4 | MARCH 10 • 2022 

essay

“Our Beautiful City Is Being Destroyed”

Stories from Kharkiv, Ukraine, in the midst of war.
O

n Feb. 24, we, like 
millions of others 
around the world, 
woke up to the horrible news 
that Russia had launched a 
full-scale invasion of Ukraine. 
As I turned on 
the TV
, I saw 
the names of 
Ukrainian cities 
where our family 
originated from, 
now in the path 
of the Russian 
army, flash 
across the screen: 
Kyiv, Kharkiv, Mariupol, 
Mykoliav, Lugansk and many 
more.
I also saw Lviv, the city 
where my father was born, 
flooded by refugees escaping 
from the central and eastern 
portions of the country. 
Immediately, I contacted my 
cousins in Kharkiv, Ukraine’s 
second-largest city located 
on the northeast border with 
Russia. They told me how that 
morning, they were awoken 
by gunfire at 5 a.m. They were 
safe, but terrified, and so was I.
As of the 24th, there was no 
water in the Kharkiv region. 
My relatives, whose names I’m 
not disclosing for their safety, 
had their suitcases packed and 
ready to go, awaiting further 
instruction. Luckily, they saw 
the writing on the wall and 
stocked up on food, water and 
supplies days ahead of the 
invasion, even going as far as 
filling their bathtub and other 
vessels around their home with 
water in case they ran out.
Others, however, weren’t so 

lucky or prepared. I write this 
story on Feb. 28, when Kharkiv 
is becoming a second key 
battleground for the Russian 
invasion, in addition to Kyiv, 
where we also have relatives. 
It’s now been four days and the 
situation is dire, arguably the 
most dangerous yet. We see 
footage of the war on TV — 
shelling, shooting, fire — but 
it’s the individual stories of 
those actually living through 
Ukraine’s worst crisis in years 
that hits the hardest.
Every day, the news from 
my family is worse. They send 
photos from their balcony, 
late at night, where the sky 
is orange, lit up in fire and 
flame. In those few moments 
of precious sleep, they sleep 
in their bathrooms, cat at 
their side, the safest place for 
them all. We hear the noise 

of rockets flying by when we 
speak to one another on the 
phone, hoping and praying 
that sound won’t be the last 
we hear. They fear telling my 
father what floor they are 
on, in case communication 
is intercepted and residential 
buildings become a target of 
the Russian army.
My father asks them, “Do 
you have an escape route?” 
No, they explain. Kharkiv is 
surrounded to the north, east 
and south. To go west would 
be a “suicide mission,” our 
relative says, as the road is 
littered with blown-up tanks 
and dead bodies. “There is 
nowhere to go.”

DOING WHAT IT 
TAKES TO SURVIVE
Food is also becoming a 
problem, despite stocking up. 

Two days ago, my cousin’s 
husband spent more than two 
hours in line for food, but 
the supply ran out. The store 
was empty, its shelves picked 
over. “We unite and search 
the city,” my cousin says, not 
giving up on the hope to find 
food, despite the danger of 
going outside. One friend, she 
says, saw three people near 
his house who went outside to 
collect water killed by a shell. 
Still, people must do what it 
takes to survive.
Yesterday, my cousin 
spent an hour in line to get 
medicine for her mother, who 
has diabetes. They are now 
organizing a plan to find and 
buy meat for seven families, 
all desperately in need of food. 
Yet with little meat available, 
prices are astronomical. 
A small piece of meat is 

Ashley 
Zlatopolsky
Contributing 
Writer

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