for you?

It happened around April 2022. I remember looking at the list of sanctioned individuals, and it hit me. I’m just a regular guy; I wasn’t part of some large organisation or a politician or anything like that. I looked at the list and thought, “Oh, this person is a member of a political party, that person is part of a large organisation, and here I am on this list.”
So, clearly, I had created something that attracted a lot of attention and put a spotlight on me. It was strange — not shocking, but more like, “Okay, I guess people are noticing what we’re doing and seeing that it’s actually making an impact.” Enough of an impact for someone to decide I shouldn’t be allowed in their country.

What made that content so unique to so many people, especially for foreigners?

Initially, the content primarily resonated with an American audience because of the name. It was a tribute to the Javelin missile, which was the first major military aid item given to Ukraine. It was understood that if Russia ever launched a full-scale invasion, they would rely heavily on tanks. The Javelin was seen as Ukraine’s best chance to counter this threat, requiring minimal effort from the West.

At first, the audience consisted of Americans, followed by Canadians, then Europeans — all primarily English speakers. I guess it was hard for others to find our content. Ukrainians had already created plenty of memes, like really funny stuff. We were sharing funny things too. It’s strange to call it “funny”, but we were cheering on Ukrainian soldiers through our memes and videos. We were sharing things that, at that point, people didn’t know how to find, like Telegram videos and Twitter posts.

I knew where to find that content and focused on sharing what I believed most influential every day. Sometimes it was as simple as taking a screenshot of a newspaper article or sharing a video. It wasn’t always funny — it could be emotional, inspirational, or just about making fun of the Russian military. What resonated with American audiences, which at that point was the biggest audience for Saint Javelin, was that Ukrainians, who many people had underestimated, were showing the world that the Russian military was less powerful compared to what they claimed. Despite branding themselves as the second-best military in the world, Russia was being challenged by a smaller army with fewer resources.

Russia has been using memes to spread disinformation. How do you think they feel when they see their “weapon” being turned against them?

I had seen how effective Russians had been at spreading disinformation for so long. So, I think what resonated with people was that I didn’t try to dissect their disinformation — I just made fun of them. It was a refreshing change for social media. In newspaper articles, sometimes you can read a thousand words and still be confused about what’s happening.What I did was cut straight through the lies and expose them in a funny way. People seemed to like that.

Humour is often taboo in the context of war and conflict. But those who’ve experienced war firsthand, know that people on the front lines use humour as a psychological tool. American and European soldiers understood that and came to like it.

You were invited to speak at a NATO conference, where you discussed psychological operations and shared your unique approach. What role do you think individuals like yourself can play in countering propaganda or disinformation?

We do what they can’t; we deliver messages in ways their professional diplomatic organisations are not able to. We’re not bound by the same guidelines or protocols, so we do things they can’t because it would be too unconventional for them. At that conference, I showed one of the things we did — a video on Prigozhin — and it was utterly insane. I remember standing next to this French general, who was looking at me like, “Who is this idiot and why is he here?” Then I played the video, which recreated Prigozhin’s attempt to attack Putin using an AI-generated script. Now, picture a room of 500 NATO officials, including generals, watching that video. It was dead silent for about 30 seconds, and I remember thinking, “Oh, this was a bad idea.” Then, one person laughed — a very senior person. Once they laughed, everyone else felt they could share how they really felt. By the end, the whole room was laughing hard.

Some people have called Saint Javelin propaganda because of its one-sided stance on the war. How do you feel about that? Do you think there’s any room for neutrality?

Neutrality is an interesting concept because, when the reality of what’s happening is so clear, why try to find the benefit of the doubt for the other side? When you read an article that starts with “Russia says…” followed by a lie, I just don’t see the point in publishing that. By doing so, you’re amplifying disinformation, as what Russia said was already untrue. I don’t see how neutrality applies to a situation so black and white. Saint Javelin resonated with people — this war is black and white. If you look at conflicts post-World War II, especially those involving America, there was always debate: Should they be there? Should they not? What is the ultimate purpose? Take Iraq, for example. But with this war, it’s simple: Ukraine is a sovereign nation, and Russia invaded it.

