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THE WOMEN FIGHTING ON THE FRONTLINE IN UKRAINE
Six female volunteers in the struggle against pro-Russian separatists
talk about the decision to go to battle for their country - and their
hopes for life after war
Vitaminka is one of the women in active combat roles on the frontline
in eastern Ukraine. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Elena Savchuk in Shchastya
Thursday 5 March 2015 07.00 GMTLast modified on Friday 6 March
201507.34 GMT
The volunteer battalions fighting alongside Ukraine's army are known
for being fearless on the battlefield. They also have a reputation
for fierce nationalism and far-right views. One of these units is the
assault battalion Aidar, based in the town of Shchastya, whose members
have been accused of human rights abuses by Amnesty International.
What is less known is that the volunteers include several women among
their ranks - some working as medics and support staff but others in
active combat roles. Although none of these women is confident that
the current ceasefire will hold, they are looking ahead to life after
the war. Here are their stories:
Mama Tanya, who jokes about 'liberating' Georgia when hostilities in
eastern Ukraine die down. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra
Media
The demonisation of Russia risks paving the way for war
Seumas Milne
Mama Tanya
This is not Mama Tanya's first war. In the 1990s she was living
with her husband in Azerbaijan and served as a medic during the
Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. Her experience and committed nationalism
has drawn her into yet another war in eastern Ukraine, where her
task is to administer first aid and pull wounded soldiers out of
battlefields during special operations.
"I fight for freedom and the territorial integrity of my country,"
she says, dragging on a cigarette. "This is our land. We are not
aggressors like Russia. We are protecting our territory."
She says she has been injured on the battlefield, taken prisoner and
beaten up by Chechen soldiers fighting with the separatists. Yet she
is determined to remain on the frontline.
"It is so scary here during artillery fire," she says. "I am the first
one to run to the basement to hide - and I urge all the others to
follow. It is stupid to die from a shell. To die on the battlefield
when one can see the enemy is another thing."
The most difficult part of the war is losing those she's fought
alongside.
"I love every one of the guys," she says. "But most of all I love the
young ones. I always wonder why, for God's sake, they are coming here."
Like many volunteers in the Aidar battalion, Mama Tanya does not
believe in therecent ceasefire with pro-Russian separatists.
"The new humanitarian convoy from Russia has arrived," she says. "We
are waiting for 'presents' from the Luhansk People's Republic. They
will wish us a happy morning, afternoon and evening. We known their
schedule for artillery strikes precisely."
Though she dreams of peace, it will be difficult to leave life on
the front.
"We are like a big family," she says. "The war will end sooner or
later. When we think what we'd do after it ends, I jokingly suggest
going to fight in Iraq or to liberate Georgia."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Vitaminka followed her boyfriend to the
front, where she volunteered to join the Aidar battalion. Photograph:
Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Vitaminka
Advertisement
Despite living in a war zone, Vitaminka says her biggest problem is
that her boyfriend is not speaking to her.
"That bastard went to the front without me," she says. "He went to
work and told me to wait for him in Kiev. I did for some time. Then
he disappeared for two months and I found out he had volunteered to
go the front." Eventually, the 24-year-old went east to join him.
When the fighting with pro-Russian rebels escalated last summer,
Vitaminka's boyfriend told her to return home. But Ukrainian women
are not to be intimated that easily, she says, and instead she joined
the Aidar assault battalion as a fighter.
"The most difficult thing is that when my dear brothers are dying here,
the rest of people don't give a damn about it," she says, recalling
life in her native town of Zaporozhe. "They just drive fancy cars,
buy expensive clothes, or sneakers for $200-300 per pair. That is
why few fighters return from a vacation without getting in a scuffle
with someone."
There is a lot of grief. It comes very often. Because of that, one
feels joy much more keenly
Vitaminka
Vitaminka says the battlefield does not scare her. "The most difficult
is to wait for the unknown," she says.
After the war, Vitaminka hopes to get married and have children. She
also wants to work as a play therapist.
"How could I help people get over the psychological effects of war
if I have never experienced it myself?" she asks. "What I like about
being here is that life seems more vivid. There is a lot of grief. It
comes very often. Because of that, one feels joy much more keenly. I
cannot change my attitude towards events. It is easier to change the
events instead."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Anaconda alongside a van displaying the
neo-Nazi symbol 1488. The volunteer brigade is known for its far-right
links. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Anaconda
Anaconda was given her nickname by a unit commander, in a joking
reference to her stature and power. The baby-faced 19-year-old says
that her mother is very worried about her and phones several times
a day, sometimes even during combat. She says it is better to always
answer, as her mother will not stop calling until she picks up.
