Як живеться українським біженцям в Ісландії

«І це християнський релігійний край», — з гіркою іронією пише моя польська подруга, дізнавшись результати свіжого опитування: майже 60% поляків підтримують вето президента Навроцького, яке позбавить офіційно непрацевлаштованих українських біженців допомоги на дітей 800+ та безкоштовного доступу до лікарів. Деякі польські та російські коментатори у соцмережах навіть називають за це президента «чоловіком з яйцями». Але проти кого насправді спрямована ця сила?

Нещодавно дві тисячі польських жінок підписали лист-протест до Прем'єр-міністра, Сейму, Сенату та Президента Республіки Польща щодо вето. До протесту приєдналася Рада підприємництва, яка наголосила, що вето «суперечить здоровому глузду» й ризикує «спровокувати хаос». Десятки публікацій польської інтелектуальної еліти апелюють до логіки й наводять як аргумент факти: українці принесли Польщі понад 75 мільярдів євро — це у 8 разів більше, ніж вся допомога Україні; 78% українців працевлаштовані (серед українських біженців працюють близько 70%), вони не забрали роботу у поляків, а закривають потреби ринку й часто взагалі створюють нові робочі місця. 

Безперечно, є й такі українські біженці, чия реальність не вписується в цю статистику. Це люди літнього віку, опікуни хворих і дітей з інвалідністю. І податків працюючих у Польщі українців вистачило б, щоб їх підтримати. Разом з тим через скасування допомоги їхні історії можуть незабаром перетворитися на трагедію.

«Відчуваю себе подвійно зрадженою» 

Щоб повністю усвідомити катастрофічні наслідки цих нововведень, я звернулася до спільноти «Особливий світ. Польща», яка об'єднує матерів, що виховують дітей з найважчими формами інвалідності. Ці жінки та їхні діти опиняться на межі або за межею виживання, якщо соцвиплати 800+ та безкоштовний доступ до медичних послуг їм скасують. 

‍Наталія Єрастова виховує трьох неповнолітніх дітей, один із синів має важку форму інвалідності. До Польщі родина виїхала із Херсона ще в повному складі. Але два роки тому, у 40-річному віці, раптово помер чоловік Наталі, батько дітей і годувальник родини. Він працював далекобійником на польську фірму, у Чехії на паркінгу з ним стався серцевий напад. Відтоді сім'я — виживає.

— Весь дохід нашої родини зараз — це 800+ на трьох дітей, плюс 1300 злотих — допомога через втрату годувальника, а також допомога з України на догляд за дитиною з інвалідністю. У Польщі я тривалий час не оформлювала таку виплату, бо спочатку забезпечував чоловік, потім були сумніви, чи продовжать статус. Чотири місяці тому, коли я зрештою усвідомила, що не витягую утримання родини, син пройшов процедуру визнання інвалідності. Але жодної виплати ще не було, триває розгляд справи, — розповідає Наталія. 

Дохід родини на 4 людей складає близько 4000 злотих, разом з тим оренда житла обходиться Наталії в 3700-3800 злотих. Роботи, яку можна було б поєднувати з доглядом за дитиною з інвалідністю, садочком та школою інших дітей, Наталія знайти не може. І для цієї родини втрата соцдопомоги 800+ означає одне — повернення в Україну під обстріли, або ж переїзд в іншу країну, де доведеться все починати з чистого аркуша, не маючи жодних гарантій. 

Польщу родина Наталії — як і багато інших українців — обрала для тимчасового захисту через те, що країна здалася їм ментально близькою, так само християнською, зі схожим укладом життя. Тепер новий виклик — вирвати дітей, які за три роки інтегрувалися в польську систему освіти, вивчили мову, знайшли друзів — і перевезти кудись далі. 

— Відчуваю себе подвійно зрадженою, бо Польща обіцяла бути солідарною з Європою, стояти з нами разом до стійкого миру, — каже Анастасія, мама 15-річного Данила, який має важку форму ДЦП. — Натомість зараз, по суті, відмовляє у підтримці, і це в той час, коли інші країни, більш соціально орієнтовані, вже не приймають тих, хто мав тимчасовий захист в інших країнах. Відчуваю, що підвела себе та сина, коли довірилася Польщі. Тут є багато хороших людей, яких я відокремлюю від політиків обох таборів, від ксенофобів, але ситуацію це зараз не рятує. 

«Дуже страшно тепер за майбутнє» 

— Відколи дізналася про ймовірність скасування допомоги, я у повному розпачі, — ділиться  Катерина Кісенко, мама 4 дітей, один з яких має важку форму аутизму. — Ми приїхали до Польщі з окупованої частини Запорізької області. Колишній чоловік воює, мама — в окупації, виїхати не може через стан здоров'я. І я — єдина доросла, яка може опікуватися дітьми. 

