Theatre Has Gone Underground in Kharkiv – Literally. An Interview with Ukrainian Playwright and Theater-maker Dmytro Ternoviy. Part 1.

I first encountered Dmytro Ternoviy through my Worldwide Ukrainian Play Readings project. His play, On the Eve, set in the last hours before Russia launched its full-scale invasion on 24 February 2022, told of good, well-meaning people who simply could not believe that Russia would attack them. Dmytro and I remain in frequent contact as we prepare two collaborations – one a series of podcasts supported by Ukrainskaya Pravda, Ukraine’s top newspaper, that will present numerous texts from an anthology I edited (A Dictionary of Emotions in a Time of War: 20 Short Works by Ukrainian Playwrights [Laertes Press, 2023]), and a second supported by Philip Arnoult’s Center for International Theatre Development that will bring together Ukrainian writers with U.S. writers chosen by Garry Posey’s Ensemble Theater of Chattanooga. On June 22 Kharkiv was bombed (3 killed, 38 injured) shortly before we engaged in a Google Chat, and then, at one point in our conversation, Dmytro just disappeared – no video, no audio. A few minutes later he returned as if nothing had happened and calmly apologized – “Another bomb. I had to take cover.” As Dmytro and I have chatted and exchanged messages this spring and early summer, I became increasingly astonished at how sanguine he remained. His home city of Kharkiv was under heavy attack from the Russians and at one point there was reason to believe (at least from my obstructed viewpoint) that the city might even fall. That particular danger has largely passed for the nonce, although rocket and drone attacks, and air-raid warnings continue to make life in the city difficult. What is it like living and making art in a city being bombarded? Dmytro tells us eloquently. 

Dmytro Ternoviy’s answers are translated from Ukrainian into English.

John Freedman: You’re living in hell right now. After doing terrible damage to Kharkiv in the beginning of the war, the Russian army recently resumed pummeling your city with rocket and drone attacks. One suspects they want to flatten Kharkiv as they did Mariupol or Bucha or any other number of cities. Are you able to appreciate the full meaning of what is happening?

Dmytro Ternoviy: You know, I immediately catch myself thinking that, indeed, it must look like hell from afar. But we have our own internal gradations of “hell” and “normal” here. So, viewing things from here, from Kharkiv, hell for us is what is happening on the front lines, where terrible battles are being fought. Still, Kharkiv has been going through very difficult times of late. Even when you adjust internally to these circumstances, that is in no way a normal life. To help you understand: We are constantly forced to consult messenger channels that alert us to threats. Let me give a rundown of some messages I received today only, for a short period of time, noon to evening. My commentary is in parentheses.

 2:25 p.m. – Alarm. Enemy aircraft activity. Bombs may be launched in the region.

3:52 –  KAB (a laser-guided bomb) heading for Borshcheva (a village not far from the city).

3:55 – KAB flying close to Lyptsi (a village 20 km from Kharkiv, where fighting is underway).

3:56 – Bomb approaching the suburbs (this makes us tense up, because in such cases these bombs often reach Kharkiv too).

3.58 – Explosion in the region (KAB are bombs weighing from 500 to 1500 kg [1,100 to 3,300 lbs], almost every such explosion takes human lives. Dozens of these bombs are dropped in our region every day. Just yesterday, a friend of mine, an artist and designer, reported that a drone fell in the suburbs and killed his business partner in her own home. The last entry on her Facebook page was: “It’s good everywhere, but it’s better on your own land!”).

4:06 – Aviation has departed from firing range (you can exhale!).

4:17 – More enemy aviation activity.

4:23 – KAB heading for Lyptsi (be careful: incoming fire heading for the city comes from this direction).

4:25 – Explosion in the Lyptsi district (again, our positions are fired upon).

4:41 – Re-launch of KAB at Lyptsi.

4:46 – Explosion in the Lyptsi district (real hell there).

4:56 – KAB headed for Vovchansk (Lyptsi and Vovchansk are the two directions from which the Russians enter the Kharkiv region. Vovchansk is a little further away and, if bombs are fired in that direction, they will not reach the city. But it is very difficult for our soldiers there now).

6:54 – North of the city; a scout drone is in your area (this means that a strike in this are is possible later).

