Perfect refugees: how the mass relocation of Ukrainians is different from past migration crises in Europe?

<frame>"More knowledge, less fear" is the slogan of our new publication series. Safety is based on facts, verified information, and solid arguments. The more we know, the better we will be prepared for the future. <frame>

Is Poland ready for a crisis? In an era of geopolitical uncertainty, the war in Ukraine, and rising tensions across Europe, education and societal organisation are crucial. By welcoming over a million Ukrainian refugees, Poland has not only gained new residents but also unique knowledge and experience from people who have learned civil protection under the harshest conditions—under bombs and rocket fire. This is capital that must not be wasted. 

The new law on civil protection and civil defence, in force since January 1, is a concrete response to real threats. At the same time, it offers an opportunity for deeper integration, allowing Poles and Ukrainians living in Poland to prepare together for crises. 

Poland has learned from the tragic events of recent years. The new law emphasises three key areas: modernising and constructing shelters and hiding places, improving alarm and notification systems, and launching widespread civic education to ensure every citizen has basic knowledge of how to act during a crisis. The context of the war in Ukraine makes this even more urgent.

Many Ukrainians living in Poland have priceless experience in civil protection - whether as survivors, organisers, or leaders of evacuation and shelter operations.

This is an opportunity Poland must not miss. When war strikes, no system is ever fully ready. What matters then is how effectively we can use what we already have.

What can serve as a shelter? A practical approach to civil protection begins with this question. Knowledge—that is our first "shelter"!

According to the new law, every basement, underground garage, or tunnel can serve as a hiding place. It’s worth taking a moment to look around and ask yourself, "What would I do in case of danger?" 

It’s better to know in advance than to scramble during chaos. 

Here, the experience of Ukrainians in Poland becomes invaluable. Those who have survived bomb alerts can share practical knowledge with Poles, including how to organise life in shelters, secure water and food supplies, address the psychological aspects of survival, and utilise mobile alert apps that have become critical tools in Ukraine. This is not theory. These are real-life experiences from people who face the consequences of war every single day.
Their testimony is more valuable than any textbook could be. 

Education in this field is the key to safety. Poland must harness the knowledge of Ukrainians and launch a wide educational campaign as soon as possible. 
According to the new law, local governments and fire services will play a central role in civil protection. However, in practice, the system will only function effectively if hundreds of thousands of people are involved. 

Ukrainians who have faced real threats can become instructors, educators, and leaders of this change. NGOS are already playing a significant role in organising training for both Ukrainians and Poles. 

This will benefit everyone. Polish municipalities urgently need practitioners who understand the realities of crises.

Every citizen on the front lines.

The new law places local governments in charge of implementing the civil protection system, meaning the battle for the effectiveness of this law will be fought where Poles and Ukrainians live nearby. It is essential to acknowledge that women played a vital role in Ukraine’s civil protection efforts, from rescue workers and volunteers to leaders of humanitarian organisations. They ensured survival amid chaos. 

In Poland, too, women can become the driving force behind such changes, joining local governments, NGOS, and educational teams. 

Is Poland ready for a crisis and civil protection?

Poland is better prepared today than it was a few years ago. The new law represents a significant step forward, but infrastructure alone will not be sufficient.

What will truly matter is the genuine engagement of citizens in education and crisis response, the effective application of Ukrainian experience, and practical cooperation among local governments, NGOS, and the central government.

Today, Poland is in a better situation than a few years ago. The new law is an important step, but one infrastructure is not enough. The real involvement of citizens in training and the elimination of the consequences of emergencies, the wise use of Ukrainians' experience and effective cooperation between local governments, organizations and the government will be crucial.

This isn’t a Hollywood disaster movie scenario. It’s reality—a reality we must understand and prepare for.  In the 21st century, security isn’t just about armies; it’s about conscious, organised societies. And building them starts with education—education based on facts, not fearmongering. 

Security is our shared responsibility.