Вона розповідає, як живе в Польщі. Загальний дохід родини — 7200 злотих. За програмою 800+ вони отримують 3200 злотих, виплати з догляду за дитиною з інвалідністю — 3415,84 злотих. Батько дітей платить аліменти — 6000 гривень (близько 525 злотих). Водночас видатки на оренду й утримання будинку, а також витрати на лікування дитини з інвалідністю такі, що часом не залишається грошей на одяг чи побутові речі.

— Візит до психіатра — 400 злотих. Ліки купую регулярно, без них ніяк. Що робити, якщо нові умови ухвалять, не маю уявлення. Наш будинок в окупації, повертатися немає куди, а працювати не маю можливості, бо син потребує постійного нагляду. Дуже страшно за майбутнє... 

— Я тут з донькою і сином з 1 групою інвалідності, який потребує догляду цілодобово й довічно, — ділиться Лілія Торжок-Марусецька. — З 2022 по 2023 ми жили в хостелі, а разом з нами — інші мами з особливими дітьми. А потім нам сказали виїжджати, бо осередки для українців закривають. З того часу житло ми винаймаємо самі — а це понад дві тисячі злотих за невелику квартиру без ванни, що дуже незручно, адже купати немобільну дитину — складна процедура. Всю соцдопомогу, яку отримуємо в Польщі, ми витрачаємо тільки тут. В Україну за три роки жодного разу не їздили. 

Аналогічні історії розповідають сотні українських матерів, які хотіли б, але не можуть влаштуватися працювати. Саме по них б’є скасування соцвиплат 800+. Вони опинилися в групі тих, хто не зможе легалізувати своє перебування в Польщі через працевлаштування, адже їхні діти вимагають постійного догляду й опіки. 

Лише частина таких жінок виїхала разом з чоловіками, які працюють у Польщі. Багато чоловіків залишаються в Україні — воюють, працюють на оборонних підприємствах. Є чимало сімей, де чоловіки загинули. Є такі, де чоловіки мають право на виїзд (за кількістю дітей), але обрали захищати східний фронт Європи, довіривши європейцям опіку своїх родин. 

Без права на продовження життя 

Рішення про скасування доступу до державної медицини для непрацюючих людей зачіпає й тих, хто не може працювати за станом здоров'я. У 26-річної Тетяни Рожди інвалідність першої групи, вона має спінальну м'язову атрофію (СМА) — генетичне захворювання, через яке людина втрачає здатність керувати своїми м'язами. І пересувається на візку. 

У момент покращення стану жінка спробувала влаштуватися логопедом в одній з польських фундацій. Однак, за станом здоров'я змушена була незабаром відмовитися від роботи.  

— У Польщі я отримую лікування препаратом Spinraza — це перший в історії препарат, що уповільнює прогресування хвороби (я вже бачу невелике покращення). Але справа в тому, що його треба приймати все життя без перерв. Припинення прийому ліків призве до незворотного погіршення стану, — каже Тетяна.

 Протягом двох років молода жінка шукає віддалену роботу, однак через її діагноз їй відмовляють у працевлаштуванні. Коли доступ до медичної системи прив’яжуть до обов’язкового офіційного працевлаштування, Тетяна не зможе більше отримувати своє необхідне лікування. Невідомо також, що буде з її мамою, яка зараз опікується донькою, яка потребує допомоги в звичайних буденних справах, що їх не може виконати самостійно.

Польща, безперечно, має право визначати, чи може вона підтримувати таких людей, кажуть українки. 

Однак, для багатьох, як-от для Тетяни, доступ до NFZ — це питання життя і смерті

Невидимі люди, яких вето прирікає на смерть 

Паліативні хворі — категорія людей, що може опинитися в критичному становищі через законодавчі обмеження. Засновниця фонду Pallium for Ukraine Ганна Поляк наголошує, що це — діти й молоді дорослі, евакуйовані з України, які перебувають у польських хоспісах або на домашньому підтримуючому догляді.

Для цих пацієнтів, які дихають через гастростоми (хірургічно створений отвір (стома) у передній стінці трахеї, який дозволяє повітрю надходити безпосередньо в легені, оминаючи ніс, рот і гортань), а харчуються через спеціальні помпи, що дозовано, крапля за краплею подають їм їжу, — втрата доступу до медицини буквально означає смерть.

