#14 Beyond the headlines of war
Day fifteen
Grandpa Sasha drives me to the commissariat. On the way, he suggests I tell the drafting officer that I am a journalism student and that
10 March 2022
Grandpa Sasha drives me to the commissariat. On the way, he suggests I tell the drafting officer that I am a journalism student and that
Mum is going to the city. She wants to cash out all of the money we have. It’s a good opportunity to visit our flat,
Last week, I woke up to a Russian declaration of war. Kyiv, Mariupol, and Kharkiv are now in the eye of the storm. This week, I get the dreaded call.
Mom hasn’t said a word since we crawled through the bushes, leaving Aleksey behind. I wonder if I could call anyone. My cellphone has run
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We should have never left. Now, he’s dead. Aleksey—my brother—is dead. We tried to escape. Aleksey had heard there was a ceasefire and an older
Wow. I can’t believe this is the second day without hearing sirens and freaking out over and over again. Though in all honesty, you get
Ukrainians fleeing the war now have a one-year permit to stay in the European Union. But we can stay here for 90 days until we
My father’s brother lives in Enerhodar, 50 kilometres from here. It’s a nice town with beautiful parks. It’s also home to the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power
The roof is on fire. The second stairwell of our building is, too.We need to get out. It’s freezing outside and windy. One of my
We turn off all heaters, refrigerators, kettles—anything electrical to save resources. From the window of our flat, I can see that the traffic lights are
My name is Oleksandr. I’m almost 20. I live in Zaporizhzhia. It’s a great city in southeast Ukraine, 230 kilometres from Donetsk. It’s my home.
We arrive in Sighetu Marmației. It is freezing cold, I can’t feel my hands. But this is my favourite part of the whole journey. Volunteers
We’re completely surrounded. From Donetsk in the east, tanks have crept up on us. From the Azov Sea, warships keep us in their crosshair. It’s
In the huge Library of Gender Studies—a feminist non-profit organisation in Prague—Alexandra Doleželová struggled to find any data on women’s poverty in her home country of the Czech Republic. After sharing her thoughts
I see a photo on Twitter of a building that has been bombed. I immediately recognise it as my own. That was my home. I
I wake up and—without a minute wasted—my mum and I pack up our stuff. We’re leaving. Aside from our emergency backpacks, I take my laptop
I’ve never been to a church that looked quite like this. Then again, everything around me looks, sounds and smells unlike anything I’ve ever experienced—and
I’m pulling an all-nighter to finish a school assignment. It’s already past four in the morning and I have lost all track of time. Suddenly,
Buildings keep us warm, allow us to gather, and are often sites of idea- generation. They are places of residence, comfort and safety. But they come at a huge environmental cost. The construction industry accounts for 38%
Struggle is in the blood of the Naples’ ancient third-gender community of the Femminielli.
Chairs carry our bodies in all sorts of situations. A meagre metal structure squeaks in the nervous silence of waiting rooms, whereas a colourful formica
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The stories of Black people in Britain must finally be heard.
We tend to think about colonial history as a chapter from our distant past, but looking at the grand scale of history, the tail-end of