It’s not just the domain of the state. It’s not something the government can "provide" like a service.  It’s something we build and give to each other.  Of course, institutions, regulations, alarm systems, and shelters are vital. But what truly determines survival during a crisis is people—their relationships, willingness to help, ability to act under stress, and the awareness that, in challenging moments, we are not alone. 
Every one of us is part of the security system—from the teacher who teaches first aid, to the neighbour who knows the nearest shelter location, to the volunteer who helps newly arrived refugees adjust to a new reality. 

The strength of a nation lies in the strength of its society—and society is strong when its members know they can count on one another. 

In the past, those who realised that the best defence wasn’t walls or bunkers, but well-prepared, united people, were the ones who prevailed.  In Ukraine, social mobilisation saved thousands of lives.  In Poland, we have a chance to learn from this experience before a crisis forces us to.

Kaja Puto: History shows that war is an opportunity for the emancipation of women. During the Second World War, European women began to work in industries previously dominated by men, such as railways and the military sector. Are we witnessing something similar in Ukraine today?

Liliya Faskhutdinova: Undoubtedly. Sectors where men previously dominated are now lacking workforce, and more and more women are being employed in them. This is due to the fact that many men are fighting on the frontlines, and thousands have already died there. Some have also refused to work because they are hiding from mobilisation.

You can increasingly see women behind the wheel of a bus or truck, in a mine or on a construction site. However, I would not call this emancipation. Women in Ukraine have been economically active since Soviet times, as employment was mandatory then. After the collapse of the USSR, wages became too low to survive on one income. Therefore, I see it differently: the war has made society more open to women taking on more diverse roles in the labour market.

It also works the other way around, because some men have taken up jobs in sectors dominated by women, such as education. This protects them from conscription, as teachers are considered critically important to the state and are not subject to mobilisation. Perhaps this is not the noblest motivation, but likely some of these teachers will remain in the profession after the war. This could have a positive impact on the gender balance among staff in Ukrainian schools.

And what about politics? Women play a huge role in the Ukrainian volunteer community, which supports the army and state institutions. This community enjoys public trust, which may translate into political success after the war. Are new female leaders already emerging?

Undoubtedly, after the war, new faces will appear in politics, and among them will be volunteers. However, I am not certain that they will be primarily women. Society is aware of the enormous contribution they make to volunteering - helping to raise funds for military equipment, medical supplies and so on. A certain image of the female volunteer has been entrenched in the collective imagination: an older woman weaving camouflage nets for soldiers. However, she usually remains unnamed. In my view, the most recognisable volunteers are men. They are the ones most often awarded and interviewed, and whose faces are known.

Recently, I asked my acquaintances whether they could name any female volunteers. Almost no one could. But everyone knows Serhiy Prytula or Vasyl Baidak. War or no war - it is harder for women to be recognised. Nevertheless, the trend of female activism in Ukrainian politics is on the rise. In the 2000s, women accounted for less than 10 per cent of parliamentarians, now it is over 20 per cent. This may be helped by the quotas introduced in 2019 in electoral lists. We have not had the opportunity to verify this, as no elections have taken place since the Russian invasion, except for local government elections.

Quotas were introduced to bring Ukrainian legislation closer to EU standards in the field of women's rights. Is this argument still convincing for Ukrainian society?

Yes. Ukrainians generally have an idealistic view of the West and want to be part of it. This makes it easier to promote progressive values. Tolerance towards LGBTQI+ people is growing - for many Ukrainians, it seems, precisely because they want to be Europeans. They do not want to resemble Russians, who persecute homosexuals and at the same time decriminalise domestic violence.

We have discussed positive trends that give hope for progress in the field of Ukrainian women's rights. Unfortunately, war also brings dangers in this area.

What do you mean?

There is a risk that when men return from war, they will be so revered that women will be expected to forgive them everything, to show gratitude, to bear them children, even more so than before. In the traditional image, a woman is a protectress, a caring goddess, a martyr who patiently endures all the hardships of family life.

In my parents’ generation, many women supported their husbands even if they abused alcohol. They called their decisions care and responsibility

In Poland, this is the «matka Polka», who «carries her cross». Fortunately, this model is receding into the past.

In Ukraine, it had also begun to fade. But then the war came, and everything became more complicated. Men returning from war find it difficult to reintegrate into reality. They have seen death and cruelty, many suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, some are prone to violence.

