Why I’ve stayed in Kyiv

I write this from my Kyiv air raid shelter. It has become my second home, an improvised bedroom, study and kitchen. For food, we eat bread and borscht. It is a spartan existence, but conducive to reflection. I still can’t get used to the siren that sounds five times a day, although I have got used to sleeping on the floor, in hallways, subways or the metro. I keep a bag packed with essentials by the door that I can grab and run with when the alarm sounds.

On the first night of the war, I spent the first hours in the subway, along with thousands of Kyivites. Nobody slept. Everyone sat in silence. From time to time in different parts of the platform, dogs barked, cats purred and, of course, babies cried. Despite the shock and gloom, life was struggling to make itself felt and remind us that we would have to persevere. Then we began reading the news. We were afraid to do so but we had to. A young sailor called Vitaliy Skakun had blown up a strategic bridge in the south to stop the damn Russians ‘bringing us liberation’. He paid the ultimate price for his heroism and was killed by the explosion. There have been thousands of such losses in the past four weeks. But they are not just statistics; they are people.

The Russian savages mask their barbarism with warped notions of their own superiority. But we have seen them for what they really are. Nothing can conceal the despotism that continues to drive them. Their Herzens and Sakharovs, few and far between in Russian history, have nothing in common with this Putinist monstrosity, preceded by Soviet and tsarist prototypes. For almost a month, Ukraine has been falling asleep and waking up to the sound of explosions.