Why we keep doing this work in Ukraine

Hello Dear Reader, This is Yana Zhuryk, membership growth manager, here at the Kyiv Independent. You haven’t heard from me yet — I usually stay behind the scenes — but you may have seen some of the work I’ve been a part of, like our anniversary campaign in November. Today, I’m writing this email from my dark apartment in Kyiv, curled up under a few blankets with my cat. I feel extremely lucky that she decided to cuddle — it doesn’t happen often, she has that kind of personality. Outside, it’s −15 degrees Celsius (5 degrees Fahrenheit). The electricity has been out for around five hours already. My laptop is running on a charging station, and the Wi-Fi is on a power bank. In Ukrainian, February is called лютий (lutyi) — literally “fierce” or “severe.” It’s hard to think of a better word for days like this. I recently had a conversation with my best friends about what keeps us in Ukraine. We’re women — so technically, we can leave (under martial law, men of conscription age are not allowed to leave). We can move abroad, start over somewhere quieter, more predictable. But all of us made a conscious choice to stay. Some because of partners or families. Some because of work. Some because it simply feels right to be here. I’m in that last category. Living in Ukraine during Russia’s full-scale invasion changed my sense of “normal,” especially this winter. I plan my days around the electricity supply schedule — when we even have a schedule. I keep power banks charged at all times. I’ve learned which cafés near my apartment have generators, which streets are too icy to walk on, how to get back online quickly when my Wi-Fi disappears mid-meeting, and where the closest shelters are, for when Russian drones or missiles head toward Kyiv. I started celebrating small things: a hot shower, a working elevator, a quiet night without an air attack. There’s a superstition in Ukraine that you should never throw away bread, no matter how stale it is. It’s rooted, in part, in the memory of the Holodomor, the deadly, man-made famine orchestrated by the Soviet authorities in the 1930s. I remember my great-grandmother, who lived through it, becoming genuinely upset when my mother tried to throw away leftover bread. I think my generation will similarly forever carry its own habits shaped by this time — always having a power bank nearby, thinking about alternative energy sources, and shelters when building homes. This is how Russia is changing our “normal.” And still — life goes on. What keeps me here isn’t heroic resilience. It’s the feeling of being exactly where I’m supposed to be; of doing work that matters, alongside people who care deeply about what they do; of knowing that the journalism we produce, and the community we build, make a real impact on people’s lives. Working at the Kyiv Independent doesn’t feel like “just a job.” It feels like a responsibility — and, in many ways, a privilege. But we wouldn’t be able to do this job alone. The reason we can keep reporting, planning, and thinking beyond the next day is because of the people who support us. Our members are the backbone of what we do. They give us something incredibly powerful: stability in an unstable world. If you’ve ever wondered whether your support makes a difference — it does. On days like this, especially. To everyone who already supports us — thank you, it truly means a lot. If you value our work or feel connected to what we do, or if you simply want to stand a little closer to the people behind the reporting, I invite you to join our community. Becoming a member isn’t just about exclusive content or discounts — it’s about choosing to be part of a community that cares and helps protect independent journalism. Membership Growth Manager Yana Zhuryk

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