To this are added broken bonds. Long months on the frontline mean that you often feel a stronger connection with your comrades in the trenches than with your family. After returning, this can ruin your relationship with your wife. Mistrust and jealousy arise, suspicions such as: «You cheated while I was gone». I know cases where men at the start of the war wanted their women to go abroad, but now treat them as traitors.

It is hard for me to talk about this. I am infinitely grateful to all the soldiers who are defending my country. If they behave inappropriately as a result of their experiences - I know it is not their fault. My heart breaks when I think about what they have endured.

This is the fault of Russia, which invaded your country.

Yes, it is the fault of the aggressor. But we, Ukraine, cannot allow their suffering to cause additional suffering for women and children. We all suffer, men and women, and many of us will have psychological problems for the rest of our lives.

The war will also leave its mark on future generations. The task of the Ukrainian state, as well as Ukrainian society, is to mitigate these terrible consequences

Are you not afraid that such a campaign may be perceived negatively? Already during the war, Ukrzaliznytsia introduced women-only compartments on night trains. This provoked the outrage of many men: «We are risking our lives for you, and you make us out to be predators?»

Of course, it will be met with resistance. Not only from men, but also from women, especially those whose husbands are fighting or have already returned from the front. Many problems in the army are already very difficult to talk about - gratitude to soldiers makes them taboo topics. However, if we truly want to be a European rule-of-law state, we must learn to find solutions for these uncomfortable problems.

What problems do you mean?

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For example, sexual harassment in the army. I am not saying this is a widespread issue, but such cases do occur, and they must be condemned. When, at the beginning of the Russian invasion, a victim of such violence publicly shared her experience, some people responded very critically. They accused her of discrediting the Ukrainian armed forces and implied that women join the army to find a boyfriend. Fortunately, after three years of full-scale war, it has become somewhat easier to talk about problems. We no longer censor ourselves as we did at the beginning.

How can the state help veterans?

Helping veterans is one part - they need psychological support, as well as comprehensive programmes to facilitate their reintegration into civilian life. For some, it would be good to receive a grant to start their own business (such programmes already exist), while others need help with employment. We must not allow war veterans to sit idle at home. This also applies to those who became disabled on the frontlines.

However, support is also needed for families. When a soldier returns from war, they bear a huge burden. They do not know what to expect or how to respond. Moreover, I believe a campaign should be directed specifically at women along the lines of: «You have the right to leave, even if your husband is a hero». Nothing justifies living with an abuser.

Nevertheless, the position of Ukrainian servicewomen has generally improved since 2014...

Yes, absolutely. Previously, they could hardly hold combat positions. They fought on the frontlines, but were officially, for example, cooks. Today, such cases are exceptions. Ukrainian servicewomen are appreciated on a symbolic level too - Defender of Ukraine Day, celebrated on 1 October, has been renamed Defender and Defendress of Ukraine Day. The Ministry of Defence acknowledges the contribution of servicewomen to the country’s defence, and stories like «beautiful women make our service more pleasant» are, fortunately, heard less and less in the media. However, it is still difficult for women in the army to be promoted to leadership positions.

A serious problem also concerns homosexual relationships among servicewomen. They are not recognised by the Ukrainian state. When your partner is wounded or taken prisoner, you will not be informed. When she dies, you cannot see her body.

When a biological mother dies, her partner has no rights to the child. This also applies to male military personnel, except that more children are raised in lesbian partnerships

Alright, but ultimately it is men in the army who face greater discrimination - unlike women, they are forcibly conscripted. Thus, they are deprived of their right to life and health, the fundamental human right...

I often hear this narrative from foreigners. It annoys me just as much as when our defenders are told that «killing people is wrong». Of course, it is wrong, but what are we supposed to do? For those who are not confronted daily with a threat to life, it is easy to theorise and criticise our decisions, and harder to offer alternatives. Surrender to Russia? Send everyone to the frontlines? Draw lots to decide which parent ends up in the army? How will we protect children and the elderly then? Who will work to keep the economy going?

Women, unlike men, were legally allowed to leave Ukraine.