The only problem is to find a room to change
Anaconda
"In the very beginning my mother kept saying that the war is not for
girls," Anaconda says. "But now she has to put up with my choice. My
dad would have come to the front himself, but his health does not
allow him to move. He is proud of me now."
She used to serve near Debaltseve but decided to move to the Aidar
volunteer battalion to join some of her friends.
"I used to work in Kiev's military hospital as a nurse," Anaconda
says. "I understood that I could not keep watching our men dying
and sit on the fence anymore. That was it. This is my country and my
people. It hurts to see how fighters and civilians die on both sides
of the conflict. I want this war to end faster," she says.
There are not many women in the corps, but the men treat her well.
"People are good," she said. "The only problem is to find a room
to change."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Viktoria is responsible for organising
the burial of soldiers killed in battle. Photograph: Jonathan
Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Viktoria
In a small cemetery on the outskirts of Starobilsk there are about 30
graves with markers reading "Temporarily unidentified hero of Ukraine".
Walking along the graves, Viktoria has a story to tell about each
of the unknown soldiers - although she never met any of them. The
22-year-old says she was sent to Starobilsk after being wounded in
combat while fighting pro-Russia separatists.
While recuperating, Viktoria took over responsibility for the burial
of dead fighters. Now she delivers the bodies to the local morgue,
where those that are unrecognisable undergo DNA testing. She fills
in the necessary paper work and sends the DNA sample back to Kiev, in
the hope of finding a matching family. Then she orders the coffins. If
relatives are identified, she liaises with them to organise reburial.
"I talked with a wife of one soldiers buried in this cemetery,"
Viktoria says. "I told her that other fighters had seen her husband
[severely injured]. It is unlikely that he survived. After the DNA
analysis confirmed his identity, I called her again. But she did not
believe me. She said that her husband was alive and she would not
rebury him."
Viktoria says that she takes regular breaks from the morgue - by
going to the frontline.
"If I do not go to the front at least once a week I simply go nuts,"
she says. "I used to be in a combat unit, always on the frontline. I
need to sit in a trench for a minute at least or deliver food there
and see the boys. My commanders do not allow me to go to the front
very often. They are scared that I will stay there.
"We have buried so many decent people," she adds. "Some of the boys
were 18 to 19 years old. This land is not worth the lives of our
soldiers. There are some deserving people here. But they are few,"
she adds, criticising the Ukrainians who flee the region instead of
staying to fight.
She used to believe that she was protecting her country but now she
is not so sure anymore. Yet she cannot leave.
"Where can I go to get away from them?" she asks. "They are helpless.
Once I took a vacation. For the first time in a year, I put on a
fancy dress and went to a nightclub. At five in the morning, I got
a call in the nightclub. They said that there was a dead fighter. I
had to give them instructions all the day on the phone."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Lesya, centre, and Dasha, right, outside
the heavily shelled hospital in Shchastya on the frontline in
Ukraine. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Lesya and Dasha
The two volunteer nurses live and work in the only field hospital
still functioning in Shchastya. The town has seen regular shelling by
Grad rockets and artillery fire from separatist forces camped about
a mile away. Though a Red Cross flag floats on the hospital roof,
it has not been spared.
"A shell hit the building just two days ago, smashing out all the
windows. Thank God the floor where the nurse usually sleeps was empty
that night," Dasha says. "Otherwise she would have been killed."
She describes how the shelling got so bad a few days before the
ceasefire was declared on 15 February that the doctors evacuated the
patients. Though most of the hospital's staff left to nearby cities
further away from the frontline, Lesya and Dasha remained behind to
stabilise casualties before they are sent to hospitals in safer towns.
The incessant shelling has destroyed the city's electrical grid,
forcing locals to cut trees for firewood. The lack of electricity is a
recurrent problem for the nurses, who need to keep the hospital warm..
"The silence is the most frightening," Lesya says. "When we are
bombed, we know what to expect; what to do. We hide in the room in
the far corner of the building. It used to be the safest place until
the windows were knocked out by artillery strikes. When it is quiet
we are more afraid."
Both nurses come from the Luhansk region, and are fiercely opposed
to the idea of a divided Ukraine.
Both have children at home, but have refused all opportunities to
leave the front.
"The people from Aidar are my friends," Dasha says. "My boyfriend
serves in this battalion. I am also completing documents to join
the unit."
