Two years after Russia’s invasion, Women Press Freedom speaks to Nataliya Lyashchenko, Inna Varenytsia, Olena Maksymenko, Diana Butsko, Olga Rudenko, Kateryna Malofieieva, and Kristina Berdynskykh about their experiences and challenges reporting on the conflict 

By: Máire Rowland, Research Coordinator, Women Press Freedom at CFWIJ

Natalya Lyashchenko, the CEO of Kyiv 98 FM, needed to make sure both her family and her staff were safe. She had no choice but to move. She recalls the crippling, debilitating fear that flushed through her body once she realized what was happening. “I will never forgive Russia for that feeling.” 

After getting her young son and her mother to safety, Natalya’s focus went to her team. Kyiv Radio cannot exist outside Kyiv and so most of the staff decided to stay in the capital. For weeks they all lived in a hostel close to their office. It was safe from shelling because of its location, but they couldn’t move. 

Natalya’s organizational brain sprang into action, they needed food, medicine, and security. All of them were traumatized and frightened, unsure of what could happen next. “When you're a journalist — and when you're flooded with information, and you see dead bodies on your screen every single minute — your nervous system is going to be dead very, very soon.”

Before the war, Natalya was concerned with fundraising and speaking with policymakers. On February 24, 2022, that all changed. “Now, my duty was to do whatever I could to make the staff comfortable. To have food, to have a shower, to have more or less normal sleep. And to be like a psychologist. Talk to me. You're crying. I understand why, but let's talk about this.”

Most in Ukraine did not believe the Russian army would invade. Putin had been gathering soldiers at the border, and foreign intelligence, particularly the CIA, were shouting from the rooftops that an invasion was imminent, but still, it didn’t seem likely. Then in the early morning hours of February 24, 2022, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began.

Mourning loved ones, navigating shelling, drone strikes, and avoiding abduction, Ukrainian women journalists who document the realities of life under Russian invasion have faced unimaginable adversity yet continue to bear witness. 

Women Press Freedom spoke to seven Ukrainian journalists — Nataliya Lyashchenko, Inna Varenytsia, Olena Maksymenko, Diana Butsko, Olga Rudenko, Kateryna Malofieieva, Kristina Berdynskykh — about their experiences and challenges reporting on the conflict. 

While some of the journalists we talked to have been reporting from the frontlines since 2014, for others, the war was once distant — a significant but somewhat detached reality that did not directly impact their daily lives and work. 

Two years ago, that changed and changed terribly. Most of these journalists have since been separated from family members, and many have had to confront traumatic scenes while witnessing the atrocities committed by Russian forces against their fellow citizens. And yet they keep going, motivated by truth, by their belief that information about what is happening in their country needs to be shown to the world. Adamant that Russia’s war crimes need to be documented and the experiences of those whose lives have been torn apart by this monstrous war need to be recorded.

February 24, 2022

The morning of the invasion, reporter Kristina Berdynskykh was awake in her Kyiv apartment. “Putin’s speech was at four o'clock,” she remembers. “It was ten minutes delayed. And it started to happen during his speech. I heard explosions somewhere. And I understood that it's happening in Kyiv.” Kristina posted on social media about the attacks on the capital. “Some politicians told me later that they discovered that the war began from my Facebook post.”

"During the first week, I think I didn't write any articles because I just tried to calm down my mom and my other relatives,” recalls Kristina. The political correspondent turned freelance war reporter spent the first month of the war sheltering in the Kyiv metro.  

The first few days were a frenzy. Horrific news was coming in from all over the country, people were terrified and trying to leave. “People in our work chat were writing that they're hearing explosions in different parts of Kyiv. Then immediately on social media, there were reports of explosions in other parts of Ukraine,” remembers Olga Rudenko, editor of English language outlet the Kyiv Independent. “We knew that this meant an attack from the air. We knew that it meant missiles or bombs. But back then, we knew nothing about war.”

Ukrainian journalists were thrown into a new, terrifying world. They needed to report what was happening, they felt obligated to document but they first needed to make sure their families were safe. 

Freelance war correspondent Olena Maksymenko needed to check on her mother. She was ill and unable to evacuate Kyiv alone. Her mother had to be lifted down from her 16-floor apartment and taken to safety in western Ukraine. Olena stayed with her in Lviv for some time, feeling guilty for not being with her colleagues reporting on the invasion.

Diana Butsko was far away from home when the invasion began. Studying political science in the United States, she remembers her anxiety that month and her concerns for her family. “People in the States believed, expected a war more than Ukrainians.” She remembers trying to convince her sister to leave Kyiv before the invasion. “We talked on February 23, and she got angry. She told me, stop telling me this. Nothing is going to happen. How could you imagine that Kyiv would be bombed? It sounded crazy, you know? But in America, this anxiety was in the air.”