— У частини таких пацієнтів є батьки, які йдуть на роботу, щоб легалізуватися, але є й такі, де батьки зараз виконують важливу місію в Україні, — розповідає Ганна. — Одна з них — Вероніка, дівчина з важкою формою СМА. Її тато в Україні працює сапером, тож вони з мамою тут удвох, і жодна з них не може піти працювати.

Зараз всі ці родини у відчаї і із завмиранням серця чекають на рішення польських урядовців і політиків. Дещо схоже українські паліативні хворі переживали, коли уряд скасував компенсацію за проживання будь-де, крім спеціальних центрів. Адже такі пацієнти — найвразливіші. Не лише через свою вразливість до бактерій, а й через сам спосіб життя. Коли поруч з людиною водночас працюють помпа, кисневий апарат і інші прилади, потрібне особливе, пристосоване житло, знайти яке надзвичайно складно.

— У нас була ситуація, коли родина змушена була переїхати в нове помешкання, яке могла собі дозволити фінансово після скасування програми 40+ (компенсації вартості оренди житла — Ред.), — тобто у віддалене село. А туди не могли за необхідності швидко доїжджати лікарі, — розповідає Ганна Поляк. 

Вона наголошує: заклики «зекономити для бюджету» звучать занадто невідповідально, коли йдеться про людські життя. Це не лише фінансове, а й морально-етичне питання

У самих закладах, де перебувають паліативні діти й молоді люди, пояснює Ганна, не знають, що буде після 1 жовтня, і як сказати родинам, що через політичне рішення доведеться відімкнути їхніх дітей від апаратів життєзабезпечення. І як ці родини, які ледве зводять кінці з кінцями, мають раптом шукати гроші, щоб оплачувати лікування своїх дітей. 

Повернення в Україну, поки тривають обстріли, не є варіантом, адже апарати потребують безперебійного живлення. Залишається надія, що законодавці зрештою помітять цих невидимих людей і передбачать їхню підтримку, відмова від якої означає смертельний вирок.

Фотографії з приватних архівів

During the Second World War, Ukrainian Anastasia Huley fled from forced labour for the Nazis, but they captured her and sent her to concentration camps. She miraculously survived and returned to Kyiv. Now, 80 years later, as an elderly grandmother, she is again seeking refuge, this time from Russian aggression. And she finds shelter... in Germany.

«I stopped being a human and became number 61369»

- During the mobilisation of young people for forced labour in Germany in 1943, I was told: if you do not go, we will take your mother instead and burn the house, - recalls Anastasia Huley. - I was 17 then, we lived in Pyriatyn, Poltava region. It was May, everything was blooming... I could not imagine working for the occupiers. Especially as my three brothers were fighting against them. So I decided to pretend to comply, then escape.

The youth were gathered at the central square, and I studied the situation, step by step retreating into the crowd on the pavement and quietly blending in. I hid with acquaintances for a few weeks and then decided to flee to another region. But first, I stopped at home for supplies... Before dawn, they came for me. And it was not strangers - it was the husband of my second cousin, who was the secretary of the village council at the time. He betrayed me. Later, he forged some documents about assisting Ukrainian partisans, and when our authorities wanted to punish him after the war, the court released him thanks to those papers.

Tetyana Pastushenko: How did you end up in Auschwitz?

Anastasia Huley: At first, they took us to Katowice to unload wagons of slag, and I had only one thought in my head: «How do I escape?» A map of Poland hung at the station, and I traced the quickest route to Lviv. Then, one day, a downpour began. The guards brought us inside to wait out the rain in a building where we kept shovels. Along with us were some Frenchmen, including a young man my age - handsome, like an angel from a painting. It was impossible not to stare, so even the guards were captivated. Meanwhile, I quietly slipped out, crawled under trains, and escaped. I fled with four other girls.

On the way, we encountered different people. Some offered us shelter and a place to stay, while others grabbed pitchforks, shouting that Ukrainians should be killed for Volyn. In Rzeszów, we were eventually caught by a gendarme and ended up in a local prison.

The worst part was witnessing the fates of Polish women who had hidden Jews. Once, they brought Helena to our cell - beaten to within an inch of her life. She could not move, was covered in blood, but whispered that she had secretly hidden Jews without her family knowing. The Germans found out and arrested her husband instead. She went to the prison, begging him to forgive her. Then they arrested and beat her as well. Later, they executed both of them...

One day, they loaded us into a cattle wagon and took us somewhere. It turned out that as punishment for escaping, we were sent to the Auschwitz-Birkenau concentration camp.

They immediately sat me on a chair, cut off my long braids, and tattooed a number on my arm. I did not understand where I was, was in shock, and from this, I did not even feel pain. From that moment, my life changed forever: I stopped being a human and became number 61369.

