Now we invite everyone to join us to support the public speaker office in Kherson

Ksenia has been working for Suspilne since the day of its creation. During the invasion and occupation, she remained in Kherson until October 1 and did not stop working.

“All the time, I wrote articles, gathered information, went on air. When they radically cut off mobile connection and the Internet in June, I was looking for at least minimum access to networks in the city, via VPN and various SIM-cards.

It was a constant risk. There were so many Russian soldiers in the streets. I had to invent ways to take photos unnoticed. If they had seen that something had been photographed in the city, they would have sent me “to the basement”. Usually, access to network was possible in crowded places only, so we had to transmit information and send photos to our colleagues in the streets where enemy troops were constantly moving,” Ksenia says.

The journalist later left for Zaporizhzhia and continues to work there. “In Kherson, I knew that my pictures and the information I transmit are probably the only returns that people in the controlled area learn about the life in the occupied city. Now it’s important for me, although it’s very hard psychologically, to record the stories of people about the horrors they experienced in the occupation.”

Tamila Ivanova has been working for Suspilne since the day of its creation, but it was the full-scale war that showed her how important the public broadcaster is. As soon as the invasion began, she created a chat room in which colleagues quickly gathered, verified, and elaborated information.

“The first week was difficult, we had practically no sleep. Then we set a schedule, it got a little easier. I am very grateful to all those who were with us at that time and those who are with us now. These are incredible and courageous people, because working in the conditions when there’s plenty of Russian military in the city, when people were kidnapped from the streets and their homes just for photos in social networks – this is dangerous.

I covered up my windows at home with blankets. It felt like when I didn’t see what was happening outside, it was easier for me. And I worked that way. It was scary, especially when the occupiers started searching people. They had lists of activists, military, police, everyone,” Tamila recalls.

Later Tamila left for Ivano-Frankivsk. She’s very grateful to her colleagues from Suspilne.Ivano-Frankivsk who supported her and made it possible to work further. “Already here, in the Ukraine-controlled territory, the two of us, news producer Tetiana Yaremenko and I, managed to organize the work so that Suspilne.Kherson could function and we could produce the content that was interesting for our subscribers. We have a great team where everyone knows what they’re doing and why. At first, we were 13, after the liberation of Kherson 7 more joined. Now there are 20 of us. Among them, there are two special people for me. They were our eyes and ears in Kherson throughout the occupation.”

Now the team works on several projects in parallel: these are the stories of people who have survived the occupation, and the stories of Russian captives. The team also collects stories about how the war changed Kherson children.

Tamila tells, “Only the war made me realize how important Suspilne is. We provide prompt, objective, reliable information. We have learned to react quickly to events and deliver them to people. To empathize with their grief, to rejoice in victories, to help. This is very important both for them and for us.”

Oksana has been working for Suspilne since the day of its creation. During the occupation, she also continued to work gathering and transmitting information, although it was risky.

“The hardest part was staying in the city crowded with Russian soldiers. They were at every turn. You couldn’t use your phone, much less your camera. The most terrible thing was when they were breaking the entrance hall door at night. They came for the guy who posted a pro-Ukrainian video on his Facebook page. And they could come for each of us. People who continuously resisted helped to hold on. This resistance was manifested even in small things: nails painted in yellow-blue colors, talking Ukrainian at the market, Chervona Kalyna ringtone.”

Oksana rememers in detail the morning of the invasion. “The editor-in-chief wrote, ‘Wake up, friends, the enemy is awake!’ And since then, we had practically no sleep working during the first two weeks for almost 24 hours a day. Already at half past seven in the morning on February 24, I went live nationwide directly from home, from my phone.”

Since then, there was no single day that Oksana didn’t work. When it was scary, she took a sedative and returned to work again.

“I remember I looked out of the cellar to pick up a signal. Snow flakes were dancing in front of my eyes, and in the next street – the enemy machinery was moving. And even then, our work didn’t stop. All the time we communicated in the working chat: we informed each other about the movement of the enemy and explosions, we dropped videos and photos,” Oksana recalls on March 1, the day when Russian troops entered the city.

On March 2, Oksana refused to go on air with her face and name shown. From that moment on until the liberation of Kherson, she aired anonymously and used a pseudo for footages. While under occupation, she not only joined the air of the national marathon, but also recorded interviews. She forced herself to sleep for at least half an hour a day. One day, she even addressed a military psychologist by phone: she was afraid to work but she couldn’t stop.

In April, Oksana was running out of insulin. It was becoming increasingly dangerous to go on air: her friends from military offered her to move. Also, she went out only accompanied – until she was recognized in a market by a pro-Russian woman. After that, Oksana decided to leave.

The journalist recalls, “In the occupation, I had three great fears: to be captured, to be left without insulin, and to be raped. All three meant death. In the occupation, when you call a person for information, or for an interview, you never know who will answer on the other side. It may be that very person you know but they may have defected to the enemy’s side, or it may be the enemy who has seized your friend’s phone. It’s just as scary to answer calls, especially from unknown numbers. There is always a fear that they will come for you. You can’t quit working, but you’re afraid for your life and the lives of your family. Working at home, you put them in danger, too.

After each air, I lay and listened to the night: what was happening outside? was someone walking outside the window? Sometimes there was a feeling that they would soon find me. The occupiers used to kidnap people towards morning. All of us – journalists, public figures, ATO participants, territorial defense, etc. – were on the lists. It was only a matter of time before they took us away.”