7:02 – Our air defense system is working – be careful.

7:27 – Thunder is rumbling – don’t panic! (this is not a joke, we are told this too, because thunder and explosions have a very similar sound).

7:42 – Repulsed.

9:25 – Alarm!

And so it goes — around the clock, constantly. The worst thing is when you suddenly receive the message “ROCKET!” This means that ballistics are heading toward Kharkiv and you have a maximum of 30 seconds to hide. Sometimes these messages aren’t transmitted in time, and we hear a loud explosion first, then receive the notification to take cover. Despite all that, what is happening now cannot be compared with what happened in March, April, and early May, when the offensive on Kharkiv was being prepared and then launched – when the city was being hit by rockets, bombs, and drones every day. Most likely, the Russians’ initial intent was to sow panic in our million-strong city, and provoke a mass flight of residents. Otherwise, it is difficult to explain. For example, the May 25 attack on the Epicentr supermarket, which on a day off was full of ordinary visitors, consisted of three bombs dropped on that target deliberately (two exploded), resulting in 19 dead and 50 injured. This was terror aimed at the civilian population. It is a way the Russians often compensate for failures on the front lines. But if that was the plan, it has not worked yet. Some did leave, of course, but the majority remained. I’m surprised myself, to be honest. But it felt like people gritted their teeth, and simply decided to accept everything as it was, and to move on with life.

JF: The Los Angeles Times published a long piece about Kharkiv in April.  It quotes Alyona Udalova, a dance instructor as saying, “Being here is a very specific choice. There are so many explosions, but the mind adapts. It’s sad to adapt to this, but you do.” A piece just published by NPR, tells a very similar story. Does this sound familiar to you?

DT: Yes, that is familiar, of course. Although it is difficult to get used to it. But it is probably even more difficult to understand from afar how people adapt to this kind of life. It seems that one gradually comes to accept war as a given for the time being, along with the feeling that this cannot cancel or postpone life.

JF: Give me a picture in words. What does your city look like right now? What does it sound like? Smell like? Do you have to walk around holes in the ground and bombed-out buildings when you go to buy bread? Help me see what you see.

DT: The city is badly wounded by the war almost everywhere. There are practically no areas left where you can walk for 10 minutes and not see any destruction. The first thing that catches your eye is the plywood windows. In high-rise buildings everywhere, about a quarter of the windows are completely boarded up. Mostly, this is not done as a preventive measure, but as a result of explosions. There is a lot of significant destruction. If you travel by public transport, you will see many buildings that have been damaged by incoming fire. However, there are no potholes on the roads as you suggest, and that is thanks to the work of our public utilities. It is simply amazing. It is one of the discoveries this war has brought: city services work very quickly and harmoniously. Like doctors providing emergency care to a patient, they promptly treat the city’s wounds. Usually, on the very next day after explosions have occurred, the holes in the roads are patched, broken windows are covered with plywood, and construction debris is removed. In the same way, rescuers, doctors, firefighters, energy workers and others toil around the clock throughout the war. Kharkiv, throughout the war, has remained a surprisingly clean, green city, because flowers continue to be planted. Garbage is hauled away, yards and streets are cleaned. Shops, cafes, and restaurants are open. All this creates a certain illusion of normality for the residents. That’s why it smells good in the city if nothing has exploded or caught fire nearby. As for the sounds… Probably the first thing that happens to you in wartime is that you turn into one big ear. Every unexpected or unusual sound is a reason for anxiety. It’s as if you’re constantly listening to the sky: Is something approaching? not approaching? was that thunder? That is why warning channels give us such warnings as: “You heard thunder – take it easy!” or “those sounds are from our ‘birds'” (jets), or “don’t worry, that’s our guys at work.” It is now a natural reflex –  constantly keeping a smartphone close at hand, and looking at it when you hear something unusual or suspicious. Such messages are really reassuring.

JF: Tell me a little about your specific neighborhood. What does it look like right now? Do you fear going out? Do you have fear at all? Does your wife? Your neighbors? How many people are left?