It takes very little time in Auschwitz to lose your sense of the world. Thousands of people in striped uniforms, all frightened, depressed, and constantly tense. The most horrifying thing, which makes you almost forget yourself, is the streams of people led to the crematorium daily. There were few Jews in the barracks, as they were mostly destroyed immediately. Between the men’s and women’s sections of the camp, a road led from the gates to the forest where the crematoria operated. Day after day, you would see Jews being taken off the train and sent there in transit. They walked submissively, and among them were children - some with dolls, others with balls...

TP: What did you do in the concentration camp?

‍AG: Every day, from morning until six in the evening, we were forced to work. We were given various tasks: digging, building. Sundays were our only day off. This meant we would not be fed all day and had to remain hungry.

Once, we were sent to scatter fertiliser across a field. I reached into a sack with my hand and found ash containing bone fragments. It was crematorium ash. My hands instantly went numb...

TP: Did the Nazis manage to crush your will or your internal resistance to the situation?

AG: At the beginning, we made one attempt. They ordered us to dig a trench around the camp as tall as a person. Later, they filled it with water and electrified it to prevent escapes. Mud, clay, rain, and above our heads - «Schnell, arbeiten!». So we rebelled. We agreed at night that we would not go to work.

In the morning, we stayed in the barracks. The female overseer came running, followed by Commandant Rudolf Höss. He yelled and shot at the ceiling. In the yard, we were lined up, ordered to kneel with our hands behind our heads. Commandant Höss walked along the row, striking every fifth girl (there were about a hundred of us) with all his strength in the chest. That was the end of our resistance...

TP: Presently, hundreds of Ukrainians are in Russian captivity, and each prisoner searches for something to hold onto to keep from giving up or losing their mind. What kept you going and gave you strength in Auschwitz?

AG: Dreams. There was no news, no relationships. Only dreams. While working, we shared with one another what we had dreamt. We also often thought about food - such dreams saved us too. There in the camp, we swore to one another that when we were free, we would be satisfied with a single outfit, as long as there was always bread on the table.

As for dreams, I once dreamt that I was walking through the camp and saw the sun rising to my left. But as soon as it appeared, it immediately set again. I found myself in terrifying darkness. After some time, I saw the sun rise again, but this time from the other side. It was strange, but it became warm - very warm. That dream turned out to be prophetic.

In the winter of 1944-1945, we waited for our forces to liberate us. Battles for Krakow were already underway when suddenly the Germans took us somewhere... It turned out to be the Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. In Auschwitz, I thought nothing could be worse than that camp. It turned out there was.

TP: Do you remember how you were liberated?

AG: The English freed us on 15 April 1945. But I no longer had the strength to rejoice...

After a few months in Bergen-Belsen, I became a living corpse. They threw us into a barrack without window panes or mattresses on the bunks. The windows and doors were boarded up. When the barrack was opened after four days, they were very surprised that we had not died without food or warmth. They had intended to kill us, as they did not know what to do with us.

Later, a typhus epidemic broke out in the camp. The dead lay everywhere, and no one even bothered to remove them. In the barracks, you could hear: «Marusya, move over! Oh, you are already dead»… Those you befriended yesterday died today... and there was no strength left to mourn them.

One day, I too fell ill. I collapsed onto the floor of the barrack. But a kind soul, Maria, dragged me out of the barrack. Whispering: «You must keep walking with whatever strength you have left; if you lie down, they will think you are dead and throw you onto the pile of corpses.» What saved me was that one of the girls had somehow stolen a piece of bread from the Germans and shared it with me.

When the liberators entered the camp, I just waved my hand. No reaction at all. Commandant Kramer was tasked with loading the dead bodies onto trucks, but I did not even have the strength to approach him and tell him what I thought of him.

Afterwards, the English took care of us for several weeks, feeding us back to health. But when I returned to my homeland, I was called a traitor. My classmates refused to befriend me because of the number tattooed on my arm. It was only when I enrolled at an institute in Kyiv that true student life began - with exams, falling in love, and a wedding. My husband was a soldier and had been wounded. Later, we had children, and life spun on.

The only thing I could never regain was dancing. Before the war, I danced a lot, but afterwards, I could not. It became too difficult...

When history reversed

After the war, Anastasia Huley returned home «grey-haired, shaven, a skeleton» but with a determined mind to continue her education. For more than 50 years, she has been an active participant in the movement of former prisoners of Nazi concentration camps. For the past 10 years, she has led the Ukrainian Organisation of Anti-Fascist Resistance Fighters, defending their interests in the political sphere, organising additional medical and social aid, and working to overcome social isolation.