This, in turn, is a huge challenge for the Ukrainian sisterhood. Tension has arisen between the women who left and those who stayed. Some of us blame each other: «You abandoned your country in its time of need, you ran away, you betrayed us». Or: «You stayed, you are ruining your children’s lives».

This is very sad to me. I believe everyone has the right to make the decision they think is best for their family. It is a tragic choice, because every decision is wrong in some way. This tension harms Ukraine because some refugee women may not want to return home because of it. I know women who left, and their families stopped speaking to them.

And will they be accepted back?

I think that when the war ends, this tension will subside, and people will begin to live new lives. But for many refugee women, this will be a reason not to return to Ukraine.

Are you not afraid that the negative impact of the war on the rights of Ukrainian women will outweigh the positive?

I do not know. I am an optimist, I hope the positive will prevail. But I assess the chances as fifty-fifty.

How has the war changed you as a feminist?

Before the full-scale war began, I would have said that above all, I am a woman. Nothing was more important to me in terms of my identity. Today I say that I am Ukrainian. War unites nationality more than anything else. If you do not know war, you will never understand it.

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<frame>Liliya «Lila» Faskhutdinova is a feminist and human rights activist with ten years of experience in civil society, anti-discrimination programmes and gender equality advocacy. She received a bachelor's degree in philology from the Sorbonne and a master's degree in human rights from the University of Padua. She has worked with Syrian refugees in Turkey, internally displaced persons in Ukraine, people living with HIV, LGBTQI+ individuals and women. She currently lives in Lviv, where she is working on a women’s empowerment project at an international humanitarian organisation.<frame>

At around four o’clock in the morning, the first whistle of a missile echoed over Fedorivka. It flew so low that Oleksandra’s small dacha trembled. The dogs sprang to their feet, and she immediately understood - it had begun.

The first days of the Russian invasion in this small town in the Kyiv region were shrouded in a fog of chaos. The Russians advanced, seizing more and more territory with every passing hour. They moved forward from the Belarusian border, through Chornobyl, directly towards Kyiv. People fled their homes in panic, seeking safety, though no one truly knew where safety could be found. Shops emptied of food and anything that could provide warmth.

But Sasha had only one thought - there were over three thousand dogs in the shelter that needed feeding.

- I quickly ran out of petrol, so I walked through the nearby villages in search of food. I was away for a long time. When I returned, one of the shelter workers told me in horror that the Russians had entered. They were walking between the enclosures with automatic rifles, digging in. They set up a checkpoint on the road. He forbade me from going there. But I knew that our colleague, who had recently suffered a second heart attack, was still inside the shelter. My beloved pets were there. The adrenaline hit me so hard that I simply rushed towards the Russian checkpoint.

Dogs of war

Animals had always surrounded Oleksandra Mezinova. It was her parents who taught her respect and love for «our lesser brethren». Not only local strays but also wild, wounded animals seeking refuge would come to her family home near Kyiv. They treated them and returned them to the forest. They helped all creatures, regardless of condition or origin. They raised puppies and kittens before finding them homes. Oleksandra clearly remembers that receiving a puppy or kitten as a gift from her mother, a respected and beloved teacher at the school, was considered an honour.

When Oleksandra grew up, she realised she wanted to create a place that could provide shelter for a greater number of animals. A systematic solution - a real shelter, one that had not yet existed in Ukraine. At the time, she did not even know what it should be called, as such places had not existed in the Soviet Union.

The long road to its creation was filled with mistakes and successes. But finally, in October 2000, «Sirius» was founded

- I really like this star - it is bright and beautiful. I love astronomy. Along with history, it was my favourite subject in school. And my mother, a history teacher, told me a beautiful legend about Sirius, Orion’s dog. His master was fatally bitten by a scorpion, and he turned into a star along with him. Today, the bright Sirius shines in the sky in the constellation of the Great Dog.

The first to arrive was Nika, a dog with a broken leg. Although everything starts with just one dog, «Sirius» grows very quickly. For the first three years, everything is funded from the family budget, with a young son also in the picture. The beginning was difficult, but Oleksandra’s persistence - inherited from her mother - carried her through. More and more animals arrived at the shelter, more volunteers joined, and the work multiplied. The first sponsors appeared, helping to build her dream - a real shelter.

