A series of short vignettes told through text, photography and film. These stories are the unfiltered voices of the people that we meet and represent our commitment to the individual human experience during moments of change, conflict, or catastrophe.
The Palace of Culture: One Woman’s Fight in No Man’s Land
We arrived at the village of Luch. It was a metal-grey November morning. Along with Zach (photographer) and Yasha (translator), I stepped out of the car and found myself on a silent street of detached buildings. Most of the two and three-story structures were either half or entirely razed to the ground. The ones that remained standing had black holes for windows and tin barricades for doors. Three dogs passed by along the potholed road.
48 kilometres north of the Kherson front line and 32 kilometres south of the city of Mykolaiv, Luch lies in a sort of tundra; a desolate, liberated space defined by the scars that made it so. In this tundra 210 people still live. Young and old. Residents who, before 24th February 2022, lived in a village proud of their primary school, nursery and football team; a village that boasted a 400-seater theatre with a grand piano; a Palace of Culture for art, dancing and music; an orphanage with dormitories, a canteen and playgrounds.
In the early stages of the invasion, the Russians advanced up fast through the Kherson region. With all intentions set upon the capture of prized Mykolaiv, Luch became a violent battleground and, as it materialised, an immoveable force.
After being under siege for almost every day for eight months, the village held fast. The Ukrainian forces pushed back the Russian advance in a rapid counterattack in the autumn of 2022, culminating in the recapture of Kherson. In their efforts, many of the original Luch residents were killed. Others were evacuated by volunteers.
One woman built her own bomb shelter and stayed throughout. Her name is Svitlana Hinzhul. Svitlana, sixty-two years old, greets us outside the glassless doors of the Palace of Culture. Once a hub for the community, the vast, five-story structure has taken on the appearance of a fortress. ‘Don’t worry about the dogs, they come and go as they please.’
I shake her hand. She has short cropped hair, marble brown eyes and holds herself with an air of pragmatism. She leads us inside.
