Category: Ukraine

One US analyst described Trump’s public support for Russia’s terms for a ceasefire as follows:

Putin gets the domestic glory he craves and lets him save face by winning a war that would’ve likely outlived him.

Plus he gets 19% of Ukraine — over 43,000 square miles (27 million acres), capturing a significant chunk of Ukraine’s railway network, power plants, pipelines, military bases, heavy industry, tons of anthracite coal, vital Black Sea ports on Crimea, and a big fat buffer zone with non-NATO Ukraine.

Following is the response by the editor-in-chief of the Kiev Independent addressing Trump’s about face in America’s support for Ukraine’s freedom.

Her words portray the courage, character and resilience of a nation that will be free.  Plus the hope from three years of sacrifice that inspires her fellow citizens today.

On the brink of catastrophe — again: A letter from our chief editor Hello, dear reader, This is Olga Rudenko, editor-in-chief of the Kyiv Independent. In a few days, we will be marking the third anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. If you read the news, you know that we’re coming to it in a difficult, surreal state. Our key ally, led by Donald Trump’s new administration, is turning against us and is siding with our enemy, Russia. After three years of resistance that cost Ukraine lands and numerous lives, it seems like the invader can prevail after all. How do I begin to describe what it feels like here, on the ground? First of all, it feels oddly similar to these very days three years ago. That anxious February of 2022, filled with a buildup to a disaster. We saw it coming closer but didn’t want to believe it would happen — it seemed so insane, impossible to imagine. A military invasion to take over a free country? Impossible. Just as impossible as it is to believe that the leader of the free world will side with the Russian dictator. And yet, it’s happening. Three years ago, late on the night of Feb. 23, I left the office around 3 a.m. with two other editors. Toma Istomina, the Kyiv Independent’s deputy chief editor, waved at me on her way to her taxi and jokingly said, “Well, I hope we will see each other tomorrow.” In two hours, Russia  started its invasion. Toma and I saw each other two months later. Today I’m writing this message to you at our office in Kyiv. Sitting across from me is Toma, frowned and focused, her curls pushed away by large headphones as she’s editing something urgent. Like three years ago, we are exchanging jokes to lift the mood. She has the driest sense of humor — a perfect fit for the times. The atmosphere is painfully similar to three years ago: defiance in the anticipation of a catastrophe. But this time, despite the odds, I feel a bit more confident. Here’s why. On the second day of the invasion in 2022, when it became clear that the Ukrainian military was fighting tooth and nail against the invaders, I wrote a short and emotional post on Facebook. It read: “No matter what happens next, our defenders have already won for us the feeling of dignity that will stay with us forever. Russians will never dream of having it.” That’s the first reason that makes me feel stronger and more prepared for what comes next. I know the resilience of the Ukrainian people — the special internal strength that comes with the centuries of defying the odds, of surviving despite the forces that seek to eliminate you. I feel it in myself and in everyone around me — both in native Ukrainians and our allies who are here with us. That strength is something no one can take from us. Not even two of the most powerful leaders in the world working together. The second reason that makes me more confident in the future than I was three years ago is knowing that we don’t stand alone. Yes, presidents and leaders can try to sell us out, either for personal gains or out of sheer cowardice. But I know that there are many millions of people around the world who stand with Ukraine. They reach out, offer support, write letters. A lot of these letters start with: “I’m so ashamed that my country isn’t doing enough…” or a similar sentiment. In these three years, Ukraine’s supporters have shown what it means to truly stand up for what’s right. To show up. To fight. To show kindness. This war has made us see the worst side of humanity — but, it has also shown us the best. So whatever comes next, we have our strength and we have you. Let’s remember that this isn’t over. Ukraine keeps fighting. Today, when we finally wrap the day and go home, we will hear the air defense working — Russia’s drones have been attacking Kyiv every night this week. We will publish the last stories of the day from our bathrooms, the safest place during an attack. Nothing is stopping here. The Kyiv Independent’s team is staying on the ground in Ukraine to bring you the truth about what’s happening here — as we have been for three years. We can do it thanks to you. Our readers’ contributions make up the majority of our funding. Thank you for standing with the Kyiv Independent — your support helps us keep going. Thank you, Olga Rudenko Editor-in-Chief The Kyiv Independent February 20, 2025

This is a post from the Ukrainian based blog, The Counteroffensive published yesterday.  In simple, clear words and pictues, it tells of heroism and of sacrifice-the ultimate price of freedom-for Ukraine and every country that believes in government by the people.

