(from Kharkiv) An expanse of blue and yellow Ukrainian flags, so many that their colours blend into the horizon. Each flag represents a grave and a fallen soldier. They are the young heroes of war-torn Ukraine. We are in one of Kharkiv’s cemeteries. The photos show the faces of young men and women, all in uniform, many in their early twenties. They have given their lives for their country. They are a multitude. Ukraine is paying a very high price for this war, which started in 2014, and whose cost is shrouded in mystery. We don’t know exactly how many Ukrainian soldiers have died on the front line. The government has imposed a military code of silence on the number of casualties. We are in one of Kharkiv’s cemeteries.
The front is only 30 kilometres away. But the sound of war is almost muted. All you can hear is the sound of flags fluttering in the icy winter wind.
The road leading from the city centre to the Greek Catholic Cathedral of St Nicholas in Kharkiv is deserted. The same road leads to the Russian border, virtually to the front line, to the areas where the fighting rages and the drones are launched. The villages along this front line are occupied by the Russians. Just outside the town, soldiers risk their lives to conquer or defend a few metres of land. In fact, access to this part of the territory is forbidden. There are checkpoints to prevent unauthorised entry. There are also trenches behind the line. The whole area is ‘protected’. As soon as we arrive here, the telephone lines and electronic equipment start to crackle. They are jammed by the waves the military sends out to disrupt Russian drones or deflect missiles.
It’s a very fragile protection. If a missile takes an hour to reach Kyiv, the same missile only takes 3 or 4 minutes to hit Kharkiv. There is no alarm that works against this. And the ‘anti-aircraft shield’ that protects Kyiv simply doesn’t function here.
This is where Bishop Vasyl Tuchapets, Greek Catholic and Exarch of Kharkiv, welcomes in the cathedral the small delegation from the European Movement for Non-Violence (MEAN). This organisation brings together movements and associations, including MASCI, Communion and Liberation and the European branch of the Focolare movement. When the large-scale Russian aggression began,” he says, “this cathedral was immediately transformed into a refuge for people fleeing from the villages.
Today, the cathedral is a hub for the arrival and dispatch of humanitarian aid.
The church is still under construction – building work was suspended because of the war – and the entire basement is used as a warehouse. The room is crammed with boxes. It’s a struggle even to walk around. On a shelf lies part of the shipment that arrived here a few weeks ago from “Pope Francis’ aid truck”, bearing the white and yellow flag Vatican flag. Once a week, the aid is neatly arranged in tents, sorted by type and distributed to the population. The most requested items are baby nappies, non-perishable food, clothing and medicines. An estimated 1,500 people line up each week and 100 volunteers help with the distribution. A medical team is also involved in this mission.
“Aid has decreased,” said Bishop Tuchapets. However, I would like to seize this opportunity to thank Italy, and in particular the parish of Santa Sofia in Rome, together with Cardinal Krajewski and the diocese of Como.” He added: ”Although many people have left, many have remained and they still need absolutely everything. I thought it was important for you to know the real consequences of this war. People often ask me: when will the war end? It’s a very difficult question to answer.
People are tired, they want to resume a peaceful life, but as long as we have an enemy attacking us every day, it’s impossible to think about peace. All we can do is pray and hope in God.”
