Areas near the Ukrainian front lines, where shelling and missile impacts are constant, are hell on earth. However, outside these places, life in Ukraine goes on with startling normalcy — the situation is not so different from living in Israel. In some cities, you could even be forgiven for forgetting that a war is going on.
International reporting on Ukraine tends to focus narrowly on the most horrific aspects of war: mass graves, tortured civilians, destroyed cities, and so on. Shining light on these crimes is crucial — the world needs to witness them. But there is more to war than trauma. There is also resilience and dignity, even banality and boredom. People yearn to live their lives as usual, despite the circumstances.
I see this in Odesa, where I now live. Russia recently began deploying Iranian-built kamikaze drones to harass this beautiful city. Many of these drones have been shot down, but some managed to blow up their targets, marring the sky with smoke. This week, as I was making soup with my boyfriend, we heard a distant explosion. Another drone had been intercepted. Yet the Odesans show no fear. The city heaves its normal breath: cafes and bars bustle with life. A charitable concert was held last week. Families stroll through parks. The air raid sirens are largely ignored. The war makes itself known mostly at night, through the 11 p.m. military curfew and the darkness that shrouds certain sensitive areas. This summer, locals swam in the Black Sea, even though this was forbidden as the waters had been mined. After months of living under the threat of invasion, who could begrudge them this?
Just a few hours east of Odesa is Mykolaiv, a city ruined by shelling. A little farther than that is Kherson, a Russian-occupied city where locals are terrorized with wanton violence. The difference between Odesa and these places is like night and day.
Ukrainians who live in relatively peaceful regions have mixed feelings about their own comfort. First, there is guilt — why should they live well while their fellow citizens suffer? But how would it help if they were to wallow in despair? To embrace life is an act of defiance. “I will enjoy my coffee because my coffee is more important than the Russians,” said one refugee in April. My friends in Kyiv say they have a fervent need to socialize and shop because, while Kyiv is now peaceful, who knows if this intoxicating freedom will be snatched away?
I think it would be helpful if reporting on Ukraine recognized Ukrainian resilience and regional variations in peacefulness. When people see only images of profound horror, they can feel outrage, shock, and pity, but they see little that resembles their own lives. Ukraine can seem like a different universe. This chasm not only undermines the development of a deeper and more enduring sense of empathy but also obscures the stakes of this war. If people do not see the dignity that persists, they will not know what will be extinguished should this country fall.
Adam Zivo is a Canadian columnist and policy analyst who relocated to Ukraine earlier this year to report on the Russia-Ukraine war. He is writing a book on how the war is experienced by average Ukrainians.