He was killed in combat, while she was pregnant

by Myroslava Tanska-Vikulova

In a few weeks, Andrii Kuzmenko was supposed to hold his newborn daughter in his arms, but this will never happen. Like tens of thousands of other soldiers, he was killed by Russia.

He was killed in the Donetsk region on January 4. He was 33 years old.

Two Journalist Volunteers

Andrii was a journalist for the Ukrainian media outlet Novynarnya. But when the full-scale war began, he voluntarily joined the armed forces. He became an officer and a scout in the 2nd Marine Battalion.

Andrii is survived by his wife, also a Ukrainian journalist – the volunteer and author Anastasiia Fedchenko, who is nine months pregnant.

Anastasiia Fedchenko holds her head in her hands, crying for the now-lost future they had dreamed of together.  The pregnant wife kneels in front of the coffin of her husband who died in the war.

Watching the young wife grieve at his funeral last week, knowing he would never meet their unborn child, was one of the hardest things I have seen in this war so far.

Just last month, the happy couple did a photoshoot together, proudly holding Anastasiia’s bump, and staring into each other’s eyes. She posted this photo on her Facebook page on December 31, 2024, captioning it: “My main result of the year is love!”

Just several days later he would be dead during a combat mission.

At Andrii’s funeral, there are many people around, all carrying flowers, fresh, without plastic wrapping, as his wife had requested.

Most of them are holding roses, which is very unusual for a farewell; in Ukraine, since the Soviet Union, it has been a tradition to bring carnations to a funeral.

A motorcade of cars arrives at the cathedral.  Among them is a white Sprinter van.

When it stops, its doors are opened by a dozen soldiers. Inside, there are wreaths of flowers, and the coffin with Andrii’s body is behind them.

There is silence. No one dares to say a word, only the sound of clothes rustling and soldiers walking around can be heard.

But this silence is broken by a previously inconspicuous woman in a long blue coat, who begins to cry loudly. She covers her mouth with one hand to muffle her voice, her eyes fill with tears, and her other hand supports her already large belly.

This is Anastasiia, Andrii’s pregnant wife.

At this moment, it is most painful for me to think about how many families are like this. How many women have lost their husbands while pregnant? Often on social media, you can see videos of Ukrainian women organizing gender parties at the graves of their husbands.

The worst thing is to realize that these children were not abandoned by their fathers, who may have wanted them more than anything else in the world. Instead, Russia decided that it had the right to take away the most precious things from people – their lives and families.

Next to Anastasiia is an old woman of small stature who keeps looking into the coffin and saying softly, “Son…”. This is Andrii’s mother.

The atmosphere in the cathedral is heavy. All around, there is a powerful smell of burning wax candles. It seems that the cathedral itself is mourning all the fallen Ukrainian soldiers. It’s hard to breathe there, I want to get some fresh air. But the feeling prevails that praying for the repose of the soul of a fallen soldier who protects each of us is the least we can do.

The funeral ceremony in St. Michael’s Cathedral lasts about 40 minutes.

For me, this time seems like an eternity, but for his wife Anastasiia, it probably flies by. At the same time, this is only my assumption, because it is difficult to imagine what a wife who has lost her husband in the war feels.

All those who came to say goodbye to Andrii were divided into two camps: first, his family, friends, acquaintances, and colleagues.

Second, a bank of journalists, recording the ceremony.

They Want His Story Told

At some point, it seemed completely absurd to me: dozens of cameras shining on Andrii’s coffin, and photographers running around looking for a good shot. It seems that in such an intimate moment, when his family is already alienated from everyone they know, they cannot get the peace they want to say goodbye to Andrii on their own terms.

But Andrii’s family has allowed journalists to be here, because they want his story to be told. After the ceremony, I tried to speak to some of the guests to get a sense of Andrii’s life.

Many of those present are not used to such publicity and refuse to comment. But those who do speak have nothing but wonderful things to say about him.

His friend Tetiana said that Andrii was someone who enjoyed cooking liver cake – a savory Ukrainian delicacy – for his loved ones, and also someone who was so thoughtful that he cleaned up before his cleaning lady came, “because he was ashamed”.

She describes him as a sincere and kind man, and his death is a great loss for Ukraine.