Later, Oksana left for Odesa. She says that all the time she got great support from communication with her front-line friends. “Their voices were always calm and confident. And even those who were in the flashpoint areas were able to cheer up and save from tears and make smile.”

With the outbreak of war, she began to write poems. In the occupation, more often at night, now, at different times of the day.

Olena stayed in Kherson for all the time: she worked with the digital team, kept in touch with her colleagues as long as she had the opportunity.

She recalls that this was a decent risk. “The Russian military were quite close: their machinery was often standing just at the entrance. Then I had to exit all chats and delete messengers. Fortunately, they didn’t come to me with raids, so I resumed work. The occupation authorities always invented new ways to limit access to any information. I had to use a VPN for work. The hardest part was the feeling of helplessness, the depressing feeling that you could not resist the reality that the occupiers were establishing. I could keep going thanks to my work, support of colleagues, responsibility for my beloved ones, the ability to help the Armed Forces with at least some money.”

After the liberation of Kherson, Olena continues to work. The importance of her work is evidenced by the city residents. “When we say that we are from Suspilne, Kherson residents come up to us and say that our work is important because they want to hear and see the truth.”

Nataliia left Kherson two months after the start of the full-scale invasion: she was warned that it was dangerous to stay in the city, that Russian soldiers could come for her at any moment.

In evacuation, Nataliia continues to work, often overtime, as well as her colleagues.

She’s convinced that timely access to reliable information is critical to the society’s development.

The most important material that Nataliia managed to work on is about the liberation of Kherson.

Olha stayed in Kherson until August 1. She remembers that in the first months after the invasion, it was not so difficult to film: there were many people in the streets, and you could get lost in the crowd. Later, it became more dangerous, “I was shooting a video about the city’s life. I filmed everything: markets, streets, downtown, fields where agricultural machinery worked. All the videos were passed on to the colleagues who left. In the summer, it became harder: empty streets. I was afraid to draw attention to myself. I held the phone so that it was not visible. So as not to be so scared, I walked with my husband, he helped me.  Every time you go outside with your phone, it’s an adrenaline rush. I understood the risks, but I couldn’t help but work.”

Among the most important topics that Olha worked on was the contribution of volunteers, both those who worked in the occupied city and those who left.

Olha tells, “Volunteers helped Kherson residents to survive. The city did not suffer from a humanitarian disaster just because volunteers were as busy as bees. They brought in food and medicine. The second topic essential for me is the work of landowners and small farmers. They’re real heroes. While the nearby field is burning from a shell, farmers harvest their crops.”

Mykhailo recalls the first day of the full-scale war, “Kherson was one of the first to face the war. Local residents and law enforcement officers began to report the movement of enemy machinery. At 6am we were at the office. Helicopters were already flying over the Dnieper. It was already clear that we wouldn’t have time to take equipment away, but at least we managed to take away our financial and personnel papers.”

Almost immediately, the media workers created a joint working group. Those who stayed in Kherson were the eyes for their colleagues: they risked their lives to shoot materials in the occupation. Those who evacuated verified and edited materials and published articles on various platforms.

On March 2, the Russian military came to the office, turned off the surveillance cameras. On the basis of the office, they tried to establish their own propaganda TV channel: they filmed videos about the Nazis who used to work in this studio. They even found old electricity bills and passed them off as secret Security Service documents.

The entire time while Kherson was under occupation, the Suspilne.Kherson team was working. During this time, the number of Suspilne’s subscribers on various platforms has significantly increased: for many people it was pretty much the only opportunity to get true information about what was happening in the country and be heard at the same time. Journalists worked, even knowing that at any moment it could cost them both life and freedom. The occupiers had lists of journalists and activists, sometimes they kidnapped people from their very apartments.

Mykhailo says that after the liberation of Kherson, the work of Suspilne journalists is focused on several areas, one of which is the documeting destructions. Kherson is chaotically shelled daily. The police are overloaded, so journalists help document the crimes of the Russians.

“The last case was particularly difficult. The bomb dropped into a Red Cross humanitarian post, and people died. Our film crew was one of the first to arrive at the scene. We took pictures and video materials, interviewed eyewitnesses, asked the press officer of the Kherson’s Defense Command and the regional military government to provide their comments. Then a special person passed on all these materials to our colleagues in evacuation. Our employees are now in Lutsk, Odesa, Zaporizhzhia, Ternopil and other cities. They are always in touch. Someone decrypts syncs, someone collects all the material, writes texts for footages, someone proofreads them, and someone has their voice recorded while reading these texts, someone prepares the previews and thinks out the footage titles. Finally, the footage is edited; our colleagues from Donbas help us with it. Everyone works together and everyone knows what they should do,” Mykhailo describes the remote work of the team.

He griefs about how much effort was spent for modernizing the studio before the invasion. Today, nothing is left: damaged buildings, destroyed windows and doors, partially broken window blocks. Technical equipment and material assets have been stolen. Here and there, furniture and safes were left in the premises.

In the meantime, he dreams of meeting the priority needs of his colleagues: buy them phones and recorders, laptops, chargers, at least one video camera and an equipment kit for it. And, of course, he dreams of rebuilding the office and setting up a studio in a bomb shelter.