Ukraine's War Unveiled through Human Stories: Interview with Marichka Paplauskaite
Read our interview on the astonishingly powerful collection of 24 personal stories from the war in Ukraine.
Marichka Paplauskaite- Editor in Chief, Reporters Magazine Photo by Valentyn Kuzan
77 Days of February: Living and Dying in Ukraine, Told by the Nation’s Own Journalists (Scribd, 2023) Book cover
The Russian invasion of Ukraine marked a pivotal moment in international relations, sparking outrage and condemnation from the global community while igniting deep-rooted tensions that had been simmering for decades. The invasion, which began in the early days of 2022, cast a dark shadow over the principles of sovereignty and territorial integrity. As Russian forces advanced, cities and towns across Ukraine were transformed into battlefields, with civilians caught in the crossfire and their lives altered by the devastating consequences of war.
In 77 Days of February, a group of distinguished writers from Reporters Magazine, the only Ukrainian publication dedicated to long-form literary journalism, present a remarkably powerful collection of 24 personal narratives. The anthology aims to give readers unprecedented access to first-hand accounts of the atrocities suffered during the early days of the invasion.
It also serves as a tribute to the indomitable spirit and fortitude of the Ukrainian people, who continue to demonstrate unwavering strength and pride in the face of adversity. Marichka Paplauskaite, editor-in-chief of Reporters Magazine, joins us for an interview about 77 Days of February and her accounts of enduring the war as a Ukrainian journalist.
Q. At the beginning of the book there is an emphasis on why it is important to talk about the war in Ukraine from the beginning, with a reference to memory being unreliable. Would you like to share that with our readers?
The initial months of the war presented a profoundly challenging period for us. My colleagues and I felt an overwhelming urge to contribute to the cause of our country, and given our writing skills, we set out to create narratives. The primary goal of our magazine, Reporters, was to tell the story of Ukraine through the lens of personal stories, moving away from traditional hard news and focusing on the encounters, sentiments and emotions of individuals. So when the war broke out, our choice was clear: to share these stories first with fellow Ukrainians and then with a global audience.
This book carries an intense emotional weight, because it was simply not possible to discuss this subject without emotion. It encompasses our homeland and our own firsthand encounters. At first, we wondered if it was premature to delve into such intimate experiences. However, as the war continues and the timing of victory is uncertain, we decided to tackle the subject now, while the wounds are still raw.
Human memory is indeed very fragile, especially when it comes to traumatic events. The mind tries to forget events that have caused suffering. That’s why what we have managed to capture in texts about the events and memories of the first months of the war seems very important to me.
Q. What has changed between the beginning of the war and now?
We have been living under the conditions of a full-scale war for a year and a half now. It’s unfortunate to admit it, but we have managed to get accustomed to the war. In our cities, we still hear the air raid siren every day, which always means that Russian missiles or Iranian drones used by Russia are heading towards our territory to commit new acts of violence against innocent people. Nevertheless, under these circumstances we continue our work and try to live, adapting to the conditions of war.
Q. There is a theme in the book of how time flows differently during wartime. Can you describe that?
It’s really true. In the first few months of the war, we lost track of time. You have to understand that when war breaks out in your country, everything that used to interest you loses its meaning in an instant. The only goal that remains is to survive yourself and to protect your loved ones and the country as a whole from destruction.
I remember that I didn’t look in the mirror for the first few days because, firstly, it no longer mattered and, secondly, I was afraid to see how such intense stress had affected my face. All the daily rituals that are normal in peacetime became meaningless. We were all focused on new and life-critical tasks, like teaching my 6-year-old son to hide away from glass when he hears the air raid siren. Or figuring out where to live when your home is under threat of destruction or occupation.
Consequently, time lost its usual meaning. The first months of the war felt like one long, terrible day. We didn’t remember the date, the day of the week; we only knew what day of the war it was. Because that became the only significant measure. And I’m just talking about my own experience. I can only imagine how those who had to spend weeks in the cellars of Mariupol, for example, felt while the Russians were destroying the city above their heads, dropping bombs on residential buildings block by block.
Of course, a person adapts to everything. And later we returned to our normal sense of time, but I will never forget the time void that was there at the beginning.
Q. As a journalist, you’ve had the opportunity to interact with various individuals impacted by the war, is there a story that was particularly inspiring to you?
