Resilience pt.2
Kyiv, Ukraine / 2022
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After my stay in Lviv (see the previous article for further details), I went to Kyiv by train on April 17, about two weeks after the Russian forces had retreated from the city. Due to the political importance of Kyiv as the capital of Ukraine, the security level was much higher here than in other cities. We had not even arrived in Kyiv and the old man I was sharing the bunk bed with told me that only accredited journalists are allowed to take pictures in war time. I was already used to those kinds of reactions after previous experiences in Lviv with other Ukrainians and didn’t take it personally at all. I respected and empathized with his concerns, stopped taking pictures and apologized for the inconveniences.
Even though the Russian troops actually never got to the downtown, they managed to occupy northern cities and towns such as Bucha and Dymer from the end of February until the beginning of April. Tetyana, the sociologist I had been put in touch with by a volunteer I met in Lviv, was waiting for me at the station and helped me talk to the Ukrainian soldiers about my intentions in Kyiv. Throughout my whole stay in the capital, Tetyana was extremely committed to help me with the present project, offering me a space in her house where I could carry out the interviews with war victims and Ukrainians, as well as facilitating me to get in contact with them.
The soldiers checked my passport and made a quick search for any suspicious information that could connect me to Russia and its government. While waiting for them to finish, I saw the old man with whom I had shared the bunk bed with - whose snores didn’t let me sleep a single minute in the whole night - meeting his relatives who came to pick him up. Streams of snowflakes whipped the Ukrainians’ naked faces, flying into the entrances of the train station, where military personnel cautiously checked passports and restricted the flow of people to the capital. Once the soldiers had checked my information, Tetyana drove me to my hostel.
In contrast to Lviv, the strategic checkpoints, roadblocks and entrenched positions were all over the city of Kyiv. Most statues were completely encased in sandbags to protect them from bombings (Pic 1) and military trucks and convoys constantly drove through the city. In Kyiv downtown, barriers, sandbags and tank obstacles formed corridors that forced cars to slow navigate in the major roads (Pic 2). Even though the air raid sirens sounded several times per day altering the population to get shelter, no rocket could get to the city center due to the excellent Ukrainian Air Force Defense’s performance.
Besides the police and military, most of the city services and stores weren’t operating. Around two thirds of the cafes, bars and restaurants were closed. Construction projects were left unfinished and few street cleaners were still working, so many trash cans overflowed with garbage. Old birthday decorations and Ukrainian flags hung deteriorated with the whipping wind and raindrops (Pic 3, 4).
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Just a few buses and trolley cars were working, but that was enough for the less than one million people that were in Kyiv by April, who most of the time stayed at their houses. The day I arrived, I passed next to the bus station where I saw a driver smoking a cigarette in the middle of her journey. Her nails were painted in yellow and blue, as the Ukrainian flag colors.
Once the sun began to set, there was no one in Kyiv but a few dogs. I guessed some of them had been abandoned by their families, yet they still had a necklace (left dog). They seemed confused, still adapting to a new life since the full scale invasion started. The street lights weren’t working, probably on purpose, to prevent the enemies from identifying their targets by eyesight. The only source of light on most of the streets came from the traffic lights, in exception to an avenue that had a Mc Donald’s advertisement which, for some reason, was still working. Most of the houses had their windows covered, so the lights from the inside couldn’t be visible from the street. At that time, the curfew was more flexible than the previous week when I was in Lviv the previous week, from 10pm to 5am.
The third day of my stay in Kyiv, Tetyana invited me to a salsa class at her place. In addition to her job as a sociology professor and translator of Ukrainian military reports, she occupied her time dancing with her friends once the Russian troops had retreated to the east. Like many other Ukrainians, Tetyana's way of fighting the war was to free her mind from the war and the tense atmosphere surrounding her: “I don't wanna be afraid all the time, watching the news, being in a shelter or in a basement. If I can't dance, I can't live,” she remarked.