Andrii’s coffin is taken out of the cathedral. His wife follows it, Kyiv, January 10, 2025

Before he died, Andrii was dreaming of a future of peace and tranquility when the war ended. He was planning a happy family life and waiting to finally spend more time with Anastasiia.

But in the end, Anastasiia and Andrii spent no more than two months together during the almost year and a half they were married – their wedding was in September 2023. All the time Andrii was at war.

After his funeral, Andrii Kuzmenko was buried in the Alley of Heroes in the forest cemetery in Kyiv.

Kiev Symphony and Orchestra welcome all to this season of joy and war, with song.

(https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vjGM3mtqmv0)

A children’s puppet show.

The Messiah sung on December 9, 2024 in Kiev. Familiar music but a new experience when heard in the Ukrainian language. The promise of peace in a time of war.

(https://www.youtube.com/live/SuALTmDE1I8)

Yesterday the Kiev National Orchestra and Chorus presented an hour and half performance of Handel’s Messiah.

While a common event in the West,  in the early 1990’s following Ukraine’s independence, this group was the first to perform this “religious” work in this former state under the control of the Soviet Union.

The orchestra and chorus were founded in 1993 by Roger McMurrin, a Presbyterian Choir Director and his wife as Music Mission Kiev.   Joan and I met them during the orchestra’s initial tour of the US. Its purpose was to employ out-of-work professional artists so they could earn a living in their newly independent country.

Roger and Diane eventually moved to live in Ukraine full time.  The mission was expanded to serve widows and orphans with bible study and social services.  It is now under local Ukrainian leadership.

This Performance

This YouTube recording of yesterday’s concert is a different experience than what you might enjoy in your local community.

The performance is in Ukrainian.  As we listen, we know the music, but the words are not familiar.  This causes us to listen with new intensity providing a fresh experience.   The music is gorgeous.

The camera work also communicates with its many views the full visual efforts of individual artists and the chorus as a whole.

Seeing this live performance in Kiev in the middle of an intense war for their freedom, now 1,021 days long, can be very moving.  People singing of joy, hope and faith in an era in which over 400,000 of their citizens have been killed or wounded.

This performance is dedicated to Roger who died in 2023.  There is a brief opening video from Diane.  Watch and listen for a singular and moving  experience.

(https://www.youtube.com/live/SuALTmDE1I8)

Below is an email from a Ukrainian journalism startup.  It debuted just three months before the February 2022 Russian invasion.

Journalism and freedom are interlinked.  Free speech is the first amendment to the Constitution in the Bill of Rights in America.  Without this foundation, the rest of the “freedoms” in the amendments would be difficult to defend.

These Ukrainian founders are young, believe in their country’s future, and communicate in English in all their articles and videos to reach a broad, international audience. Their team is committed to a country where democracy and independence are the purpose of their enterprise.

As American policy towards Ukraine’s future is under review, it is vital we listen and learn from those whose lives are on the line, daily.

This third anniversary letter from the editor-in-chief describes their efforts and hope. It is ironic that their founding anniversary is on the same day as our Veterans Day. However this living example reminds us again of the costs and commitment  freedom requires in any country yearning for government by the people.

You can read their latest daily edition here.

