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Full Photo Album: https://flic.kr/s/aHBqjAVhyh
Mark, Hymie, Anastasia, and I continued from Poltava to Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second largest city (1.5 million in peacetime), lying in the country’s northeast. Kharkiv, also known as Kharkov in Russian, is just 20 miles or so away from the Russian border. It has a rich history and was once the capital of Soviet Ukraine. Because of its proximity to Russia, many of its denizens speak Russian. Still, I can attest that no love is lost for their aggressive and bullying neighbor to the north, today.
When the full invasion began, Kharkiv’s proximity to the border made it one of the most dangerous battlegrounds. The tank track marks of Russian tanks can still be seen (and felt) when driving on the road to and from Russia.
In 2022, the resilience of the Ukrainian forces forced the Russian invaders to retreat, but not before leaving behind the scars of conflict and several dead, wounded, displaced, and, of course, traumatized civilians.
Our first stop was to drop off supplies at the European Tradition of Charity Office, which Mark and Hymie have been helping for some time. We then took the charity organizers, Roman and Nastya, out for dinner. Mark commented, and I could tell they were exhausted, but as the evening wore on, we elicited smiles from them. They warmly offered to help us during our filming in any way they could.
We all went to a hotel Mark and Hymie had stayed at before and endured bombing around us much that evening. The problem with Kharkiv being so close to the border with Russia is that air raid siren alarms come too late, as the bombs typically fall before the air raid sirens can alarm.
Also, cheaper munitions can be used to reach the city, so Russians lob bombs indiscriminately when they like, unlike Kyiv or L’viv, where much more expensive missiles or drones must be used (and air raid sirens can offer a modicum of warning).
The hotel had a bomb shelter, but at that point, I was in a kind of “if I live, I live, or if I die, I die” mentality and dog dead tired. So, I just cranked up the volume on the white noise app, rolled over, and went to sleep. It’s incredible how quickly one can acclimate to the threat of death or injury in a war zone. Not that it’s pleasant, and I certainly wouldn’t wish it on anyone long-term. Sleep is fitful and far from restful in a war zone, as a discerning look at my photos will showcase.
The following day, at breakfast, Anastasia showed me on an app on her phone how close the bombs had fallen. Bombings had surrounded us. That was a bit discomforting, but it was in the past.
We then set out to explore the city independently, as Hymie and Mark had another mission in a nearby village, and we wanted to film in Central Kharkiv.
The physical damage inflicted on the central part of the city was immense, and it’s heartbreaking to think of the indiscriminate attacks on civilian targets, including the beautiful historical center with its apartment buildings. The architecture of this city is old world. The fact that Russia could care less about what they destroy reminded me of a song lyric by the band Against Me in one of their songs – “What they cannot steal, they seek to destroy.”
It’s not just architecture but children that have suffered. Indiscriminate bombings have affected iconic places like the Central Park of Culture and Recreation. This massive amusement park and playground, once a haven for children and families, now bears the scars of mortar damage and shrapnel holes, a grim reminder of the consequences of conflict on innocent lives.
As you can see by the mortar marks in the children’s statues, shrapnel is a killer. While filming near these statues, a young boy who looked to be 5 or 6 years old came over to observe the bullet holes in the children’s figures. His mother tried to comfort him and let him know he was safe, but he nor she seemed fully convinced. The next day, we would see a new heartbreaking monument to children killed during Russia’s invasion. It was covered in children’s toys.
These are not merely unintended consequences of Russia’s invasion or “collateral damage,” as one of my less-informed X (Twitter) followers tried to convince me in the early days of the invasion.
There is ample evidence that the Russian forces explicitly target civilians, and the anger and sadness of that fact still weighs heavily on my mind. Targeting and killing civilians is a war crime. In that case, I saw evidence of war crimes all over Kharkiv.
After spending the afternoon at the almost deserted amusement park, Anastasia and I stopped to get a bite to eat and escape the heat.
One man at the restaurant’s entrance was trying to entice customers inside, and it took very little convincing to get us to come in. We were hot, hungry, thirsty, and ready for a break.
When he found out I was from the USA, he insisted on giving me a big old bear hug and posing for photos. The gratefulness of the Ukrainian people is very tangible, and I received thanks like this almost daily, made even more remarkable when one considers the stereotype of the “Stoic Slav.”
A pre-teen or teenage boy came over to say “hi, mom” for the camera and pose for photos.
Mark insisted that I must visit Kharkiv, and after just 24 hours, I could easily see why.
Despite the devastation and the far-from-normal circumstances, Kharkiv still exudes a sense of resilience and life. Many residents had no choice but to return to their homes, finding it impossible to work or afford to live elsewhere where it may be safer.
Usually, the city has thriving universities, cultural centers, theaters, museums, and libraries. It’s known as a cultural hub and has been for centuries.
But even amid bombed-out buildings, we saw a university in session, a testament to the unwavering commitment to education and normalcy.
My first 24 hours in Kharkiv left me with a profound mix of emotions. The city’s resilience, history, and its people’s enduring spirit in the face of adversity are inspiring and heart-wrenching. I learned much more about this in the coming days.
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