When she learned of the invasion, she had just left a theater in New York. She had been constantly doom-scrolling for days and had purposefully switched off her phone during the show to give herself some headspace and relax. The moment she switched on her phone after the show, the invasion had started. “I started crying on the street,” Diana recalls. “I went to the subway. I remember I cried all the way back home. I didn’t sleep for days.”

Reporting from the frontlines:

Diana returned home months later to a very different Kyiv. Deceptive periods free from shelling are frequently interrupted by Russian drone and missile attacks. Those in the capital’s ears have become honed to the sounds of different missile types; they have become reluctant artillery experts. They know where air defense can offer protection in the city and the most vulnerable areas. But there is always an air of uncertainty.

Diana was determined to report on what was happening in her country. Now working for Hromdakse, she makes frequent trips to the frontline and finds herself drawn to social stories, human stories about the effects of war. She wants to record these accounts of what it feels like to be in a war, to show the world what the Russians have done to Ukraine. 

At the beginning of the invasion, freelance visual journalist Inna Varenytsia took time away from reporting to ensure her family’s safety and evacuated her child and parents to safety in the Czech Republic. After some time away, Inna knew she had to return. She now divides her time between assignments on the front, her home in Kyiv, and lengthy visits to her family in the Czech Republic. "Every time I come to Ukraine and start to work deeply, it's very hard to leave the field,” admits Inna. Covering the conflict since 2014, Inna is adamant that leaving the war zone is an essential need for a reporter; it ensures you remain objective and protects your mental health.

Since the full-scale invasion, 24 journalists, eight women journalists, have been killed in the conflict. One of the first to be killed by Russian forces was Max Levins, Inna’s ex-partner and the father of her young son. 

Inna has to deal with this horrific loss and raising her son without his father, while also accepting her calling to work as a reporter covering war. She carefully balances her work duties with being a mother. “I could stay longer on the front line. I could stay longer in Ukraine, but he needs Mom. His maximum time without mom is two or two and a half months."

For Kristina Berdynskykh, the 2022 invasion completely upended her career trajectory. She was used to covering politicians and policy, now she was reporting on wounded children and war crimes. “I think after one week, I began to work because I understood that I'm a journalist. And now, unfortunately, I live in a historical time.”

Originally from Kherson but living in the capital for almost twenty years, many of her family and friends were directly impacted by the Russian occupation. After the city was liberated by the Ukrainian army in November 2022, Kristina returned to report from her home city. She saw the devastation and the horrors inflicted by the Russian army while also getting to spend time with her relatives whom she was separated from by the war. She dreams of returning to the city to do in-depth reporting but wants to wait until the security situation there improves. “I suffer because I want to do this topic,” says Kristina.

"My friends told me, 'You should stop this job, just find a normal job behind the desk,'” admits seasoned war reporter Kateryna Malofieieva. “They don’t understand what I've heard, what I lived through." 

Kateryna has been reporting on the frontlines since 2014. She spent weeks working non-stop with international media before the full-scale invasion even began. She is often exhausted, but she never rests for long, determined to keep reporting. Kateryna is from eastern Ukraine her family lives in the occupied territories. “Two weeks later, after the war began, my mom died, and I couldn't go to the other side. It really killed me.”

Kateryna continued to report from the frontlines as a producer, her work includes VICE News’ investigation into Ukrainian children abducted by the Russians, a horrible story among a cavalcade of horrible stories, and an indisputable war crime.

Olena Maksymenko started her writing career as a culture and art journalist. Her journey into war reporting was unexpected, catalyzed by the events surrounding the Maidan Protests and the Russian annexation of Crimea a decade ago. Despite initially being far removed from politics, Olena was propelled into the heart of conflict in 2014 in one of the most terrifying ways imaginable. 

“It was in the beginning of March,” she recalls. “There were Russian soldiers on the highway. They stopped us, and they kidnapped us.” 

Olena was held in captivity for three days, her hair was cut off by her captors, and she was tortured. “But not too badly,” she says, considering the inhumane conditions and violence Russian officers have inflicted on other Ukrainian prisoners.

Her time in detention opened her eyes to the delusion of the Russian soldiers. She recalls in astonishment how they genuinely seemed to believe that Americans were paying her to report. 

“I thought, okay, guys, if you know where I can get my salary, I will go and take it. I would like to get some money from America,” she jokes. 

Olena was released after the Russian army was pressured by the international community, led by coverage in the media and advocacy from press freedom organizations. She thanks her friends, colleagues, and foreign journalists for bringing attention to her plight and aiding in her release. 

In the years since, the Russian army has become more emboldened, and journalists captured are less likely to regain freedom. As ordinary citizens and not members of the military, they are not prioritized in negotiated prisoner swaps between the Ukrainian and Russian armies. 

