The ammunition boxes stacked on the stage opened up to reveal figurines of angels and an infant Jesus lying in his manger. Six actors sang plaintive carols, accompanied by readings of the brooding poetry of Kharkiv writer Serhiy Zhadan. The audience sat, transfixed by the almost unbearable intensity of the spectacle.<\/p>\n
The nativity play, performed on a recent evening at Kharkiv\u2019s puppet theatre, was a reminder that conflict has seeped into the fabric of almost everything in Ukrainian life over the past four years. \u201cWe can\u2019t just put on comedies and escape from reality,\u201d said Oksana Dmitrieva, the nativity play\u2019s 48-year-old director. \u201cThe stage is a mirror, and we have to live through our emotions again, but this time from outside ourselves, together with others,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
Oksana Dmitrieva, the director of Nativity Scene. War. Poems., at the Kharkiv puppet theatre.<\/p>\n
She admitted, however, that dissecting the darker emotions on stage does not always translate to a lighter mind in real life. \u201cSometimes it\u2019s possible to immerse yourself in the work, but sometimes I also lose my bearings and I wonder, \u2018What comes next? What should we talk about? What buttons should we press? I guess that\u2019s what every Ukrainian is living through now.\u201d<\/p>\n
This winter, the fourth since Russia\u2019s full-scale invasion, threatens to be the bleakest yet for Ukraine. Trump, during his first year in office, has proved much more receptive to Moscow\u2019s talking points than to Kyiv\u2019s, Russian troops continue a slow but grinding advance in the Donbas region and missile attacks on energy infrastructure have left cities without power for hours on end<\/a>, day after day. There are holes in the budget, a crisis in conscripting new recruits and \u2013 perhaps most devastatingly \u2013 the absence of a plausible positive outcome on the near-term horizon.<\/p>\n Map<\/a><\/p>\n The glass-half-full view is that Ukraine\u2019s continued existence as a state is in itself a positive outcome, and that while things are tough, there is no sign of an imminent collapse at the front. Military innovation in spheres such as drone production is booming, and in big cities like Kyiv and Kharkiv, there is still a vibrant metropolitan life, even amid the air alerts and blackouts. Growling generators on every street corner keep supermarkets, restaurants and bars open, and on a recent Friday evening, a 12,000 hryvnia (\u00a3212) champagne tasting event in Kyiv was sold out days in advance.<\/p>\n Christmas decorations in the Kharkiv metro.<\/p>\n But as Donald Trump\u2019s negotiators attempt to push the country<\/a> towards the peace that so many crave but on terms that terrify them, and with questionable guarantees that Russia won\u2019t simply resume its attacks in future, exhaustion and existential questions are rarely far from people\u2019s minds.<\/p>\n \u201cThis is one of the most difficult moments in our modern history, when every one of us is living on the edge between exhaustion and strength, between compromise and our principles,\u201d said Sevgil Musaieva, the editor-in-chief of the popular news outlet Ukrainska Pravda, at a recent awards ceremony in Kyiv, honouring the 100 most influential Ukrainians of the year.<\/p>\n \u201cWe know that this winter will be difficult, we understand that our army lacks people and weapons, we also see that the positions of some of our allies are changing. We are facing questions to which there are no simple answers,\u201d she added.<\/p>\n Kyiv in darkness in November after Russian attacks destroyed critical infrastructure. Shopping by phone torch in the Kyiv blackout. <\/p>\n Simple answers are indeed in short supply these days. Ask people what they feel about the continuing peace negotiations and the answer will probably be long, anguished and often contradictory. Most people are ready for compromises, but few are ready for the kind of sacrifices that might persuade Vladimir Putin to stop fighting.<\/p>\n Dmitrieva is originally from Kramatorsk, one of the Donbas cities controlled by Ukraine, but which Trump has suggested Kyiv should cede to Russia<\/a> as part of a peace agreement. \u201cMy niece is still in Kramatorsk, she didn\u2019t run away, she\u2019s working there. And what should we say to people like her, \u2018Leave, this will be Russia now\u2019? And what will happen to those who stay?\u201d<\/p>\n A central Kharkiv constructivist landmark from the Soviet era, the Derzhprom building was completed in 1928.<\/p>\n The closer to the frontline, the more tangible are the stakes, given that the Russian army\u2019s mode of advancing has largely been by destroying the towns and cities in its path. One of the places to have already suffered that fate is Vovchansk, north-east of Kharkiv and just across the border from Russia<\/a>.<\/p>\n Vovchansk was occupied in the first months of the war, but Ukraine won it back in September 2022. Oleksiy Kharkivskyi, the head of the town\u2019s police force, raised the Ukrainian flag in the main square that month. Then, last summer, Moscow launched a surprise offensive on the city<\/a>, attacking it from land and air. Kharkivskyi spent weeks driving towards the frontline in missions to rescue civilians and evacuate them to safety<\/a>.<\/p>\n Buildings and murals in central Kharkiv, reflecting how the city\u2019s architecture and public space have been reshaped by the war.<\/p>\n Ukraine halted the Russian advance, but Vovchansk lies abandoned and in ruins. A few months ago, drone footage suggested three or four people may be still eking out a living in a house in one suburb of the city \u2013 a few remaining residents in a town that was recently home to 20,000 people.<\/p>\n Kharkivskyi compared his home town to Pripyat, the abandoned town near Chernobyl that was evacuated after the 1986 nuclear disaster. \u201cThe difference is that you can at least walk around Pripyat now. I don\u2019t think anyone will be walking in Vovchansk for years. There are a huge number of corpses, dead livestock, all the unexploded shells and mortars. Half the Mendeleev [periodic] table lying around on the ground. It would take years to clean up,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n Now, as villages south of Vovchansk come under intense Russian drone attacks, Kharkivskyi is again spending his days driving towards the frontline to evacuate civilians.<\/p>\n Oleksiy Kharkivskyi, police chief of the abandoned city of Vovchansk, now working in Staryi Saltiv.<\/p>\n Some of those are people he evacuated last year, who went back home and now want to leave again. It feels a bit like the film Groundhog Day, he conceded, as his mud-spattered police car slalomed along a cratered dirt track on another visit towards danger. A drone detector on his lap beeped to let him know that, somewhere nearby, a drone was flying. If a drone gets within a mile, the handheld device intercepts its camera signal and relays it on to a small screen.<\/p>\n \u201cOnce you see a picture on the screen, it\u2019s better to turn around and drive away quickly. If you see yourself on there, then you\u2019re in real trouble,\u201d he said. He laughed, but darkly: last year, a drone hit the car behind him during an evacuation. His friend and colleague was killed. Several others have been injured during evacuations.<\/p>\n Buildings damaged by shelling in Staryi Saltiv, south of Vovchansk.Residents stand next to a damaged car outside a house in Staryi Saltiv.<\/p>\n He admitted that he was exhausted by the continuing struggle, but said he was in no mood to surrender: \u201cI think everyone would be ready to stop the war on the current contact line. But to just give away territory, how can we do that? What have we been fighting for for four years, then?\u201d<\/p>\n Kharkivskyi\u2019s base since his home was destroyed is in the town of Staryi Saltiv, south of Vovchansk. Staryi Saltiv has not seen active conflict since Ukraine regained control in September 2022, but war damage is everywhere.<\/p>\n