Could she ever have imagined that she would have to endure another war, hiding from missile strikes in the basement of her house, now from the Russians?

In March 2022, 96-year-old Anastasia Huley, along with her children, found refuge in Germany, in the village of Bad Kösen - a country where she had once experienced so much grief and suffering in her youth.

TP: Anastasia Vasylivna, how did you decide to go to Germany?

AG: This was not my first trip to Germany. After 1995, I visited frequently - to Bergen-Belsen, Berlin, Munich, and Dachau. I repeatedly visited Magdeburg and the city of Merseburg in Saxony-Anhalt, where our German partners live and work. Together, we held many meetings for young people in schools. I was not going into the unknown. And most importantly, I was not afraid of the Germans.

During numerous meetings and my speeches, people ask me what I feel towards the Germans now.

I remember specific individuals who did evil. But I, like other former prisoners, do not seek revenge. Examine us with any X-ray - you will not find it. Those who survived the camps feel as though they were blessed

We understand that the people then were driven and deluded by «-isms»: fascism, communism.

TP: Do the Germans feel any guilt or responsibility for what the Nazis did in Ukraine?

AG: It is evident that many older people feel a sense of repentance. In this village, where we lived, Bad Kösen, everyone treated us very kindly. When I went out for walks, each person would try to offer something from their garden - grapes, plums. It felt as though the entire community was looking after us.

Young people, to whom I told my story, were simply amazed. I always remember how, in 2013, an eighth-grader from a German school gave me a pair of warm socks. «My grandmother knitted these for you,» she said, her eyes filled with tears. And I cried too, and all the girls around us were sniffing quietly.

These were students from Mücheln, with whom I visited the memorial at the former Bergen-Belsen concentration camp. This school earned the honorary title of «School Without Racism - School of Civil Courage», and I became their mentor. We have maintained a friendly relationship ever since. In my honour, they planted an apple tree in the schoolyard and recently sent me a photo of the red apples it bore.

TP: Did you believe that Russia would attack Ukraine? Were there any premonitions?

AG: I did not hear, did not think, did not even dream of it. I could not imagine that Russia would attack so savagely, just take and start destroying everything. Ukraine is in its way.

I remember my whole life, at various political meetings, America was criticised - it always was in their way. They forgot that the famous Soviet pilots of the 1930s set records flying American planes. What were they flying on - our plywood? Such hatred in those Russians, such disdain for human life.

TP: Anastasia Vasylivna, in the pandemic year of 2020, you organised the fundraising, production, and unveiling of a monument to the residents of Zhuliany, killed in bombings on June 22nd 1941. And now, in February 2022, your Zhuliany is getting bombed again…

‍AG: Yes. My children and I sat in the cellar for a while. We have a large basement in the garage. We put three beds there, took the cat, and sat for a couple of nights. No electricity, the phone did not work - we knew and heard nothing. It was frightening to sit locked up. So, we came out.

My daughter and son started persuading me to leave. I did not want to be a burden. But then I thought, if something happened, who would be to blame? So, I agreed. First to Lviv, then to Poland, and from there to Germany. They welcomed us very warmly there. They gave us separate rooms on the ground floor of a house where a family with a three-year-old boy lived. We became so close to them, like family. Now that I am back in Ukraine, we sometimes call each other.

A diary entry from 1 March 2022: «Anastasia Huley, a 96-year-old former Auschwitz prisoner, has spent five days in the basement of her own house in Kyiv. But yesterday, the electricity went out, and she agreed to her children's and grandchildren’s pleas to leave the city by car and reach the western border. I do not know how they will manage. It is dangerous to stay, but a long journey during wartime is no better, especially at her age.»

TP: How was life in Germany during all that time?

‍AG: Even before the coronavirus pandemic, Mike Reichel (Director of the Centre for Political Education of Saxony-Anhalt - Edit.) began working on a book about me. And in July 2022, this book was published in German. I was constantly giving speeches at the book’s presentations, and my schedule was very tight. Over the year, I probably had about 50 meetings.

TP: Did many people come to your meetings?

AG: Many - both Germans and Ukrainians. When we held meetings in churches, entire communities would come. I was pleased to learn that there are communities in Germany where Ukrainian songs are sung, and Ukrainian culture is being developed.

I remember one meeting coincided with the Shevchenko Days. I recited Shevchenko’s «Testament» from memory, while Lyuba Danilenko read the German translation. We were applauded for a long time afterwards. «Rise up, break your chains, and with the enemy’s evil blood, sprinkle the freedom you have gained!»