Navigating Risks:

As a veteran war reporter who has covered conflicts worldwide, including the Mosul offensive operation in Iraq, Inna Varenytsia is highly attuned to risks. Since the full-scale invasion, she has seen colleagues injured and abducted by Russian forces. In the last year, Russia has bombed hotels frequented by media workers, and its drones have targeted press vehicles. "It's evident that we became targets,” says Inna.

Her colleague Victoria Roshchyna has been missing since August 2023. The young journalist was en route to a reporting assignment in the occupied territories of eastern Ukraine when she disappeared. It is presumed she is being held captive by Russian forces. Inna understands why journalists want to visit the eastern occupied territories to document what is happening there, but she will not take this risk.

"We do not have safety areas where you can be 100 percent sure that nothing will happen to you," says Inna.

Inna relies a lot on her instincts and the knowledge gleaned from her decade of war reporting to assess danger. When she interviews army commanders, she ensures they meet underground, as they are always a target for Russian missiles or drone attacks. Inexperienced soldiers close to the frontlines also trigger her safety alarm; she trusts those who know the situation and understand the risks and activity on the ground. 

Despite taking every precaution and assessing risks, danger is always close in a war zone. Inna had a harrowing experience in Kherson, which flooded after the Kakhovka dam was destroyed. She faced Russian shelling while on a rubber boat with colleagues from Deutsche Welle. 

“The streets were full of water, and we were passing by on this boat when the shelling started. We realized that we couldn't get back to solid ground.”

Inna describes how they decided to hide behind a house for safety. The water flow kept moving their boat, so they tied wires around the boat to keep it fixed in the same position and waited there for an hour.

“A mortar hit the house 30 meters from us. It was just before our eyes.” The shelling although terrifying, confirmed to them that they had chosen the safest place to shelter, “but it was fucking dangerous,” Inna admits.  

Moments later, a civilian evacuation point close to them was also bombed. Inna and the crew were clearly identifiable as press, but she doesn’t know if they were targeted in the shelling because they were journalists. “Russia is targeting civilians, Russia is targeting volunteers, Russia is targeting journalists as well. Anybody could be a target," she says. 

Investigative reporting during war

Away from the frontlines, the work of investigative journalists in Ukraine continues. With a vibrant independent media scene, the country’s journalists have uncovered numerous scandals involving the Ukrainian government and officials while the country is at war. This has not been easy. Journalists have come under surveillance and attack from the state’s security services (SBU) disgruntled by their investigations. After public outcry from media outlets and press freedom organizations, the head of the SBU state protection department, Roman Semenchenko, was fired for his role in targeting journalists of independent outlet Bihus.Info.

Ukrainian investigative journalists also face backlash on social media. They are sometimes accused of being “traitors” for reporting on wrongdoings by the Ukrainian state, but they continue their reporting. 

Olga Rudenko, editor of the Kyiv Independent, which unveiled misconduct and abuse of power in the International Legion of the Ukrainian army, says, in general, the response toward these investigations has been positive. “Stories about common corruption in Ukraine evoke a lot of outrage towards the people who are behind the corruption, not towards the journalists who uncover it,” she says.

Ukrainians covering a war in Ukraine

Bearing witness and documenting horrors happening to your fellow countrymen is difficult. Inna Varenytsia is passionate about journalism and adhering to high ethical standards, ensuring her reporting is correct. "I always have questions from foreign colleagues… I can see even in their eyes that they can't believe Ukrainian journalists can be objective,” says Inna. “But we can."

That said, reporting death and covering war can have a numbing effect, something both Inna and Olena Maksymenko acknowledge. Inna remembers when she saw a Russian soldier’s body and found herself unmoved. "I still think that each death is a tragedy, but as for the Russian presence in Ukraine, there is no justification for it."

Working, reporting, and hearing the worst news imaginable was something many Ukrainian journalists experienced at the beginning of the invasion. Olena Maksymenko recounts hearing about the deaths of her close friends and being so busy reporting and working with foreign media that she had no time to process her grief. “I didn’t have time to think about it, to cry. It was really terrible.”

Olena says that this adds to the pressure of their work but also amplifies its importance. “I, and I think my colleagues, feel a very big responsibility about everything we do because every time we think about our friends that were killed in this war.”

As Ukrainian ammunition runs low, the United States fails to agree on funding support for the army, and towns are conceded to Russian forces, you would think that a cloud of pessimism would envelop the Ukrainian journalists covering the war. But most believe the opposite, they have witnessed horrors, but they have also documented the resilience of their country's people battling against grief and the violence of the occupation heroically. Above all, they each believe in the importance of their reporting and vow to continue.

“I see some historic mission in this," says Diana Butsko with defiance. "I want my children to understand how the war was. To understand what we are going through."

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