DT: There have been quite a few hits in our area throughout the war. There is a brand new townhouse with seven or eight homes at the nearest public transport stop. One was completely destroyed by a direct hit – it looks insane, because it was a beautiful new house. About half of the food shops at the stop are now closed, the large bread stall was simply removed because it was completely caved in. Generally, in comparison with the pre-war situation, the number of people has decreased significantly: at least twice, or even more. [The city of two million now counts around one million. – JF] There are noticeably fewer children. In our district market, about a quarter of the trading stalls are functional now. A large part of it has simply been destroyed. One of the entrances to a five-story building overlooking the market has completely collapsed: There was a direct hit by a missile with many casualties. Speaking personally, the aunt of one of my theatre colleagues died there. If you drive to the city center you see numerous destroyed industrial enterprises, completely burnt-out residential buildings, a badly damaged office center and hotel, a destroyed restaurant, and a bunch of smashed kiosks. That’s all within about a 20-minute ride. Of course fear is there. When you leave the house for the nearest store and hear distant artillery shots one after another (these are very powerful, loud and heavy sounds) – even when you understand that this is the work of Ukrainian artillery – the feeling of the fragility of life right here and right now overwhelms you. On the street you feel more defenseless than at home, where you can at least employ the rule of two walls. [The safest place in a building is considered a position between narrow walls where there is no window. – JF]

JF: How many hours of electricity do you have each day? Is it doled out to you regularly, or does it depend on when the bombs start falling?

DT: It is unpredictable and depends on many factors. There may be no electricity for half a day. Sometimes it is off for several hours, sometimes it is not off at all. The situation in the energy sector is really very tense, because throughout this spring Russia methodically bombed more than half of all our energy-generating plants (unfortunately, in the third year of the war, the sky over Ukraine has still not been closed). In the Kharkiv region, for example, ALL capacity to generate electricity was destroyed. That is, in the past, this general region of 3 million people provided itself with electricity independently. Now we live only thanks to electricity supplies from other regions. The situation elsewhere is just as bad. Europe’s largest nuclear power plant – the Zaporizhzhia NPP – was seized by the Russians in the first months of the war, is still occupied, and is now in a “cold state.” The situation with qualified personnel and security is dire, which is why one of the main demands at the recent peace summit in Switzerland was the de-occupation of this plant. We are constantly teetering on the edge of an abyss. Currently, because it’s summer, there is more or less enough electricity. But as soon as at least one unit at a nuclear plant is shut down for routine maintenance, the whole country feels it immediately: blackouts begin. We have been told to expect serious restrictions in July and August. There will likely be many hours of outages each day. Next winter looks to be very problematic. The forecasts are disheartening. We may be left without light and without heat.

JF: Let’s say you’re coming back from the store. Sirens begin to wail, bombs are heard falling – what do you do? Race for home? Race for the nearest bomb shelter? Ignore it all and keep going about your business?

DT: Of course, your first instinct is to to return home as quickly as possible. But if this is not possible, then most likely it’s another option. That is: you listen, assess that incoming fire has already exploded somewhere, and then you move on. A recent case I recall will illustrate. It was at the end of April when shelling was occurring regularly. My wife and I were in the city center and were walking through a square. There was a fairly large tour group in front of us, thirty people (tours these days are very popular in the city – not for tourists, but for locals. It’s as if we’re rediscovering our native Kharkiv and its history for ourselves). And at that moment there was a rather loud explosion. We froze briefly. The group also stopped, the tour guide fell silent, then joked, and they all began listening to the continuation of his story. Across the way, on the square in front of the opera house, young people continued riding skateboards as someone sang and played their guitar. This is not recklessness, it is that very same forced adaptation that you already asked about. We can’t do anything about the shelling, so if you choose to stay in the city, you try not to put your life on hold. As for the air-raid alarms: you react to them very selectively, because an alarm may recur for eight to ten hours or more. If you react to each one, you might as well move down into a basement and live there. State institutions and banks, however, must stop work during air-raid alarms, and this causes a great many inconveniences. After all, alarms are frequently sent throughout the entire country due to a missile-bearing aircraft taking off somewhere deep in Russia. The Russians take advantage of this and often send their planes up for no purpose. It’s another sophisticated way of terrorizing the civilian population.

 

For Part 2, go here.