At the end of 2013, the Revolution of Dignity erupted. Quite unexpectedly, in a single night, Oleksandra’s son decided to switch to the Ukrainian language, and when Maidan began, he travelled to Kyiv with his father to stand on the barricades. Sasha could not leave the shelter but tried to be an active participant by bringing food to the protesters. At that time, Oleksandra did not yet know that the events on Independence Square would have such a profound impact on her shelter for homeless animals.

When the war in Donbas began a few months later, many of Oleksandra’s friends volunteered for the army and went to the ATO zone. They turned out to be highly sensitive to the unfair situation of animals, whose numbers grew daily along the front line. The first person they turned to was Oleksandra. This marked the beginning of a chain of aid created by volunteers working in Donbas, «Sirius» shelter staff and soldiers transporting animals from frontline villages to their new, safe home in Fedorivka.

None of us believed there would be a full-scale war

Oleksandra recalls that by December 2021, there was increasing talk that war was inevitable. A real, full-scale war. But no one believed that in the 21st century, in Europe, a neighbour could be attacked with such force. On December 5th, on the occasion of International Volunteer Day, President Zelensky presented awards. Although Oleksandra received the «Order of Princess Olga», what stood out most from that evening was his tense and stressed expression.

- He said that if it happened, we would all stand together, side by side. I remember it felt dissonant. Although I did not want to believe it, it worried me, and I could not stop thinking about it. I even considered stockpiling food just in case... But people reassured me, saying that nothing would happen. And when I heard the first whistle of missiles overhead, I realised I had made a terrible mistake in trusting them and not taking precautions.

First, she heard the war. At dawn, there was the whistle of missiles flying towards Kyiv. It woke her and her ten animals - dogs and cats. Everything around them trembled, the windowpanes vibrated, and her small dacha shook. Frightened dogs huddled together, and Oleksandra had only one thought: the war had begun. Thousands of thoughts swarmed in her mind, merging with images from the Second World War. She thought of bomb shelters, of the panic that was about to begin, of missiles soon to fall on Fedorivka, of chaos, of fleeing crowds, of kilometre-long traffic jams on the roads.

- I sat on the sofa, the dogs trembled, and I thought about how to evacuate 3500 animals. And suddenly, I told myself: «Sasha, stop. Wrap up. Start making a plan immediately. Point one: food»

Early in the morning, she set out in her car to visit the nearest villages. She entered shops, asked neighbours, and loaded her car with anything the dogs could eat. But after a day and a half, powerful explosions echoed - the bridges were blown up, the Russians surrounded the village, making escape impossible for those who remained. Complete isolation began. The explosions grew louder and louder, and Oleksandra began to pray that the missiles would not strike the village or the shelter. She knew that nineteen people had remained - staff members and volunteers who had come from distant regions and had nowhere to flee. She also did not know how much time they had left or how the Russians would approach them. People said the Russians would enter the village and shoot them all on sight. She found out only hours later when a shelter worker pulled her out of her panicked thoughts - the soldiers had just entered the shelter's territory.

- All I heard was that under no circumstances should I go there, that I had to hide. Military equipment had arrived, they were digging in, and there were many of them. They were running around the shelter with automatic rifles, while people had been herded into a tiny room guarded by a soldier with a gun. I immediately said that there was no other way, that I was running to the shelter - what about the people, what about my dogs? I heard that the Russians were aggressive and would kill me.

Sasha, together with the daughter of the manager who had recently suffered a second heart attack, set off running through the village. Adrenaline pounded in Sasha’s temples. From afar, it was already clear that the soldiers had quickly built trenches, and a camouflaged tank stood inside a dugout. There was also a checkpoint, flanked by soldiers with rifles, their barrels aimed directly at them. They slowed their pace and started walking towards them. When, twenty metres from the checkpoint, a soldier reloaded his weapon, they stopped and took their hands out of their pockets to show they were unarmed.

- I started shouting that my name was Oleksandra, that I was the director of the shelter located just beyond them, and that I needed to get there. They replied that no one was going anywhere and that we had to go home. I shouted that my people and my animals were there, but they only shook their heads in refusal. I demanded to be taken to their commander.

