Ten years after witnessing Russian-backed separatists attempt to seize her native city of Kharkiv, photographer Olga Ivashchenko returned to witness what may be the beginning of another attempt by Russia to seize Ukraine's second city by force.
KHARKIV, Ukraine -- When I'm away from Kharkiv it seems like anything could happen to the city. I start thinking that Russians will destroy the energy system, that Kharkiv could be surrounded. It's only 30 kilometers from the Russian border, after all. Then I return and spend some time here and I start to feel confident that the city will survive.
I'm not sure what gives me such faith in the city. Perhaps it's the ordinary people I see helping small businesses to rebuild after a missile strike, or the children learning to swim in the light of flashlights during a blackout. Maybe it's just the optimism of springtime.
I realized war was coming on March 1, 2014. I was in my friend's kitchen watching television that day as the Russian Duma authorized the use of Russian troops abroad. I told my friends then that war lay ahead. This was before the annexation of Crimea or war in the Donbas. It was all just beginning.
In March 2014, there were different rallies being held across Kharkiv. Pro-Russian crowds gathered under the Lenin monument, while opposing rallies waved Ukrainian flags near the statue of Ukrainian poet Taras Shevchenko.
Pro-Ukrainian demonstrators seized Kharkiv's administration building, then separatist crowds stormed inside and attacked them. The Ukrainians were led outside for a kind of humiliation ritual. A gauntlet was formed, and I watched as people were forced to walk through while being kicked and hit with bags. Then the pro-Ukrainians were forced to kneel in the main square as people spat on them and some were beaten.
That day the Russian flag was raised over the administration building.
Today, Kharkiv is considered so dangerous that foreign journalists try not to stay overnight. The city is hit daily with everything from cheap aerial bombs that can land anywhere to accurate and expensive missiles.
But at the same time, my friends here go to work and raise their kids. It's hard for me to reconcile these two worlds.
When I go on a reporting trip to Kharkiv, I try to find a safe hotel, preferably somewhere below ground level. Then when I go to visit my friends, I sleep soundly on the 24th floor and don't even respond to the air-raid sirens that howl constantly.
My most vivid memory from this trip to Kharkiv was an emergency worker who cried as he retold the story of working at the site where a Russian drone hit an oil depot in February this year. A storage tank had ruptured and the burning fuel flowed toward nearby houses, trapping residents in a flood of fire. From one house the rescuer had to pull out the bodies of an entire family of five people, one after another.
It's hard to guess what was going through the mind of the father who perished inside his house alongside his family. The rescuer told me he ran through the scenarios endlessly in his head. Perhaps the father thought it was safest to stay inside the house because the yard outside was burning, but they had no chance.
The whole family -- father, mother, children aged 7 and 4, and a baby just 10 months old -- all perished in the flames.
I don’t know what the future holds for Kharkiv. After my most recent trip, I had the sense I should advise my parents to sell their house in the region, but in the end I didn't have the heart to tell them.
