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Ukraine: their voices under the bombs

Ukraine: their voices under the bombs

Here and there. From the world (still) at peace to the world at war. From our screens, our streets, our cafés, our subways, to their alerts, their fleeing, their shelters, their deaths. From our first flowering shrub to their snow, their mud, their terror and their resistance. Between Paris and Kiev, this European capital three hours away by plane, a chasm has opened up. We watch, stunned, as the missiles smash a beautiful and great city, filled with the sounds of life so short a time ago, night years away. Kiev. I was walking along its immense boulevards in January. Kreshatyk Avenue leading to the Maidan, the old streets of the Podol district tumbling down to the Dnieper.

 

Between tanks and ghosts: Things seen in Ukraine

Between tanks and ghosts: Things seen in Ukraine

For anyone who visited Kiev – I was there at the end of January – in the weeks preceding Vladimir Putin’s coup de force, the prospect of seeing the weapons speak is a heartbreaker and an appalling waste. For two reasons. Firstly, the youth I met in the cafés of Kreschatyk Street, the main and monumental thoroughfare of the Ukrainian capital, is fundamentally pro-European. In the region, they look more to Vilnius in Lithuania, an EU member state where many young Ukrainians study, than to Moscow.