Once, at a congress of the German Federation of Trade Unions, I even met German Chancellor Olaf Scholz. I managed to tell him to provide more weapons for Ukraine. At every meeting, I prefer not to talk about myself. I appeal for help and support for Ukraine.

TP: Why did you decide to return to Ukraine?

AG: You know, I was having problems with my blood pressure. Every day brought a new challenge, and my blood pressure would rise to 240. The ambulance came for me, and I was hospitalised. Things got better in Kyiv. But now my legs cannot carry me anywhere. I can get to the table in my room because there is something to hold onto, but that is all. I do not even remember the last time I went outside. I am afraid of falling. Who would lift me out of the yard, and with what bulldozer (laughs)?

TP: How do you deal with these alarms and shellings? Are you hiding in your basement again? How do you cope?

AG: No, I no longer hide. When we returned, we thought there would be no more shelling. But, alas, it continues.

Everyone is struggling now, but there is no point in whining. It is fine to grieve, but whining helps no one. Once in Magdeburg, a German woman asked me how we, witnesses of the Second World War, continue living now that war has returned to Europe. Everything we fought against is happening again. I told her that we survived Hitler, we survived Stalin, so we must survive Putin as well.

On this special day, our editors and authors wrote a couple of words about their work at Sestry, about their heroes, their emotions - about everything that became so important during this year of working in the media.

Joanna Mosiej-Sitek, CEO of Sestry

Our year on the frontline in the fight for truth. We are a community of women. Women journalists. Women editors. Our strength is our voice. We stand for shared European values, democracy and peace. We are the voice of all those who, like us, believe that the future lies in dialogue, tolerance and respect for human rights. These people believe in a world where we can forgive past grievances and focus our energy on building a better future. They are not divided by the words of politicians. Every day, we do everything possible to listen to and understand one another, knowing that this is the only way to fight disinformation and fake news. Our voice, our struggle, is just as vital to our security as new tanks and drones. Over the past year, we have given a platform to thousands of stories in our effort to build a better world. We understand that building a strong, multi-ethnic, and united community is a long journey, and we are only at the beginning.

Maria Gorska, Editor-in-Chief

When my colleagues at Gazeta Wyborcza and I decided to create Sestry.eu, it was the second winter of the war. My newborn daughter lay in her stroller, wearing a red onesie covered in gingerbread men, and all she knew was how to smile and reach out to her mother. Today, my little Amelia is a strong toddler, running around the park near our home in Warsaw, shouting, «Mom, catch the ball!» and laughing when I lift her into my arms. She comforts her doll when it cries.

She still does not know what Ukraine is. And that is why I am doing this media project. Not to one day tell my child about her homeland, but to ensure that she grows up in an independent, safe, and prosperous Ukraine - as a free citizen of Europe.

Tetiana Bakotska, journalist

The stories we publish in Sestry make an impact - motivating readers to take action. After my article about a refugee shelter in Olsztyn that had been closed, leaving some Ukrainian families in dire straits, five Ukrainian families reached out to say they had received help. Single mothers raising young children were given food, clothing and fully stocked backpacks for school.

Thanks to the article «Sails Save Lives» and the efforts of Piotr Paliński, hundreds of meters of sails were collected in Poland to be sewn into stretchers for wounded soldiers. On August 24th 2024, Olsztyn scout Dorota Limontas delivered the sails to Kyiv as part of a humanitarian convoy, along with medical equipment for several Kyiv hospitals, donated by the Voivodeship Adult and Children’s Hospitals in Olsztyn.

After the publication about the humble mechanic, Mr. Piotr, who in 2022 donated over 500 bicycles to Ukrainian children, the initiative gained new momentum. Once again, hundreds of children - not only in Olsztyn but in other regions of Poland as well - received bicycles as gifts. Bicycles were also sent to Ukraine for orphaned children cared for by the family of Tetiana Paliychuk, whose story we also shared.

Nataliya Zhukovska, journalist

For me, Sestry became a lifeline that supported me during a challenging moment. The full-scale war, moving to another country, adapting to a new life - this is what millions of Ukrainian women faced as they fled from the war, leaving their homes behind. I was fortunate to continue doing what I love in Poland - journalism. Even more so, I was fortunate to engage with people who, through their actions, are writing the modern history of Ukraine - volunteers, soldiers, combat medics and civil activists.

I remember each of the heroes from my stories. I could endlessly recount their lives. One might think that a journalist, after recording an interview and publishing an article, could simply move on. That is how it was for over 20 years of my work in television. The subjects of news stories were quickly forgotten. But this time, it is different. Even after my conversations with these heroes, I keep following their lives through social media. Though we have only met online, many of them have become my friends. Reflecting on the past year, I can only thank fate for the opportunity to share the stories of these incredible, strong-spirited Ukrainians with the world.