Despite all the efforts to counter Russian propaganda, why do you think it’s still been so effective — if you believe it has?

It was very ineffective at the beginning of 2022, but over time its influence grew again. It was wildly effective from 2014 onward, and that frustration was part of what led to the creation of Saint Javelin. Take MH17: it was obvious what had happened, yet years of investigations were needed to debunk the Russian lies. Debunking organisations emerged because sifting through what the Russians were saying became a full-time job. Frankly, it’s a waste of time because they don’t care if you believe their lies. They just want to make you doubt the truth, so they flood the zone with countless narratives. With MH17, it was things like “Carlos” (a fake Spanish air traffic controller promoted by Russian media, who falsely claimed Ukrainian jets shot down the plane — ed.) or “there were already bodies on the plane,” or whatever else they could come up with. Their strategy worked really well from 2014 to 2022. But in early 2022, people stopped believing it because the situation was black and white. That’s when Russia ramped up its efforts.

As the war drags on, frustration plays into their hands. Misinformation like “Zelensky is spending billions of dollars shopping” or similar nonsense resonates, especially in divided societies like the US. However, it’s not just the U.S; these ideas resonate across Europe, Canada, and elsewhere. This is all connected to how long the war has dragged on.

If Western countries had supported Ukraine more aggressively from the start, we probably wouldn’t be in this situation — the Russian narrative would have lost its momentum. But the longer the conflict drags on, the more time they have to refine and spread their narratives.

What should we do to counter Russian disinformation and lies, especially in countries like the U.S., Canada, and other NATO members, whose support is vital for Ukraine?

There was a period when I felt what we were doing was incredibly effective, and I still think it was at the time. Back then, it was about disregarding and discrediting it immediately with humour. Humour resonates widely, but as time has passed, other global events have shifted attention away: conflicts elsewhere, extreme weather, political turmoil, and significant changes in Europe, for example. People’s attention has been pulled in different directions. I realised this during a CNN interview, when my segment was cut short because Roe v. Wade (the landmark 1973 US Supreme Court ruling recognising that the decision on terminating a pregnancy belongs to the individual — ed.), the abortion law, was repealed. It hit me — Ukraine was no longer the world’s focus.

Here’s an example: a film recently shown at the Toronto International Film Festival, Russians at War, was directed by someone who spent seven years at Russia Today. I haven’t seen it, but I’ve read the reviews. It’s a story about Russian soldiers, depicting them as ordinary people trapped in a situation beyond their control. The director somehow gained access to them “magically” without anyone noticing, and claimed she saw no war crimes, and neither did the soldiers. This narrative — “We’re not political people; we’re just ordinary folks trapped in a bigger thing” — is so strong. Russia often frames its soldiers as unwilling participants, almost victims themselves. It’s maddening because it muddles the truth and resonates with people.

Why do you think there’s such a strong willingness, especially in the West, to sympathise with the perpetrators of this war?

The West has a fascination with Russia. Russia has always been this enigmatic entity. Growing up in Canada, for example, we learned a lot about how evil the Nazis were, but very little about the Soviets. There wasn’t much about Stalin and all the things he did. This lack of understanding fosters a strange romanticism about Russia, an enemy of the West, but also a source of intrigue.

In journalism and media, I think there’s this desire to humanise Russians and ask, “Who are these people? What motivates them?”. But you don’t see that happening with groups like ISIS. Were people desperate to show the human side of ISIS? I don’t think so. It’s absurd, but this fascination perpetuates itself. I’ve had conversations with friends back home who argued with me, saying the Russians weren’t deliberately targeting civilians in Ukraine. But I know that’s not true, but people form their opinions and they’re stubborn.