Justo, originally from Cuba, is Tetyana’s friend and salsa professor. He had been living in Ukraine for a couple of years and was stuck there since the full scale invasion started. Because all the bureaucratic institutions had stopped, he could no longer process his Ukrainian residence permit. He preferred to stay in Kyiv during the war rather than leave the country and take the risk of being deported to Cuba, where the economy and business infrastructure was completely destroyed. As Justo said, “at least, here in Kyiv I can still go to the supermarket and get basic supplies at an affordable price.”
In the salsa class I met Andrey too, a soldier from the Ukrainian Air Defence Force who used to detect Russian rockets targeting Kyiv. In March 2022, Andrey was stationed in a military base on the outskirts of the city when he and his coworkers heard the whistle characteristic of rockets, but unaccompanied by explosions. They left the base, searched for signs of an explosive, and found that one had landed a few feet from the base walls, but had merely dug into the ground without detonating. If the rocket had exploded, as usually happens, Andrey would undoubtedly have perished. That possible misfortune instead of threatening him, made him feel blessed and gave him even more reasons to keep working for the military to protect Ukrainians from aerial attacks.
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On my way back from talking to Andrey and Justo, just before arriving at the Independence Square, I saw the first fast food stall opened in Kiev. Shames, originally from Sudan, has been working there for seventeen years preparing kebabs and other food products. His sales did not decrease during the wartime because “all restaurants and food stores [were] closed and everyone [went there] to eat.” Since the full-scale invasion began on February 24, he only stopped working for a few days, when the occupation in downtown Kyiv seemed plausible. He didn’t feel threatened about the Russian attacks because his food stall was next to the Independence Square, one the most guarded areas of the capital, all surrounded by soldiers and policemen. Shames also pointed out how easy it was to work and afford a good standard of living in Ukraine: "It is much easier to work here than in Sudan."
Within the same day, I talked to people that were affected by war in different ways and degrees. Besides the idiosyncrasies of each personal situation, all of the people I talked to that day managed to see the bright side to the unfavorable situation they were exposed to.
Once I got to the hostel, I met some people in the common area, mostly young male adults. Freelance photographers, writers and journalists from the USA, Asia and Europe used to talk and hang out there. In contrast, Ukrainian men who were in Kyiv on military service remained quiet most of the time, barely spending time with their comrades and crossing the common area just to get in and out of the kitchen.
Ryan, an American in his fifties who left their family and job behind just to come to Ukraine as a volunteer, told me that a rocket landed next to the Lviv’s Railway station that same day. Although no one was hurt, the fact that a rocket landed next to the same train station I was at the day before made me feel really threatened. The worst thing about rockets is that you don't know when and where the explosions will occur and that uncertainty frightens way more than an expectable actual attack. In the end, the psychological side of the war is the most powerful one.
The next morning I came across an Ukrainian soldier’s funeral in the Independence Square (pic), the center of Ukraine’s capital which adopted its name when the Act of Declaration of Independence of Ukraine from the URSS was signed in 1991. Over the last 20+ years, the Independence Square had hosted almost every major mass movement in modern Ukrainian history - the 1990 student Revolution on Granite, the 2001 Ukraine without Kuchma, the 2004 Orange Revolution and the 2013-2014 Euromaidan - none of which had successfully established an uncorrupted Ukrainian government free from Russian influence. Till now, we are still waiting for Independence Square to be the place where Ukrainians can celebrate their complete liberation from Russian meddling, instead of hosting funerals and protests as a result of their abuses.
A group of photographers were standing at the first line of the funeral ready to take the most dramatic pictures. Even though their way of capturing such a tragic event was perhaps too intrusive to my eyes, I tried not to judge and understand them because that was their job - that’s how journalism works. In the end, I was taking pictures too...
