“Our fight goes on. On battlefields and online” – Kyiv-based design writer Lena Kozar shares her story from inside the war

A couple of months ago, prior to Putin launching his heinous attack on innocent Ukrainians across the country, Lena Kozar – a 30-year-old culture journalist based in Kyiv – reached out to photographer Elena Heatherwick to see if she could write an article on her practice.

Since the war started, over two weeks ago now, Elena and Lena have continued to check in on one another, with the photographer offering any help she could provide. “I told her that I would like to tell my story,” Lena describes. “I wanted to tell everyone I could that my beautiful country is being destroyed by Russian aggression.” Today, alongside a series of photographs taken by Elena in Polissia, Ukraine, close to the Belarus border, which is currently under attack, we’re honoured to publish that story.

I was asleep when the war started. I have been living on a busy avenue for years and got used to the noise outside. The sounds of rumbling cars and late party-goers don’t wake me up. Neither did the explosions on that dreadful morning.

We spent the previous couple of months in anticipation of war, but I never believed that it was actually going to happen. I read about Russian troops accumulating on our borders, but still went skiing in the Carpathian Mountains. I listened to a podcast about grab-and-go bags, while planning dinner with my friends. Embracing the upcoming disaster was unbearable. When it happened, though, I was terrified, shaken, but hardly surprised.

Emotionally, living through the first days of a war is like swinging between two extremes. You go from anguish and panic to hope and euphoria; from paralysing fear of death to hectic agitation. Finally, you land on numbness, you get adjusted.

The morning of 24 February feels like a lifetime ago. I vaguely remember that I was acting half-rational, half-lunatic. I packed my documents and cash in a backpack. Then I decided to wash my hair for some reason. I felt desperately thirsty, so I kept drinking water, pacing around my flat and frantically expecting to be torn apart by a missile any time soon. Eventually, I sat down and started thinking of a safe place to hide.

There is a small cafe in the basement of my house which turned into a bomb shelter. There we spent the first night of war, cramped together with our neighbours, their kids, dogs, cats, and hamsters. I brought down my sleeping bag, yoga mats, a puffer coat and a couple of blankets, laid them down on the floor and sat there, motionless, doubting whether I’d be able to sleep. We looked like homeless people. Except we still had our homes, but were too afraid to go back.

I write for several Ukrainian magazines, which cover different topics from digital design and photography to popular science. I emailed my editors, asking them whether I could write something useful or encouraging in these trying times. One of my recipients wrote back that she was fleeing to Berlin, spending night after night in her car, not ready to work yet. Two others said let’s do it.

We’ve prepared two articles about digital design so far. The first is a collection of international responses from the design community to the war in Ukraine. The second describes design initiatives developed by our creative agencies. Working on the latest piece, I reached out to the founder of one of the Kyiv design studios, asking for a comment. He replied almost immediately, saying that he had volunteered to join the army, but, yes, sure, he can send me the files. It was so inspiring. Yet, there are days when my work seems pointless and I feel I should have joined volunteers’ communities, like some of my friends did. There are also days when I feel hopeless, asking myself whether I’ll still be here tomorrow to finish the text.

When I get too upset to write, I go for a walk. I have always loved walking and running. Now my route has narrowed down to a small circle around the house as it’s dangerous to go too far away from the shelter. Besides, we have a curfew, and are not allowed to go outside after dark. Wandering between a fence and a kids’ playground, I think of all the streets of Kyiv I love, now empty and barricaded.

My friends and I used to have a favourite route for our Sunday walks. It starts near the Golden Gates, an ancient entrance to the Kyiv city, built in the 11th century. Then we head to the Sofiivska Square. It’s an airy place, with St. Sofia and St. Michael’s cathedrals standing at both sides. After the Revolution of Dignity in 2013, when blood of innocent people was shed on the city’s main Square of Independence, Soffivska took over in hosting all the celebrations and Christmas fairs. The route goes further to the Alley of the Artists, a winding path among the trees, where local artists showcase their paintings. It flows down into the Andriivs’kyi Descent, a stone-paved street of museums and art galleries. Here you can buy souvenirs of any kind – from beautiful postcards to woollen socks and vintage jewellery. I have rarely seen people actually buy something, but the traders don’t seem to care. They have their own tight-knit community and come by every day to chat and share the news. Our final destination – Podil – has become one of the most vibrant districts of Kyiv. It attracts creative minds from all over the city who breathe life into the old streets, turning an out-of-service bus station into a cosy cafe, and an abandoned factory into one of the best techno scenes in Europe. Podil is the heart of Kyiv, bubbling with energy, full of people, sitting with their laptops on sunny terraces, drinking coffee, walking their dogs, making plans, dreaming big. Losing any of these places to blind violence would be devastating. But not as much as losing those who used to walk these streets by my side.

Our fight goes on. On battlefields and online. The Ukrainian creative community confronts Russian propaganda, creates videos, writes texts, launches social media campaigns. It’s not much, but we can’t just stand aside. I don’t know how many days the war will go on or how many nights we will spend in terror. But, every time I think of my beautiful home, I know that it’s worth fighting for.

Further resources recommended by Lena:

• Creatives across Ukraine are sharing work and vital information via the Instagram account, War Against War.
• SMM Detachment is a collective of designers, copywriters, and social media managers create online campaigns about war in Ukraine, targeting Russia and Belarus.
• Kyiv Independent is Ukraine’s English-language media outlet which you can support directly here, or by becoming a patron.
• War Ukraine offers a detailed historical context of war in English, created by a Ukrainian design studio.
• United Help Ukraine is a platform, where individuals can directly make donations to provide medical aid and humanitarian relief to the Ukrainians.