One of the most important things we do as human beings, as witnesses, as people who care, is to ask questions and to bear witness. Being in a country at war requires a kind of seeing that is deeper than observation. You see the surface of life, but you also feel the layers, beneath it layers of fear, resilience, exhaustion, and a determination to live. Life in Ukraine right now is profoundly complex.
There is the front line where brutality is a daily reality. My air raid app tells me just an hour ago there was four missile strikes in Kharkiv and there is street fighting. The app says take shelter, do not go outside!!!
There are the towns and cities under the constant but unpredictable threat of missiles and drone strikes, never continuous, but always possible, always near. And there are the places that feel almost removed from the war until, suddenly, they are not. Air raid apps buzz without warning. Missiles fall seemingly at random. People map where the nearest shelters are. And yet, life continues, because it must. People work, study, shop, cook meals, meet friends because the alternative would be surrendering their humanity.
Last night, we had dinner with a family in Lviv.
A beautiful restaurant.
Good wine, delicious food, laughter around the table.
And, woven into all of it, the war.
We asked them about the impact on their lives.
Vlodka, a young man, told us he is a teacher, classified as “essential.” This means he will not be conscripted. But two of his closest friends are in the military on the front lines, One just picked up, outside his house, taken, given six weeks of artillery training, and sent straight to the front. He never had the chance to say goodbye to his wife. Now I am told the conscription age is 23 to 60. Changed from 18 and the reason is so young men can get an education and feel a strong connection to Ukrainian identity. I asked how long a person is “in” the military and Vlodka said until the war ends. They get some vacations . . . really, a vacation from the front lines? How does one go back????
Dzinka, a young woman, who is a financial person at an architecture firm, said dating has become almost impossible. Men are scarce. Those who are home often avoid public places for fear of being picked up by the military. So there are no dinner dates, no casual outings, no normal rhythm of young adult life. Just absence.
I asked them what normalcy feels like now. Vlodka paused, and then said he moves through his days with a kind of underlying flatness. He can experience joy, but it is always short-lived, because the war is a constant presence. Power outages happen daily. Yesterday, his building was without electricity for seven hours. There is an online power grid letting you know when power is on and in what segment of the city. Stores run on gas generators, the streets hum with their noise.
Tonight, our conversation turned to the recent Witkoff proposal, recent visit and U.S. idea that Ukraine could give up the Donbas and other occupied territories in exchange for peace. In light of accepting diminished forces, never joining NATO, giving up weapons, and forced language in the east, it looks like Russia gets all.
I asked him, having just walked through the Defenders Cemetery, how Ukrainians would feel about that suggestion … after almost four years of sacrifice. After so many sons, daughters, husbands, wives, mothers, and fathers have died defending their land. He shook his head. “NO! Everyone wants peace, but at what cost? How could we give up the blood of our defenders? Their honor? Their families? And if Russia wins, what comes next? More territory? Other countries? Once they feel emboldened, where does it stop?” There was a feeling of devastation. And a deep weariness. People are war weary but there is a seemingly unbroken resolve.
The world watched for so long as military aid trickled in. Still, they beg for this support. Humanitarian aid arrived early, truckloads of food and medical supplies. But now, the greatest need is military aid. Protection. Survival
Dzinka told us that European agencies are still sending funds to rebuild schools and hospitals, especially in active conflict zones, because children still need to learn, people still need medical care. But she looked at me and asked, “Can you imagine sending your child to school when missiles fall? When drones fly overhead? When street fighting might erupt?” And yet, she said, “Life goes on, it has to. “My friend Zhanna, from the Zytomer Community Center, told me the same thing two years ago: “If life stops,” she said, “they win.” That is the heartbeat of Ukraine today. People living, working, loving, grieving, laughing, in the shadow of this war going on for four years. They are refusing to give up the simple act of living and that, in itself, is an act of defiance, courage and maybe hope.