When it was time to do the reverence kneeling on the ground, the photographers tried to get the best shots without scruples instead of showing some respect and joining the rest of the people. The tension and anger I was feeling already since I woke up broke inside me like a waterfall. I guess they were better than me in taking emotional distance in order to do their job. I left.
My next stop was an interview with Sergey, the director of the Russian radio in Ukraine. When the war started, his wife and kids went away to America while he stayed in Kyiv to support his counterparts and coworkers who were in the frontlines. He went back to broadcasting in the beginning of April because he felt the responsibility to “pull inside [his] listeners’ brains the message: Don't give up on the war, just live, because you only live once.”
Sergey is ethnically Russian and Russian is his mother tongue language. He recognizes his background, but rejects how Russia has been denying Ukrainian independence and statehood legitimacy for hundreds of years while forcing Ukraine to join its “empire.”
Russia's continued intervention in Ukraine to join its Eurasian Union for several years had drastically accelerated Ukraine’s decoupling and rejection towards anything related to Russia, even for people with a Russian background like Sergey. In comparison to before the war started in 2014, the political scientist Jeffrey Mankof has noted that a much higher percentage of Ukrainian citizens today see themselves first and foremost as Ukrainian measured by language use, religious affiliation, ethnic self-identification, and political outlook, including in parts of the country where Russian remains the predominant language.
After the interview with Sergey I had to go to a pharmacy because the corners of my lips were insanely broken due to the frigid temperatures. There I met a pharmacist called Tamara who explained to me that “lots of people from hospitals, territorial defense and civilians [came] every day to the pharmacy asking for help” because there were less than ten pharmacies operating in the entire capital. Tamara’s boss, sons and grandchildren left and, although most of her family escaped, she decided to stay. Her way to fight the war was to stay in Kyiv during the full scale invasion, assisting people seeking health care.
Then, I headed back to the hostel, ending up where I had started my day, the Independence Square. Because the curfew had already started, there were lots of soldiers grouped strategically in different spots holding their machine guns imposingly. Even though I could have gotten in trouble, I took the risk to cross it because it was the only way to get to my hostel. As I had already anticipated, a soldier in his early twenties stopped me and asked me what I was doing outside at that time. I could tell by his sharp look and unfriendly voice tone that he was enjoying his authority position. And I don’t blame him. He took my passport and revised it while I was excusing myself and apologizing. Thankfully, after he compared my face to my passport’s picture a couple of times with a marked frown face, he let me go.
When I arrived at the hostel I found out that Matt, a freelance writer from the USA I used to hang out with at dinner time, was worried about me. My absence after the curfew had started made him think something might have happened to me. After several days traveling by myself in a foreign country in a state of war, having someone who had noticed my absence, and who could have reported me missing in a worst-case scenario, made me feel slightly safer. It was a little spark of light in the deep dark hostile ocean I had plunged into. Which was the purpose of everything I was doing? I went there when I had just turned 21 years old with a few months of experience in photography, with my own money, and without even telling my parents and friends. Did I really want to help Ukrainians that much? Was that the best way? Was my passion towards Psychology and Photojournalism that deep? Or perhaps was I trying to prove to myself something? To prove how insane I am?
Through Tetyana, I managed to do an interview on April 20 with a counseling psychologist based in Kyiv called Daria. From the very first of the war Daria had been working offering online psychological consults for free. She used to explore with her patients themes related to life, death and love together, which helped her to find her own answers as well. At the same time, she was working as a social psychology master professor. Online teaching was really hard because “most of the students either don’t have at their disposal technology devices or they are not in a good psychological state for attending lectures.”
For Daria, her husband and son, “waking up together and alive, not because of explosions but because of daylight” felt like a privilege, because they live in an area where the Air Raid Sirens sound really loud. The war conflict strengthened the relationship with her husband and son, but had difficult the one with her parents, who had a pro Russian position. Even though the political conflict sometimes was unavoidable, Daria “separated [her] personal point of view from [her] family relationships” as much as she could.