Something akin to madness took over her mind - she no longer cared whether or not they would start shooting. She saw her goal before her, oblivious to any obstacles. The Russians must have noticed it - her eyes burned with determination, she was furious, she was not backing down. With a nod of a gun barrel, they signalled her to follow them.

The commander was aggressive, but Sasha ignored it. She started talking about the shelter, about the people, about the shortage of food. She stated outright that she intended to drive through their checkpoint several times a day as she searched the surrounding areas for food for the animals.

- At the end of my speech, he burst into laughter. He asked if I really thought I had come here to set conditions. Had I really come to an armed position, stood before him, counted on my fingers what I needed, and expected him to give it to me? He had never seen anything like it before. And perhaps, that is exactly what worked.

He agreed but noted that any vehicle passing through would be inspected each time and that he would personally visit the shelter to check whether she was telling the truth. As we left him and walked towards the shelter, I felt a tingling sensation in my spine - I was almost certain that I would be shot in the back.

When they reached the shelter, they saw terrified staff. The Russians had lined them up and ordered them to surrender their phones so that no one could contact the outside world or relay any information to the Ukrainian army. Not everyone obeyed. When they found a hidden phone, they threw the previously confiscated ones onto the ground and demonstratively shot at them, nearly hitting the workers’ feet.

The vanishing voices

When someone enters the shelter and walks along the rows of enclosures, whether they come to adopt a pet or bring food, the residents erupt in noise. Dogs bark, howl and exchange signals. One can only imagine the racket caused by more than three thousand dogs all at once. Oleksandra always warns visitors not to run between the rows, as it only agitates them further, and the canine uproar carries for kilometres.

- The Russian soldiers entered the shelter armed, aggressive, ready to kill. They ran between the rows and among the dogs... and the dogs fell silent. They simply froze and stared at them. To this day, I do not understand what happened, not even cynologists can explain this phenomenon. When I left the shelter and walked through the village, someone asked me: so, Sasha, did they shoot all your dogs?

At that moment, a deathly silence, unlike anything she had ever experienced before, settled into her consciousness. It was only after liberation that it became clear this reaction had saved the dogs’ lives. After de-occupation, dog owners who had lost their pets - once adopted from «Sirius» - came to the shelter searching for them. There were cases where Russian soldiers, upon hearing a dog bark, would throw a grenade over the fence. They might not have even seen the dog, but they fired blindly to silence it. Many animals were killed this way near Kyiv. But inside the shelter, the silence lasted until the occupation ended.

Sometimes, the dogs howled when they heard a missile or an aircraft flying overhead, but then they would hide in their kennels, curling up - hungry and frightened

- I had a habit with the dogs where I would extend my hand through the fence, and they would push their nose or paw through, and that is how we greeted each other. During the occupation, I also had to walk around the shelter often, checking if everything was all right. I did not want to do it - I could not bear to look at the dogs. Then I learned not to look them in the eyes because, a few times, I extended my hand as always, but they did not understand. They were so hungry, and I was offering them an empty hand... I saw the question in their eyes: where is the food? Why are you treating us like this? The pain tore my heart apart. Today, I think that was the most terrifying and difficult task for me. Even speaking with the Russians was not such a nightmare.

But encounters with Russian army soldiers were far from pleasant. What did it matter that, thanks to the commander, they were allowed to cross the checkpoints daily if the soldiers emerged with raised guns and fury in their eyes? The moment the car window rolled down was a daily test of psychological endurance. One never knew what might set them off that day. Over time, the Russians became increasingly bitter, as their «three-day special military operation» was not going as planned. The soldiers started drinking, taking drugs, and often tormenting people without reason-causing both moral and physical harm.

A particularly difficult moment came when He stood at the checkpoint. Always masked, mysterious, and often reeking of alcohol. Someone in the village had told him that Oleksandra sang beautifully, and since then, he would not leave her alone. He liked her as a woman, making checkpoint crossings a psychological nightmare for her.

- He started calling me Prima Donna. Today, I laugh about it, but it was horrifying. Whenever he saw me in the car, he would bow deeply and say: «Prima Donna, please, please, you are most welcome». Then he decided they would organise a concert where I would sing.