Part of the issue is that people just can’t imagine how evil other humans can be. When you hear stories about mass rapes, murders, or even watch films like 20 Days in Mariupol, where the evidence is undeniable, it’s shocking. People can do unspeakable things to each other, but it’s so horrifying that I guess some people just don’t want to believe it’s true.

How do Christians feel about Saint Javelin as a symbol?

I had an old man come up to me during the tour at the Ukrainian festival in Toronto. He started yelling at me, accusing me of being sacrilegious. A lot of people were upset about it in the very beginning. But then we put up a mural on a building in Kyiv, and that became a big thing here.

When Elon Musk purchased Twitter, essentially turning it into a machine of disinformation, did you notice an impact on the platform? Saint Javelin was growing on Twitter before that deal was made. Have you seen any changes in the social media environment?

On Twitter, now you have to pay to get your messages seen, which feels like a Ponzi scheme in and of itself. Recently, I’ve seen that big accounts have said their reach has been dramatically reduced. I looked at Saint Javelin, and it hasn’t been the case for us — at least not in the last 30 days. Overall, we were growing rapidly, but then that growth slowed. I fear that sometimes we’re just shouting into an echo chamber because I wonder: does our message reach anyone outside the people who are already convinced? But yes, the way Twitter has gone has been insane.

You grew up in a family where both of your parents were born in Poland — your father was Ukrainian and your mother Polish. They immigrated to Canada, where you were born. How did this shape your sense of identity from both a cultural and historical perspective?

When the full-scale invasion broke out, one thing that heartened me was the way Poland and the Polish people opened their doors to Ukrainians. I remember the day before, I was telling my dad, “Be prepared because there’s going to be a war,” and he brushed me off, saying, “You’re insane. It’s not going to happen.” When it happened, I helped many people find places in Poland. I posted on social media, saying, “Hey, if anyone needs a place, message me,” because my dad was in Poland then. I called him and asked for his help. He did an incredible job helping people find homes and temporary shelters and cross the border.

My experience up to that point had been very different. It was always Ukrainians versus Poles. My mom is 100% Polish, and my dad was born in Poland but was Ukrainian. He always made the analogy: If a cat is born in a dog’s home, is it a cat or a dog? But he raised me as a Ukrainian. We always celebrated Ukrainian Christmas and Ukrainian Easter and followed traditions. Simultaneously, I was also raised by my mom and my babcia (granny — ed.) with Polish traditions. My dad always tried to show me what it means to be Ukrainian, how much Ukrainians have been through. But it was weirdly taboo to be both in the broader Canadian community. You were expected to pick a side, and you’d get bullied if you didn’t. So when I saw Polish people and Ukrainians coming together because they had a common enemy — one they both understood for so long — it was like: finally, you’re all together. I hope that continues but I do see it beginning to fracture.

How do you feel when you see some people in Poland blocking the border, especially when it affects Saint Javelin’s efforts to move products from Ukraine to Europe? How do you feel seeing this divide grow since the beginning of 2022?

The longer things continue, the more people look for scapegoats and get frustrated. So it goes back to the idea that if more aid had been provided initially, we wouldn’t be in this scenario. But it’s really sad to see the effect that time and the impact of Russian narratives have.

Our goods were blocked for a long time, and we couldn’t get through the border. It’s always felt that we are incredibly similar — our languages, cultural traditions, and everything else are very close. But at the end of the day, we should look at each other and realise that we are similar people with a common enemy to defeat.

Our final question is: What is your favourite place in Ukraine?

Karpaty (Carpathian mountains — ed.), which is pretty universal. I always heard stories about Karpaty growing up, and then when I finally went, I climbed Hoverla (the highest mountain in Ukraine — ed.) a few times and had memorable moments there. I went hiking and camping through the mountains, and I don’t know, it’s just very remote. I like that — it’s like a form of rehabilitation.