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/mar/05/ukraine-women-fighting-frontline
Six female volunteers in the struggle against pro-Russian separatists
talk about the decision to go to battle for their country - and their
hopes for life after war
Vitaminka is one of the women in active combat roles on the frontline
in eastern Ukraine. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Elena Savchuk in Shchastya
Thursday 5 March 2015 07.00 GMTLast modified on Friday 6 March
201507.34 GMT
The volunteer battalions fighting alongside Ukraine's army are known
for being fearless on the battlefield. They also have a reputation
for fierce nationalism and far-right views. One of these units is the
assault battalion Aidar, based in the town of Shchastya, whose members
have been accused of human rights abuses by Amnesty International.
What is less known is that the volunteers include several women among
their ranks - some working as medics and support staff but others in
active combat roles. Although none of these women is confident that
the current ceasefire will hold, they are looking ahead to life after
the war. Here are their stories:
Mama Tanya, who jokes about 'liberating' Georgia when hostilities in
eastern Ukraine die down. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra
Media
The demonisation of Russia risks paving the way for war
Seumas Milne
Mama Tanya
This is not Mama Tanya's first war. In the 1990s she was living
with her husband in Azerbaijan and served as a medic during the
Nagorno-Karabakh conflict. Her experience and committed nationalism
has drawn her into yet another war in eastern Ukraine, where her
task is to administer first aid and pull wounded soldiers out of
battlefields during special operations.
"I fight for freedom and the territorial integrity of my country,"
she says, dragging on a cigarette. "This is our land. We are not
aggressors like Russia. We are protecting our territory."
She says she has been injured on the battlefield, taken prisoner and
beaten up by Chechen soldiers fighting with the separatists. Yet she
is determined to remain on the frontline.
"It is so scary here during artillery fire," she says. "I am the first
one to run to the basement to hide - and I urge all the others to
follow. It is stupid to die from a shell. To die on the battlefield
when one can see the enemy is another thing."
The most difficult part of the war is losing those she's fought
alongside.
"I love every one of the guys," she says. "But most of all I love the
young ones. I always wonder why, for God's sake, they are coming here."
Like many volunteers in the Aidar battalion, Mama Tanya does not
believe in therecent ceasefire with pro-Russian separatists.
"The new humanitarian convoy from Russia has arrived," she says. "We
are waiting for 'presents' from the Luhansk People's Republic. They
will wish us a happy morning, afternoon and evening. We known their
schedule for artillery strikes precisely."
Though she dreams of peace, it will be difficult to leave life on
the front.
"We are like a big family," she says. "The war will end sooner or
later. When we think what we'd do after it ends, I jokingly suggest
going to fight in Iraq or to liberate Georgia."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Vitaminka followed her boyfriend to the
front, where she volunteered to join the Aidar battalion. Photograph:
Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Vitaminka
Advertisement
Despite living in a war zone, Vitaminka says her biggest problem is
that her boyfriend is not speaking to her.
"That bastard went to the front without me," she says. "He went to
work and told me to wait for him in Kiev. I did for some time. Then
he disappeared for two months and I found out he had volunteered to
go the front." Eventually, the 24-year-old went east to join him.
When the fighting with pro-Russian rebels escalated last summer,
Vitaminka's boyfriend told her to return home. But Ukrainian women
are not to be intimated that easily, she says, and instead she joined
the Aidar assault battalion as a fighter.
"The most difficult thing is that when my dear brothers are dying here,
the rest of people don't give a damn about it," she says, recalling
life in her native town of Zaporozhe. "They just drive fancy cars,
buy expensive clothes, or sneakers for $200-300 per pair. That is
why few fighters return from a vacation without getting in a scuffle
with someone."
There is a lot of grief. It comes very often. Because of that, one
feels joy much more keenly
Vitaminka
Vitaminka says the battlefield does not scare her. "The most difficult
is to wait for the unknown," she says.
After the war, Vitaminka hopes to get married and have children. She
also wants to work as a play therapist.
"How could I help people get over the psychological effects of war
if I have never experienced it myself?" she asks. "What I like about
being here is that life seems more vivid. There is a lot of grief. It
comes very often. Because of that, one feels joy much more keenly. I
cannot change my attitude towards events. It is easier to change the
events instead."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Anaconda alongside a van displaying the
neo-Nazi symbol 1488. The volunteer brigade is known for its far-right
links. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Anaconda
Anaconda was given her nickname by a unit commander, in a joking
reference to her stature and power. The baby-faced 19-year-old says
that her mother is very worried about her and phones several times
a day, sometimes even during combat. She says it is better to always
answer, as her mother will not stop calling until she picks up.