Aleksandra Klich, editor

When we began forming the Sestry editorial team a year ago, I felt that it was a special moment. Media like this are truly needed. In a world ravaged by war, overwhelmed by new technologies and crises, where information, images, and emotions bombard us from all sides, we seek order and meaning. We search for a niche that offers a sense of safety, space for deep reflection, and a place where one can simply cry. That is what Sestry is - a new kind of media, a bridge from Ukraine to the European Union.

Working with my Ukrainian colleagues has restored my faith in journalism. It has rekindled in me the belief that media should not just be click factories or arenas of conflict, but a source of knowledge, truth - however painful - and genuine emotions, which we can allow ourselves to experience in the hardest moments. Thanks to my work with Sestry and the daily focus on Ukraine, the most important questions have come alive within me: «What does patriotism mean today? What does it mean to be a European citizen? What does responsibility mean? What can I do - every day, constantly - to help save the world? And finally: Where am I from? For what purpose? Where am I headed?» These questions do not leave a person at peace when they stand on the edge. We create media in a world that is on the edge. The women of Ukraine, their experiences and struggles, remind me of this every day.

Mariya Syrchyna, editor

Over our first year, our readership has grown steadily - numbers show that our audience has increased 8-10 times compared to last year. This growth is because Sestry is no ordinary publication. Most of us journalists live in other countries due to the war, but from each of these countries, we write about what pains us the most. About Ukraine and its resilient people. About what hinders our victory over the enemy - hoping to reach those with the power to help. About the challenges we face in our new homes and how we overcome them. About our children.

We strive to talk to people who inspire and bring light in these dark times - volunteers, artists, doctors, athletes, psychologists, activists, teachers, journalists. But most importantly, we tell the stories of our warriors. I once dreamed that Ukraine’s elite would change and that the country’s fate would be shaped by worthy people. That wish has come true - though in a cruel way. The new heroes of our time are the soldiers who nobly bear the weight of the fight against both the enemy and the world’s indifference. Here, at Sestry, we tell their stories again and again to everyone who has access to the internet and a heart. In three languages. We hope that these stories will ensure their names are not forgotten and their deeds are not distorted.

A sister is someone who can be anywhere in the world but still feels close. She may annoy you, but if someone offends her, you are the first to defend her and offer a hand. That is exactly the kind of publication Sestry aspires to be - reliable and close. All the way to victory, and beyond.

Maryna Stepanenko, journalist

I have been with Sestry for nine months. In that time, I have conducted 22 powerful interviews with people I once only dreamed of speaking to in person. Politicians, generals, commanders and even the deadliest U.S. Air Force pilot. Getting in touch with him was a challenge - no online contacts, except for his publisher. There was also a fan page for Dan Hampton on Facebook. As it turns out, he manages that page himself and is quite responsive to messages.

It took me two months of persistent outreach to secure an interview with Kurt Volker, but I eventually succeeded. And my pride - Ben Hodges, whose contacts were once obtained under strict confidentiality.

In these nine months, I have learned a few key lessons: do not be afraid to ask for an interview with someone you admire, and when choosing between talking to a Ukrainian celebrity or a foreign general, always opt for the general. I am grateful to be the bridge between their expert opinions and our readers.

Kateryna Tryfonenko, journalist

«Why did you ask me that?». This is one of those funny memorable occurrences. I was working on an article about military recruitment, with part of the piece focused on international experience. One of the experts I spoke with was an American specialist from a military recruitment center. I made sure to tell him upfront that the questions would be very basic, as our readers are not familiar with the intricacies of the United States military system. He had no objections. We recorded the interview, and a few days later, I received a message from him that began, «I am still very puzzled by our conversation. I keep thinking about the questions you asked me. Why did you ask me that?». The message was long, and between the lines, it almost read «Are you a spy?». This was a first for me. To avoid causing him further distress, I offered to remove his comments from the article if our conversation had unsettled him that much. However, he did not object to the publication in the end. Although I wonder if, to this day, he still thinks it was not all just a coincidence.

Nataliya Ryaba, editor

I am free. These three words perfectly describe my work at Sestry. I am free to do what I love and what I do best. Free from restrictions: our editorial team is a collective of like-minded individuals where everyone trusts each other, and no one forbids experimenting, trying new things, learning, and bringing those ideas to life. I am free from stereotypes. Our multinational team has shown that nationality and historical disputes between our peoples do not matter - we are united, working toward the common goal of Ukraine’s victory and the victory of the democratic world. I am free to be who I want to be in our newsroom. Yes, I work as an editor, but I can grab my camera and run as a reporter to protests or polling stations - wherever I want to go. No one forbids me from creating what I want, and I am grateful for this freedom. It gives me wings.

