Caffeinated Politics

There are numerous reasons to experience a range of emotions while watching the 2026 Winter Olympics. On Friday night, it was a profoundly happy outcome for Mikhail Shaidorov as he used power, grace, and fortitude to win the gold medal in figure skating. With that, Kazakhstan has its first-ever Olympic figure skating champion. But that happened after the crushing outcome for “Quad God” Ilia Malinin, a skater I adore. It is never about the country for me at the Olympics, but the individual performance of the athletes. So, it was easy to get tears when Shaidorov glided over the ice with his medal around his neck.

When it comes to emotions and international support, I suspect none is more evident or stronger than when talking about Ukrainian skeleton racer Vladyslav Heraskevych. The reason is due to his character and resolve to not only be an athlete but a man who knows his place on the international stage.

He stepped onto that stage with a helmet bearing the faces of people killed in the disastrous, morally reprehensible, and barbaric war launched by Russia upon Ukraine. This young man stood out because he wasn’t just competing—he was carrying a nation’s grief, resilience, and unbroken spirit. His gesture at the Olympics is a powerful reminder that sport does not exist in a vacuum. Even in moments meant for celebration, the realities of conflict follow those who have lived through it.

Heraskevych has long been known not only for his athletic talent but for his willingness to use his platform to speak about the suffering caused when Russian forces started murdering his fellow citizens. His helmet—carefully painted with portraits of Ukrainians who were killed—was not a political stunt. It was a memorial. A tribute. A refusal to let the world look away.

Heraskevych’s helmet carried a weight far beyond symbolism. Each face represented a story cut short. Families torn apart. Communities forever changed. By bringing those images to the Olympics, he ensured that the victims of the war were not reduced to statistics or headlines. They were seen as individuals—mothers, fathers, children, friends—whose lives mattered. And a reminder of the soullessness of Russian thugs on Ukrainian soil, or those who send drones and missiles upon his fellow brave Ukrainians.

In a setting where neutrality is often demanded, Heraskevych chose humanity. He chose remembrance. And he did so with dignity, without anger or theatrics, simply allowing the truth to speak for itself.

It takes courage to race headfirst down an icy track at highway speeds. It takes a different kind of courage to remind the world of a painful reality when silence would be easier. Heraskevych has shown both.

I truly admire and respect this man. Heraskevych has used his power responsibly, compassionately, and bravely. From this desk, I strongly applaud how, once again, humanity found a way to honor the truth.

It is for people such as Vladyslav Heraskevych and Mikhail Shaidorov that the Olympic flag proudly flies at our home.