The only problem is to find a room to change
Anaconda
"In the very beginning my mother kept saying that the war is not for
girls," Anaconda says. "But now she has to put up with my choice. My
dad would have come to the front himself, but his health does not
allow him to move. He is proud of me now."
She used to serve near Debaltseve but decided to move to the Aidar
volunteer battalion to join some of her friends.
"I used to work in Kiev's military hospital as a nurse," Anaconda
says. "I understood that I could not keep watching our men dying
and sit on the fence anymore. That was it. This is my country and my
people. It hurts to see how fighters and civilians die on both sides
of the conflict. I want this war to end faster," she says.
There are not many women in the corps, but the men treat her well.
"People are good," she said. "The only problem is to find a room
to change."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Viktoria is responsible for organising
the burial of soldiers killed in battle. Photograph: Jonathan
Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Viktoria
In a small cemetery on the outskirts of Starobilsk there are about 30
graves with markers reading "Temporarily unidentified hero of Ukraine".
Walking along the graves, Viktoria has a story to tell about each
of the unknown soldiers - although she never met any of them. The
22-year-old says she was sent to Starobilsk after being wounded in
combat while fighting pro-Russia separatists.
While recuperating, Viktoria took over responsibility for the burial
of dead fighters. Now she delivers the bodies to the local morgue,
where those that are unrecognisable undergo DNA testing. She fills
in the necessary paper work and sends the DNA sample back to Kiev, in
the hope of finding a matching family. Then she orders the coffins. If
relatives are identified, she liaises with them to organise reburial.
"I talked with a wife of one soldiers buried in this cemetery,"
Viktoria says. "I told her that other fighters had seen her husband
[severely injured]. It is unlikely that he survived. After the DNA
analysis confirmed his identity, I called her again. But she did not
believe me. She said that her husband was alive and she would not
rebury him."
Viktoria says that she takes regular breaks from the morgue - by
going to the frontline.
"If I do not go to the front at least once a week I simply go nuts,"
she says. "I used to be in a combat unit, always on the frontline. I
need to sit in a trench for a minute at least or deliver food there
and see the boys. My commanders do not allow me to go to the front
very often. They are scared that I will stay there.
"We have buried so many decent people," she adds. "Some of the boys
were 18 to 19 years old. This land is not worth the lives of our
soldiers. There are some deserving people here. But they are few,"
she adds, criticising the Ukrainians who flee the region instead of
staying to fight.
She used to believe that she was protecting her country but now she
is not so sure anymore. Yet she cannot leave.
"Where can I go to get away from them?" she asks. "They are helpless.
Once I took a vacation. For the first time in a year, I put on a
fancy dress and went to a nightclub. At five in the morning, I got
a call in the nightclub. They said that there was a dead fighter. I
had to give them instructions all the day on the phone."
FacebookTwitterPinterest Lesya, centre, and Dasha, right, outside
the heavily shelled hospital in Shchastya on the frontline in
Ukraine. Photograph: Jonathan Alpeyrie/Transterra Media
Lesya and Dasha
The two volunteer nurses live and work in the only field hospital
still functioning in Shchastya. The town has seen regular shelling by
Grad rockets and artillery fire from separatist forces camped about
a mile away. Though a Red Cross flag floats on the hospital roof,
it has not been spared.
"A shell hit the building just two days ago, smashing out all the
windows. Thank God the floor where the nurse usually sleeps was empty
that night," Dasha says. "Otherwise she would have been killed."
She describes how the shelling got so bad a few days before the
ceasefire was declared on 15 February that the doctors evacuated the
patients. Though most of the hospital's staff left to nearby cities
further away from the frontline, Lesya and Dasha remained behind to
stabilise casualties before they are sent to hospitals in safer towns.
The incessant shelling has destroyed the city's electrical grid,
forcing locals to cut trees for firewood. The lack of electricity is a
recurrent problem for the nurses, who need to keep the hospital warm..
"The silence is the most frightening," Lesya says. "When we are
bombed, we know what to expect; what to do. We hide in the room in
the far corner of the building. It used to be the safest place until
the windows were knocked out by artillery strikes. When it is quiet
we are more afraid."
Both nurses come from the Luhansk region, and are fiercely opposed
to the idea of a divided Ukraine.
Both have children at home, but have refused all opportunities to
leave the front.
"The people from Aidar are my friends," Dasha says. "My boyfriend
serves in this battalion. I am also completing documents to join
the unit."
http://www.theguardian.com/world/2015/mar/05/ukraine-women-fighting-frontline