The Silence of the Headlines

BY ZARINA ZABRISKY

The Russian war of aggression has shattered Ukraine’s daily life. International coverage understates the scale of Russian attacks on the frontline territories and cities, said a Kharkiv-based influencer, Kate Bohuslavska. Strikes are near daily but rarely make the news unless mass casualties are involved. Alongside missiles and bombs, Russia now uses mass drone assaults to overwhelm Ukraine’s air defenses.

In Kharkiv, northeast Ukraine, drone attacks number in the hundreds each month, with some waves arriving by the dozen. The drones hit indiscriminately: roads, parks, schools, homes. No area is safe. Kharkiv residents shelter for hours in bathrooms and corridors, away from windows.

Most schools and kindergartens remain closed, except for a handful of underground classrooms built since the full-scale invasion—insufficient for a city with a population of 1,416,000 and an additional 200,000 internally displaced people. Some global companies operating in safer parts of Ukraine won’t return here, reducing already scarce jobs.

“The mood is tense, yet one of focused determination,” Bohuslavska says. “Kharkiv residents accept the risks to protect our culture and home. But we need support—military, humanitarian, informational. All of it.”

The northeastern regional city of Sumy (294,000 population) and border areas around it are under continuous aerial bomb, missile and fiber-optic FPV drone assault. According to Ihor Marchenko, Sumy medical center founder and volunteer, Russians changed their tactics.

Previously, they mainly targeted the Ukrainian military but now they are destroying infrastructure and industry and killing civilians to spread fear. On May 12, a city maintenance team was struck in broad daylight. Nighttime used to be the most dangerous time due to Shahid drones’ strikes, but now Russian Iskander missiles and North Korean–made missiles attack during the day.

“They destroy everything,” said Marchenko. He smokes on his balcony at night, listening to Shahid drones buzzing and aerial bomb explosions. During the day, he once watched children playing and people strolling when, suddenly, a loud explosion shook everything around.

In shock, Marchenko watched life going on. No one cared to take the children off the playground.

“We are used to it,” he said. “People fear silence more than noise. Many have lost faith that this war will ever end. Thinking about it is terrifying. It’s easier not to think.”

Marchenko’s family had to leave Sumy after April’s deadly attack on civilians, which killed at least 35, including two children. Yet, despite incessant attacks, the city lives. Public transport is operating. Some chain stores close during air raids, but many grocery stores remain open as air alerts last 18–20 hours a day, sometimes 26–28 hours.

“What’s frightening is that people here have lost their fear,” said Marchenko. “It used to protect us. We’ve become fatalists. Everyone knows life can end at any moment, but there’s no panic. Yet, everyone has some form of trauma. So do I. I live only by faith and hope.”

In Zaporizhzhia, a regional city in southeastern Ukraine, with a population of 716,000, Alla, a hotel manager, said the frequent attacks aim at civilians. Mornings are usually quiet, but in the evening and night, missiles or waves of Shahid drones strike the city. Some shops and schools are still working.

The villages surrounding Zaporizhzhia city bear the brunt of the assault. The war’s toll on the environment is severe, with the Dnipro River nearly dried up, and birds and fish dying. “Everyone is tired of war,” said Alla.

In Kherson, a critically important city in southern Ukraine, attacks never stop.

“Not even 20 minutes go by without an explosion in some part of the city,” said Denys Sukhanov, a community leader.

The majority of attacks in Kherson and suburbs come from FPV (first-person view) drones, small strike drones carrying explosives. The tactic is now recognized as “human safari.”

Kherson also suffers from daily artillery attacks and frequent guided aerial bombs and missiles. A few weeks ago, a guided aerial bomb fell 100 meters from Sukhanov’s home, destroying three houses and damaging more than 20 others. 

Kherson’s population has dropped from 320,000 to just about 60,000, according to the city administration. Almost 90%–95% of young and middle-aged people have left. Most of the city is no longer functioning: 95% of shops are closed, and schools have not operated since the first day of the invasion. Public transport is limited.

“In my area, there is only one route left, with two minibuses—both damaged by drone strikes,” Sukhanov said. “Another bus burned down. Passengers and drivers were injured. To feel the destruction, one needs to come to Kherson to see it.”

In the southern port city of Odesa, missile attacks are sporadic but can occur at any time, day or night, said Maria Galina, a writer and critic. Odesa, a cultural hub with a population of a million, has seen multiple direct hits, resulting in destruction and casualties.

The port area is frequently targeted due to its strategic location on the Black Sea. Yet, strikes usually target Odesa satellite towns and suburbs.

Some missiles are launched in pairs, with the second strike timed to target rescue crews—a tactic known as a “double tap.” In recent weeks, Shahed drones have attacked frequently, typically after 10 p.m. or early in the morning. “It is very scary—my house shakes during the raids,” Galina said.

A few weeks ago, a Russian drone hit a residential 16-story building one block from Galina’s home. The building, located in a densely populated area with a market and playground nearby, was destroyed. Another drone was shot down and crashed into Galina’s friend’s yard, damaging her home.

“Life continues,” said Galina. “Some shops and cafés close during air raids. Cultural events often take place in basements to avoid interruption.”

Similarly to other Ukrainians, most Odesa residents only seek shelter if they are caring for children. Children mostly study online. Several schools have been hit, though not during class hours.

Public transport remains operational during attacks. To reach the city center, Galina rides a minibus that passes a building destroyed early in the war. Many windows in Odesa’s center are covered with plywood or taped in crisscross patterns to limit shrapnel damage from blasts. 

“Ruins have become part of the familiar landscape,” Galina said.

Cats and dogs often die alongside owners, with others going missing during raids. “Odesans love their pets,” said Galina. “It breaks my heart to read notices about lost animals.”

“While it’s impossible to sustain the same level of tension we had in the first year of the full-scale invasion,” she added, “I don’t see a loss of spirit.”

In Kyiv, the capital of Ukraine, attacks happen daily at peak intensity but currently large-scale strikes occur 2–3 times a week, reported an American veteran war correspondent, Phil Ittner.

Ukrainian air defense prevents most missiles from reaching the city center. The main threats are Shahid drones, cruise missiles, and hard-to-intercept hypersonic missiles. Attacks can happen anytime, but most often strike in the early morning, as people wake—often while still in bed.

“You can sleep through an attack but wake up anxious and unsettled, or it can keep you up all night,” said Ittner. “The stress affects people in many ways, some direct and some on a much deeper level.”

Kyiv residents rarely alter their routines, so accustomed to danger that it’s both depressing and inspiring, according to Ittner. The exception is schools and daycare. Adults prioritize children’s safety, knowing a missile or drone could still break through. The long-term impact on children’s development will be significant.

Ittner has lost friends in the press corps and at the front. The memorial flags on Maidan Square are a constant reminder of those lost.

“Ukrainians are exhausted but resigned,” said Ittner. “No one is talking about surrender or giving up to the Russians. People generally shrug it off and say, ‘The Russians will do what the Russians will do. We will remain strong and live our lives.’”

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Zarina Zabrisky is an American journalist and an award-winning novelist currently reporting on the Russian war in Ukraine. She is a war correspondent for Bywire News (UK); writes a Daily Review column for Euromaidan Press, an online Ukrainian English-language independent newspaper since 2014; and contributes articles and podcasts on information warfare and reports from the sites and interviews military experts and eyewitnesses for these and other publications, including The Byline Times (UK) and the Community Alliance newspaper in Fresno.

Memorial to fallen Ukrainian soldiers in Kyiv. Photo by Zarina Zabrisky

A damaged university building in Sumy. Photo by Zarina Zabrisky