It’s hard for me to say which story impressed me the most. Because all the stories in the book are incredibly personal. There is one change that happened to us journalists at the beginning of the war: we became the heroes of our own texts. For instance, there are two stories about Chernihiv by our author Vira Kuriko. Her husband went off to fight, and she returned twice to the city surrounded by Russians, describing the life of people under siege.
Another story is “Pasha and the Old Man” by Olga Omelyanchuk. Her acquaintance overheard a phone conversation in a basement. Someone was talking about a paralyzed old man whose relatives had left him in a flat in Irpin. At the time, fierce street battles were raging in the town. Olga found soldiers who agreed to find the old man and evacuate him. It was a risky operation. But the soldiers managed to navigate the streets where gunfire echoed and rescue the man. I am struck by the humanity of this story. It shows an example of how one can remain human even in times of war.
Another story I would like to mention is titled “The Sea”. It tells the story of fishermen from the Kiev Sea – a vast reservoir. Villages on one bank were occupied by Russians in the early days, while on the other bank there was a fishing base. In times of peace these men would have been considered poachers, but in times of war they became heroes. They would cross the sea in their boats and rescue people from the occupation. This was dangerous because the sea was still covered with ice and the Russians were shelling the boats. Nevertheless, these fishermen risked their lives to save others.
As you can see, these stories depict not only the horrors of war, but also courage, compassion, desperation, and light.
Q. How has covering these stories affected you? Have you had the space to reflect on your own grief?
When we were working on these stories, we had to prepare everything so quickly that we had no time to think. But afterwards I had some time to think and I realized that it’s not about the stories, it’s about the lessons I learned during the war and during my work as a journalist and editor living in Ukraine.
We feel that we must live now; if you want to do something, do it today. If you want to tell someone you love them, tell them today. It’s not only because of the conditions of our personal lives during the war in general, but also because there are many stories, for example about nameless graves, that remind us to appreciate what we have.
Q. What struggles do you face bringing these stories to a global audience?
It was so important for us to share our work with readers abroad because we are afraid that the war will be normalized, as I mentioned before. We still need support, and I absolutely understand that people abroad can lose interest in the war in Ukraine and think, “Well, it’s news from Ukraine again. But for us, it’s a real and ongoing tragedy, all the time, in every town.
We want people to not just read the stories, but to empathize and think about how they would feel and act in that situation. And I hope that through these stories our readers can form an emotional connection with Ukraine. I think the biggest challenge is that it’s incredibly difficult to comprehend the experience of war unless you’ve been through it. I’ve read numerous books about different conflicts around the world. But when it came to war in my own country, I wasn’t prepared.
War is the worst experience one can have. Our subconscious can block the desire to understand this experience because it’s too painful. That’s why I hope that the stories in the book, which are very emotional and personal, will give foreign readers a chance to somewhat grasp our reality.
Q. Could you tell us about networks of collaborations amongst journalists at this time?
Our team isn’t large; besides editors, we only have two full-time correspondents. However, we have a large pool of freelance authors across the country. When the war started, they all reported to me about the stories they were witnessing and wanted to describe. It was a unique time of unity for all citizens, and journalists were no exception. We worked as a single team, driven by the importance of documenting events of historic magnitude, recording the crimes of the Russians, and capturing new pages in Ukrainian history. It was a time of solidarity and professional unity within the journalistic community.
Q. How has misinformation made life more difficult for the Ukrainian people during the war?
Personally, I haven’t found this to be a problematic issue because we don’t watch or rely on Russian propaganda TV channels or anything of that sort. If we come across something that raises suspicion or doubt, we check it out. Sometimes, when we come across something dubious, we instinctively recognize its lack of credibility. We make sure to verify and re-verify; after all, we have colleagues in all regions of Ukraine.
For instance, when a Russian propaganda channel tried to dismiss the atrocities in Bucha as a hoax and labeled the alleged victims as actors, my colleagues and friends were in Bucha. They witnessed the bodies on the streets, took videos and photographs that unequivocally confirmed the reality of the situation. Russian propaganda doesn’t shake us because we are here, on the ground, witnessing everything first hand.
Q. What important remarks would you like to share with our readers?
The main message I want to convey is that the war is an ongoing reality and our struggle persists. Readers may peruse the accounts documented within the 77 Days of February and recognize the tragedies and turmoil depicted, but they have the privilege of closing the book and returning to their daily lives. The reality we face, however, remains unchanged, with analogous stories unfolding every day across Ukraine. Our need for support continues.