Sasha was to sing for the Russian soldiers. A concert for them in the occupied territory. She immediately understood that ultimately, she could not refuse him because if she did, it might be the last decision she ever made. Though she had struggled with sleep since the invasion began, by then, she was no longer sleeping at all. She constantly had headaches, a racing heartbeat, and dark spots before her eyes. She started thinking about escaping through the forest, knowing that the «boys from the ATO» were there. But if she ran, she would never return here, the animals would starve to death, and everything she had done so far would be lost and wasted. And in that moment, too, she heard growling. Her voice became low, her throat tightened so much that she could barely speak.

She was like a sleepwalker in a nightmare that refused to end. Sasha tried to explain to the masked soldier that her voice was hoarse, that the stress had robbed her of it entirely, and that she could not sing

- One day, I told him: you are not a fool. I am Ukrainian - how can I possibly give you a concert? And in response, he once again invited me for champagne. He insisted that I was so understanding and that he could talk to me about interesting things. That champagne of theirs had likely been stolen from some shop. They were drinking expensive French champagne while occupying my city. I was afraid that one day, this could end very badly for me - when he got drunk, and I refused him again. I started avoiding confrontation in the evenings, hiding in the darkness in the back seat of the car.

In isolation

Information from the outside world rarely reached Fedorivka. Sometimes, text messages came through - even strangers would ask Oleksandra if she was still alive. The local residents knew little about what was happening in the country, about what was happening on the frontline. To contact relatives meant taking a deadly risk. There were only a few places in the village where a radio signal could be found. Sometimes, just sending a simple «I am alive» message was enough, but occasionally, it was even possible to make a brief phone call. The Russians must have received information from someone in the village because they quickly found these locations and began setting up ambushes. They would arrive in civilian cars when no one expected them, jumping out with weapons. One time, even Sasha was caught.

- I was standing with a friend, and there was another woman talking to her son on the phone. When I saw them approaching, I hid mine in my shoe. But one of them noticed. He knew who I was, of course. I was incredibly lucky because he pretended not to see anything. The woman, on the other hand, had her phone confiscated, and she fell into hysterics. She began shouting that it was her only way to contact her son, who... was serving in our army.

One of the soldiers immediately reloaded his weapon, convinced that she was passing on secret information to the Ukrainian Armed Forces. The woman's hysteria irritated them even more. Oleksandra sensed that a tragedy was about to unfold. She decided to approach them and, in a calm voice, said: «Look at her. She is just a simple village woman. What could she possibly know? She is only talking to her child. Does a mother not worry about you?» Then, by some miracle, her life was spared, but Oleksandra never saw her again.

Nor did she ever see the soldier who had lied, pretending he had not seen her hide the phone in her shoe. One morning, at dawn, she drove up to the checkpoint and saw the Russians hurriedly loading all their belongings into vehicles. They were clearly racing against time.

- I stopped, rolled down the window, and asked: «Where are you going, boys? Finally heading home?» I said it mockingly, as I always liked to provoke them a little. But they replied that they were going to Donbas. They were furious.

When the Russians fled and the occupation ended, volunteers from all over the world, including Poland, arrived in Fedorivka and the surrounding villages. Although Oleksandra welcomed them, gave interviews, and showed many people the shelter, something strange was happening in her mind. She understood that the occupation was over, but her body, her thoughts, her behaviour were still trapped there. Sasha even stopped at the checkpoints that no longer existed. She lived in this tension for another three months while the world's attention was still focused on this region - after all, Bucha and Irpin, less than fifty kilometres away, were making headlines in newspapers around the world. Volunteers and journalists were already on-site, and local residents were returning.

One morning, Oleksandra woke up and realised that today she had nowhere to go. No interviews, no need to run for food for the animals. And suddenly - all the commotion disappeared. In one second, she realised that she was finally free. Only one thing did not return to its place. Oleksandra cleared her throat loudly.

- I do not know, maybe one day my voice will come back to me. Maybe one day I will sing again, because I love singing. Maybe that will happen when the occupation ends - but across my entire country.