War Correspondent Scott Jacobsen travelled to the war-torn country of Ukraine for a second time to provide firsthand reports on the war and its impact on Ukrainians. In this report, he interviews five survivors who have lost everything.
To be prepared for war is one of the most effective means of preserving peace. The two most powerful warriors are patience and time. If we don’t end war, war will end us. ~Isaac Asimov, Former President, American Humanist Association
As the first in a second round of articles and interviews on Ukraine following the publication of On the Russo-Ukrainian War: August, 2023 to July, 2024 out of In-Sight Publishing, I have some gratitude to rain on a few people.
Thanks to funding from the national humanist community, particularly Humanist Perspectives for the funding drive run by Dr. Lloyd Hawkeye Robertson and Simon Parcher, my second trip was made possible with funding totalling about the cost of the flight and some of the hotels to Kyiv, Ukraine from Chișinău, Moldova in addition to dipping into some personal savings. The first trip was entirely self-funded while working from funds earned at a horse farm, i.e., it was out of pocket.
The second acknowledgement and appreciation goes primarily to Remus Cernea, war correspondent for Newsweek Romania, and Oleksandra Romantsova, Executive Director for the Center for Civil Liberties (Nobel Peace Prize, 2022), starting in Copenhagen in August of 2023. The idea was proposed by Cernea and support was provided by both of them throughout the entire trip. To their credit, they have remained consistent and loyal in their efforts, as I have committed to reporting on this until the end of the war.
Now, the trip to Ukraine for a little less than a month this time around happened between August 20 and September 14, 2024. I arrived, again, in Moldova at Chișinău International Airport. Remus and I met at the local bus depot and went off to Kyiv.
The previous trip, I was in recovery from minor surgery, on painkillers, while traveling through several cities with Remus. This time, I was able to focus more on the events rather than the pain of the post-surgery while in a war zone.
I want to start this series of articles not in Kyiv or the point of first contact with an overnight in Ukraine, but, rather, near the end of the trip with fellow journalists in Kharkiv Oblast on the East of Ukraine in an intimate group interview with survivors of war.
Five people in middle age to past regular retirement age took the time for an interview after a media event in Kharkiv. I wanted to be sensitive to the trauma responses expressed during the course of the interview and kept things structured, brief.
I wanted to be sensitive to the trauma responses expressed…
I asked at the outset, “So, from left to right, please introduce yourself: name, what you do professionally, and briefly how you came to be here.” I had a translator to help get the questions across.
The translations were as immediate as the emotions in the responses. The first interviewee was Olena. “I [am] originally from Luhansk region in 2014 when the war actually started. And I’ve been working here in Kharkiv as a cleaner, as a cleaning manager here in Kharkiv.”
There is no pretense in these responses. A job, like a cleaner, is a basic job for survival by the sounds of it. I’ve done basic work: dishwasher, janitor, food prepper, stall cleaner for horses, food runner, host, cashier, etc. I’ve had two back injuries while at work and have a trick knee, improved after ACL surgery, making physical labor tricky. These are important jobs in regular circumstances for character development. To them, they’re important for survival: Same tasks, different frames.
A second participant said, “I am Valentina from Kupiansk region. I lost my house about two years ago. The Ukrainian Red Cross proceeded an evacuation for us. I’ve been, for one year, here, since last September. I lost my house and have no place to come back or live there. I live in a dormitory. We go to room there in dormitory. I’m also working in the dormitory where we actually live. I have no choice. What can I say?”
I don’t know, Valentina; I don’t, either.
These people are matter of fact and stuck, because of the decisions for aggression against them for this pointless war. Remus Cernea in 2023 made the point of war as hell, which is one style of portrait in the mythology of Christianity to communicate the destruction of private property and tumult upon individual emotions.
A third person, a woman, said, “My name is Rajnova Lyudmila. I’m from Petropavlivka, a village in the Kharkiv region, close to Kupiansk, about 5 kilometers away. We evacuated one year ago from our village to Kharkiv, actually. As soon as it was coming, the shelling, the back wall of our house was destroyed, and we lost our roof of our house there.”
At this point, Rajnova began to cry. The translator continued that Rajnova lost her house. It was completely destroyed, as she received a message about this at a later time. Some tissues were provided to her.
At this point, Rajnova began to cry.
The translator continued, “All her whole family evacuated. Her son is in the army now. She stays in contact with her relatives. They are in touch.”
The fourth and fifth people in this group were an older couple. The wife opened, “I am Hanna. My husband [is] Alexander.” Again, another who begins to express grief and tears immediately in autobiography. These responses are punctuated by tears.
The translator said, “They have four months here as they’re evacuated from Vovchansk where their house was destroyed from the shelling. They are treated well here.”
Over and over again, these people’s livelihoods, when life is supposed to be a bit easier, are erased. How do you fill this new void, vacuum of place and sentiment? When their houses were destroyed, based on their responses, they lost their place because they lost their homes. Then they jettisoned into uncertainty, and then a dormitory and dependency.
“We have a manager of our dormitory. She treats us so well. She helped and is helping to [sic] us with everything. We have so many emotions about what… happened that we needed to get through,” Hanna said.
They have not only emotional scars, but permanent physical scars if injured many times. Alexander, the husband of Hanna, had a severe injury to his head.
“There was an attack. Alexander was injured by shrapnel. You can still see the scar on his scalp. The Ukrainian military provided him with first aid to him, transported him, and helped with all the aid he needed. After that, they decided to evacuate us. It was an attack on a shop in Vovchansk city. I have been working as an operator in Vovchansk.” Hanna said, “Alexander was working for a municipality organization in a security department… These t-shirts were given by Ukrainian soldiers communicating, after they were transported and evacuated here. She mentioned they were in good contact with Ukrainian militaries after the occupation of Vovchansk. During the occupation before autumn of 2022, during the Russian occupation, they felt horrible and terrible. They stayed in contact with the Ukrainian military throughout the occupation.”
“There was an attack. Alexander was injured by shrapnel.
I checked in with everyone, as the night was late at the media event. The translator noted a final few points about everyone being tired, ready to go home, not wanting to remember the trauma again, how everything was completely destroyed. That the fields were ablaze. We did not have a psychologist present to help with processing the devastation.
So, I kept things sensitive and terse. I concluded on a simple question, as the recollection of the stress and duress of the war was an issue for them. I asked, “Would the word ‘rootless’ describe their current feeling?”
I was informed. They have no electricity, gas, or basic utilities. During the occupation, and even after, it was extremely tough for them. Some couldn’t leave because they had to care for an elderly father, who is immobile, so they stayed behind to look after him.
Some are friends or relatives because they were answering together, and some of the ladies explained that they are friends. They lived together in one house. Simply put, it was easier for them to support each other, or less frightening to face everything together.
So, they couldn’t evacuate earlier—because of their father. Unfortunately, he passed away after the evacuation to Kharkiv. After they arrived, he died.
Alexander and Hanna noted the dormitory manager is very kind and takes care of them. She treats them with gentleness and care, making them feel comfortable and supported.
I was left with a pragmatic question. If we remove the -ism, what does humanism fundamentally mean as a focus for evidentiary compassion?