Anastasiya Kanarska, journalist

Like many women, I always thought I wanted to have a son. Well, maybe two kids, but one of them had to be a boy. But as my understanding of myself and the world grew, and the likelihood of not having children at all increased, the idea of being a good mother to a happy, self-sufficient daughter became an exciting challenge. Learning from each other, respecting personal boundaries, and caring for one another - that is what makes working in a women’s circle so empowering. For me, starting work with Sestry coincided with a deeper exploration of my female lineage - strong women like my colleagues, who at times embody Demeter, Persephone, Hera, Aphrodite, Artemis, or Hestia. The themes of my articles, whether written, edited, or translated by me, often mirror my own life events or thoughts. Maybe that is the magic of the sisterhood circle.

Olena Klepa, SMM specialist

«I feel needed here». I went to my first interview with Sestry three months before the official launch of the project: in old DIY shorts, a T-shirt from a humanitarian aid center, with a «dandelion» hairstyle and seven years of TV experience. I was not looking for a job. I was content working as a security guard at a construction site, always learning, taking free online training. But for some reason, all my supervisors kept asking: «Have you found something for yourself yet? Any interesting opportunities?» They would tell me I did not belong there and was meant for something greater.

Sestry found me. So, when I first went to the meeting, I decided, «All or nothing». It was not a typical interview. It was a meeting of people with similar values and a shared goal. We spoke different languages but understood each other instantly. The plans were ambitious and, at first glance, unrealistic. They needed a social media manager. The responsibility scared me, but I never say «I can't» until I try. Experience has shown that you can learn anything. At Sestry, I feel needed. I feel like I have room to grow. I love that I can combine all my accumulated experience here, that I can experiment. But most importantly, I no longer feel guilty. My country is at war. The enemy is not only on the frontlines. Russian propaganda has extended its tentacles far beyond its borders. By creating social media content, telling stories about Ukrainians on the frontlines to people in Poland, and showing Ukrainians that Poles «have not grown tired of the war», I am helping Ukraine hold its ground in the information space.

Beata Łyżwa-Sokół, photo editor

Many years ago, a photo editor colleague considered changing jobs and trying her luck abroad. However, one editor strongly advised her against it: «You will never be as recognised in a newsroom in New York or London as you are at home. You will never reach the same level of language proficiency as your native-speaking colleagues. At best, you will be an assistant to the head photo editor. In a foreign newsroom, you will always be a foreigner». She listened and stayed in the country, despite having studied English at university and being fluent enough that language would not have been a barrier. A few years later, she left the profession altogether, deciding that journalism no longer had a place for her - that it simply did not exist anymore.

Since then, the media landscape has changed drastically. Many believe that in the age of social media, journalism is no longer necessary. The world is evolving, and so are the media. However, I never stopped believing in its importance. I did not run away from journalism; instead, I sought a new place for myself. That is how I found Sestry, where I met editors and journalists who had come to Poland from war-torn Ukraine. After a year of working together, I know that we are very similar in many ways, but also differ in others. We listen to each other, argue, go to exhibitions together, and share a bottle of wine from time to time.

When I started working at Sestry, and we were discussing what kind of photographs should illustrate the site with our editor-in-chief, Mariya Gorska, I heard her say, «This is your garden». It was one of many fantastic phrases I heard during the months of working together - words that shaped our professional and personal relationships. In an era of fake news, bots and media crises, it was particularly important to me, as the photo editor of Sestry, to consider how we tell the story of what is happening in Ukraine through photography. I observe the media around the world, and thanks to the editors on our site, I notice that these images are often superficial, not based on direct testimony or experience, and rely on stereotypes.

For me, direct contact with Ukrainian journalists and editors is invaluable in my daily work. I am convinced that journalism projects based on such collaboration represent an opportunity for the media of the future. They are a guarantee of reliability and effectiveness in places where people’s lives are at stake, even in the most remote corners of the world.

In Kathryn Bigelow’s film «Zero Dark Thirty», there is a scene where the protagonist, a CIA agent responsible for capturing Osama bin Laden, faces a group of Navy SEALs participating in the operation. One of them, sceptical about the success of the mission (particularly because it is being led by a woman), asks his colleagues: «Why do you trust her? Why should I trust her?». Another replies: «Because she knows what she is doing». That is exactly how I feel working at Sestry. I work with editors and journalists from Ukraine who know what they are doing and why - and I feel incredibly comfortable because of that.