Once the interview was done and I was heading to my hostel, I saw a woman cleaning the outside of an orthodox christian church. She allowed me to get inside, even though they were still painting and getting the decorations ready for Easter on April 24. All kinds of turquoise and gold stuff were in the room - from small objects like a new testament to a huge sculpture of Jesus Christ. I wonder how they had combined every single thing together for the upcoming festivities. They invited me to take pictures at Easter, once the preparations were ready, but unfortunately I had to start my journey back to Spain that same day. The Ukrainians I saw in the church were deeply engaged with their affairs and activities that helped them occupy their minds away from the war, keep the faith and not give up, despite misfortunes.
On April 21 I met Liza, a chemist based in Kyiv. Since the very first day of the full scale invasion, February 24, she has been working as a journalist in the Ukrainian media and army.They were driving along a road adjacent to the radio tower of TV Kyiv when two explosions took place. The rockets hit the tower and massive amounts of fiery shrapnel fell like rain. When they landed on the ground, additional smaller explosions occurred because of their speed and temperature. The attack happened so fast and unexpectedly that once the Air raid siren sounded, they were already injured. Five people died in that accident and five other people were wounded, among them Liza’s ex husband, who got a wound in the forehead and arm. Her car’s control panel wasn't working, so they couldn't drive to the hospital. Liza stopped a man that was passing next to the accident by car and asked him to bring them to the hospital. As she recalled: ‘I feel that I saved his life because I prevented him from going to the shrapnel rain. I guess my life’s mission is to rescue and help people. I can't do other things.’
Once in the hospital, Liza met other victims from the same accident. A mother and her daughter tried to escape by car while the accident was taking place, but on the way a few metal pieces went through the bulkhead and damaged the teenager’s eye. This girl went through an unsuccessful surgery that same day and lost her eye. Liza’s ex husband went through surgery as well and they removed l pieces of shrapnel from his body. Fortunately, Liza wasn’t physically injured.
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After talking to Liza, I walked towards the hostel. Next to a viewpoint, there was a guy playing Wish you were here with the guitar. The few people that passed by gave him some money. As he told me, that was enough to maintain himself after he lost his job once the war started.
I talked to him just for a few minutes because it started raining really hard. While heading to the hostel the air raid sirens began to sound, so I quickened my pace and took shelter in the Independence Square underground metro station where I met a group of homeless people. They didn’t seem worried about the rockets. By that point, many people had gotten used to the air raid sirens because most of the time the rockets were intercepted by the Ukrainian Air Defence Force. In order to gain the group’s confidence and be able to take pictures of them, I talked to the only lady of the group, who could slightly understand English. After a while trying to communicate with her, the rest of the group approached us. One of the guys got close to me and said something in Ukrainian that I could not understand, but knew for a fact was something obscene. The lady’s husband put him against the wall while screaming in Ukrainian with a strong threatening tone. After that, the guy was scared of approaching me again. I could have left at any moment, but I didn’t want to. By that time I had already gained their confidence to be able to use my camera. After shooting the couple, I asked one of their friends to smile at the camera. There was something in his whole expression that struck me a lot. It wasn’t his smile, or his wrinkles, or the fact that he was helplessly lying on the ground ten minutes before. It was everything combined. After a couple of shoots I was able to capture his wild goldish smile. Once I got the picture, I showed it to him, said goodbye and went away. I didn’t want to stay there a single minute more with those creepy guys.
The Ukrainian response against the countless Russian attacks shows willingness to fight for a nation Putin believes does not and should not exist. Maria, Andrey, Tamara and Liza are some of the millions of Ukrainians that have survived with courage the implications of Putin’s beliefs. All the different ways Ukrainians are facing the conflict, whether it is going back to their homes, jobs, and schools, joining the army, helping war victims, going to church or supporting the Zelenskyy’s government unconditionally, are different expressions of nothing but love towards their nation and pure Resilience.