Slobiansk, Ukraine
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Slobiansk’s small Salt Lake beach offers medicinal moments from the swirling violence of the eastern front a few miles away.
“It feels like it’s floating from this reality,” said local journalist Mikairo while he was immersed in the water from the sands of the lake, which is overlooked by a large concrete bomb shelter. The fires are regularly located near here, and Mikhailo jokingly calls it “Salt Lake City, Slobiansk.”
However, the Kremlin’s proposal to Steve Witkov, a special envoy to exchange a ceasefire with parts of Donbas Russia, means that it has not yet conquered the town, and its people nearby could suddenly become Moscow’s territory. And even on this quiet beach, it sparked what Mykhailo calls “panic.”
“A lot of my friends want to stay here. We’ll all have to leave,” he said. “But frankly, I don’t think that will happen.” President Donald Trump, rebellious and perceived, may be flat in executions, as high-interested diplomatic president engaged to Russian President Vladimir Putin, hastily in preparation.
“The thing Trump was wrong is he took him out of the swamp. He took him out and said, ‘Vladimir, I want to tell you. I like you,'” Mikairo said. “He didn’t care about the death of Ukrainians every day.”
For Ludmira, moving herself into a body of wheelchair waters with arms extended, Salt Lake is a brief moment of buoyancy that brings relief from injuries caused by stepping into the land mine two years ago. It’s the pain of everyday life where she is not impressed with diplomacy.
“There they’re lying,” she said. “For them, it’s all a sight. They decide one thing, say another, do another. It’s always politics.”
Throughout the Donetsk region, Witkov’s new deal with the Kremlin was confused by the details and quickly rejected by Kiev, already killed by the war, and a deeper spin.
The town of Slobiansk was first filmed in 2014 by Moscow’s “separatists” before the Ukrainian army took control. New ditches have been rushed west to prepare for the possibility of a continuous attack by Russia. But few have imagined that their important ally, the United States, might entertain the idea of handing over their homes.
In the town’s maternity ward, the tire strokes the assol at Miles, the only functional facility of its kind.
“I saw the news,” she said. “It would be very bad. But we won’t affect it. It’s not our decision. People just give their homes.”
The birth and death continue, and the death of Sofia Ramejova is particularly painful. Her parents, Natalia and Sviatoslav, were pleased when she and her husband, Maikita, decided to live with Kiev’s newborn son, Lev. As Sviatoslav said, “We wanted them to be far from the frontline. Here in Sloviansk, there are drone attacks and gunfires every day.”
However, the family of the three were found in an apartment block in Kiev at the tile rab in the air strike on July 31, and killed together by the collapse of the building. Sofia was three months pregnant and took place in Slobiansk a few days later, and she shared the good news to her friends.
“They left the war and were quiet there, but the war caught them there,” Natalia said. Sviatoslav added:
They spoke the night before Sofia passed away. “She really said she wanted to come to Slobiansk,” Natalia said. “We spread joy to let everyone know the news, but they didn’t come back. They came back together in a different way.”
Sofia’s mother is surprised to find that she mentions the family’s burial on the outskirts of town. The Ukrainian pier rings overhead as she and her husband tilt dusty flowers into their burial mounds. Couples cannot leave their homes, as well as Slobiansk, which provides food and water assistance to many locals, the elderly who often live alone and survive in handouts.
The nearest station is Kramatorsk, the de facto capital of the Ukrainians. Donetsk is a bustling town where civilian lives are supported among the military base there. A vast airstrikes defeated the central building and tore it from the four-storey into a basement. Russian drone attacks are regular. However, cities are plagued by the urgent business of survival in war and the war itself.
Trains from Kyiv arrive at Air Raid Sirens on Monday. Dozens will sit on the platform to welcome and replace people arriving from the capital. The cry has been given two days off by a tank unit outside Kostian Nibuka, whose husband, Serei, has been fighting since the second day of the Russian full invasion and to celebrate his birthday.
When Tetiana crys, the soldier gently warns her of the uproar. “It would have been better if she hadn’t come,” he said. “Calm down.” Tetiana has little interest in Trump’s broader plot. “Do you know what my dreams are? My husband is just going home. I don’t care about those territory. I just want him to live and go home.”
The train picks up to return to the capital, a man places his hands on a moving glass window, and a girl etches his heart into a closed door. The sirens continue.