We mark a milestone today

Dear reader, This is Olga Rudenko, editor-in-chief of the Kyiv Independent, and I was never supposed to send you this email. Because there was never supposed to be a Kyiv Independent. As you might have guessed, today is our birthday, and I’m getting sentimental. I’m writing to you from our office in the heart of Kyiv, Ukraine, where we are having an especially murky morning. In all fairness, it could have been much worse: For a moment it looked like Russia was going to attack Ukraine with a barrage of missiles, but then its planes turned back. Whether it was a training exercise or intimidation, it sure did a good job waking us up. What a way to start our birthday, right? I locked myself up in a small conference room, away from the noises of our newsroom, to draft this note to you. I wanted to take a moment out of this hectic day to be alone with you, our readers and supporters, to share my thoughts and gratitude. The Kyiv Independent is three years old today. It might not seem like a big deal. The New York Times is 173 years old. Le Monde is 80. Der Spiegel — 77. The Guardian is 203. What’s three years compared to that? For us, every day of these three years was hard-won. Nothing about how the Kyiv Independent started was normal. When you imagine yourself launching a new venture, you must imagine months of careful planning, pitching to investors, putting together a team, and picking out a location for an office. Well, we had four days. You read that right. Three years ago, we were fired from a newspaper for standing up to censorship attempts. It was gutting. We were a bunch of young journalists, standing up against a rich owner who thought that he showed us how the world runs — and who runs it. Fortunately, we were young and rebellious enough to not accept it. Four days later, we announced that we were launching our own newspaper. We will show them, we thought. We will show them that you can do independent journalism, and not bow to anyone. There was one tiny inconvenience. We had no money. This grand idea of doing independent English-language journalism from Ukraine had very good chances of crashing when it met with reality. And then… you showed up. Our readers. Thousands of you have chosen to support our work — you made it all possible. When the full-scale invasion hit, just three months after we started the Kyiv Independent, you were there for us. And we showed up for you, too — we became your window into Ukraine as it has been fighting for its existence. I’m going to be very honest with you: It is getting harder. I did some math today: The Kyiv Independent has spent 90% of its short lifetime living through a full-scale war. And I now understand that, for all its shock and turbulence, the first year of it was the easiest. We were getting a lot of praise back then, people often calling us “brave” for staying and reporting for Ukraine. I think there is more courage in what we do today: persevering, doing our job day after day, with no clear end in sight. Because just like three years ago, we know this is the right thing to do — and we’re willing to beat the odds, again. It’s you who make it all possible. We now have a community of 12,000 members supporting our work. Today, on our birthday, we are starting a campaign to get 1,000 new members in the next month. Here’s why we need it: It’s not just a nice number. It would grow our community by 8%, meaning we can hire more people, like journalists who bring you the news, defense reporters who help you make sense of the war, or videographers who produce documentaries about Russian war crimes. That means that, as we are facing 2025 and the uncertainties it will bring, we will be stronger, more resilient, and will be able to continue bringing you reliable journalism from Ukraine, whatever may come. Thank you for being a supporter of the Kyiv Independent.

Readers may be aware of my interest in and support for Ukraine in their fight for freedom.  Occasionally I write posts about events in this country under daily attack by Russia.

There are many opportunities to support Ukraine from direct donations to organizations in-country to funding students and persons living in the US and other countries of refuge.

I just learned about another long-standing organization called This Child Here founded by a Presbyterian minister in 2006.  The leader is Robert Gamble who tells of his initial work with homeless youths in the disrupted society following the country’s independence.  This effort came in mid career, after serving five years in the Coast Guard and then attending Princeton Theological Seminary to enter the ministry.  He has served as pastor for five churches throughout the denomination.

He writes in 2007 of his initial experience working with an NGO in Ukraine to help homeless youth:

You don’t have foster families in Ukraine. No one can afford another child. “You have three children,”a taxi driver said to me, “you must be a rich man.” 

While I am here there are times I drink too much but most times too little. I spend like a poor man but live a life that is rich. I listen to idiots, skeptics, learned people and fools, I learn from the suffering of children. I doubt and trust, give away and receive. I get robbed and restored, applauded and shunned. 

I see churches void of life and attended worship with more life than my comfort zones can handle. I gave one sermon; it wasn’t in a pulpit , and I didn’t wear a robe . I stood on a rented stage in an old movie auditorium and it hardly lasted seven minutes, but I felt alive and honored as every word I spoke was repeated in Russian.

Today’s Work

Gamble’s work leading the organization now alternates between three months on the ground in Ukraine followed by three months of travel throughout the US fund raising for his 501 C 3.  His current itinerary shows 98 stops with churches, local groups such as Rotary and “friends” on his September 7 to November 17 return.

His group’s  purpose today:

We work with families displaced by the war. Thousands of people have fled cities in the east and arrived in Izmail, Ukraine in the west. As many fathers are in the military or still residing in places now dangerous, these families often consist of mothers and children.

We provide products from grocery stores, and centres for youth and children’s activities, including sports, music, art, and programs led by psychologists. Through these activities, summer camps, and the supportive community we have built, we offer therapy for the trauma and shock suffered by these families.  This Child Here, Inc. is a Validated Ministry in the Presbyterian Church (USA).  

The work is not without danger as recorded in this brief 2003 video.

His Belief:  People Change People

When this war is over, people will read about what was done, not just between armies, but behind the lines where people help people and people change people, for the better.

This is an American who for two decades has invested his energy, mind and purpose with the belief that people changing people  will make the difference in the future of Ukraine.  And I believe in other societies as well, including ours.

As I learn more, I will share this person’s journey of a committed life.