Perhaps because I’m British and not actually Ukrainian, I was late to this particular party. But more simply, whatever party took place was held in the hill-top city of what is known by its civic motto as “unbreakable” Kharkiv.

The large city stands about thirty kilometres from the front-line fighting - holding back the Russian Federation armies that are intent on invasion of all Ukraine. In 2022, the Russian army was actually pushed back from the outskirts of the city and much of the city is now damaged, perhaps even 25%. You can see the boarded windows and occasional ruins and the statues wrapped in sandbags.

Almost everyone in Kharkiv feels the pain of this seemingly endless war but all kinds of ordinary people have become extraordinary in their determination to keep Kharkiv alive, as though it were a kind of being that requires constant vigil and care. And affection too.

The city of Kharkiv started out as a Cossack fortress in 1654 and was swiftly engulfed by colonial powers such as Russia; it was mainly Russia as it happens. However, the people of this region have a history that ultimately goes back even further than England’s.

Still, in 1917, Ukrainians tried to reclaim their independence on the back of the Russian revolution. Instead, it was swallowed once again and was made the “first capital” of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic. With Stalin tightening his grip on conquered republics, he ordered Kyiv later to become Ukraine’s capital and Kharkiv a kind of second city. But each city of Ukraine has its own history and identity, almost all pre-dating Moscow and certainly St Petersburg.

Also under Stalin’s orders was the great famine forced on the farming and peasant communities of Ukraine – the “Holodomor” in 1932 and 1933 which translates as “extermination by hunger”. Food and land were confiscated and Soviet collectivisation forced upon the rural inhabitants, leaving many millions to simply starve to death. The exact figure is not known because the authorities had no interest in these communities and attempted to conceal the truth of this crime. The estimate of 3.5 million is considered a very low estimate, but a genocide it definitely was.

On the back of concealing USSR crimes and the demand that writers conform to propoganda, many Ukrainian writers were imprisoned, executed or “disappeared”. I stood in the unassuming courtyard of the apartment building “Dim Slovo” – it now testifies to the torment of those “executed renaissance” accused in some degree of reclaiming a Ukrainian identity, counter-revolutionary views or any disobedience that might undermine official communist propoganda - like telling the actual truth.

From the sixty-six apartments used to gather these writers under one roof, thirty-three residents were executed, five sent to Gulags in Siberia and one committed suicide. So the USSR was obviously feeling most threatened by the written word of these wretched men and women whose every waking moment was already spied upon and whose works were already censored. By that time in the thirties, the Soviet promises had become a living nightmare for Ukrainians.

Indeed, sleeping well is also as difficult nowadays in a different way. The full-scale invasion by Russian Federation has lasted more than four years and Russian forces bomb Kharkiv almost daily with Shahed drones flying on and off target and huge flying bombs that glide to deliver a massive explosion in this busy city. These are just like the terror of V1 and V2 bombs used on London and other cities by the Nazis.

Closer to the front-line, the communities are savaged by artillery and first-person view drones. This ethnic cleansing of Ukrainians is in progress in full view of the world – forcing civilians from their homes by the systematic destruction of villages and whole towns. I have met such people within hours of being evacuated – grim-faced and bitter. Almost fearless in their rage.

Even from Constitution Square, I noticed the long trail of black smoke to my left as I walked one morning to my first meeting. The explosions woke me very early in the morning and I was hoping a muddle of thoughts – that it missed, that I was safe and that I could sleep more. But often someone is hurt. I reflected on the bombing of the nursery school on an earlier visit – it was a worker outside who was killed. Thank God all the 48 children were all led to the bomb shelter in time as the building took a direct hit.

As a guest of the city, I have seen the computer applications tracking the gradual emptying out of settlements as Ukraine struggles to plan resources to evacuate them as needed – down to the last elderly, disabled or remaining young inhabitants. I wonder what expensive computer systems Russians use to target these same civilians and the insane amount of money spent each moment by the Russian Federation in trying to kill or terrorise these people. Instead of using this money to make ordinary Russians healthier, educated and happier, their regime spends a huge proportion of Russia’s national wealth on killing or terrorising Ukrainians.

Indeed, the refugee transit centres like the one in Saltivka fill up with a 100 plus “new” refugees every day and even now as we approach the fifth year. They come from this Kharkiv oblast and the regions to the East – driven out of Luhansk and Donetsk and further south such as from Zaporizhzhia. Who welcomes them and their pets, gives them a roof and meals and medical treatment? These are both workers and volunteers struggling to cope each day and reporting via their organisations either to the Regional Governor or City Mayor. At the heart of this is the Relief Coordination Centre and other civic agencies including first responders.

For some refugees, Kharkiv represents a kind of salvation; for others, it’s a short respite on a longer journey to God knows where. But workers, first responders and volunteers are united in their resolve to help and I was amazed to see them team up in Saltivka, weary but determined to support people who just lost their homes and sometimes their family members. A couple of grim-faced women told me their plight fighting back some tears. The anguish of finally relocating was such a bitter scene to behold and I stumbled in my rudimentary Ukrainian to offer a few words of support. I can’t imagine having to unload the suitcases and bags and nervous pets in the snow.

So many refugees now live in Kharkiv, making up for much of the approximately 20% who left the city in 2022. I stood in Kharkiv recently and watched a married couple having their photos taken in Taras Shevchenko Garden while the sirens blared as they do almost hourly – I wished them well and they came and said hello as they passed by, on their way to a life together, their new dreams intact for now.

In the gardens, the Krystall café was a meeting place for my friends from Karazin University – they urged me to eat a “little squirrel” ice-cream sundae - with nuts and chocolate sauce. The gardens were immaculate and the children ran everywhere in excitement. And I was shown the fountains, the waterfalls and the new but almost empty zoo. And the city remains full of families trying to make the best of life.

One detail perhaps – Taras’ statue is wrapped up for protection so I can’t say I’ve seen the real statue. But I found time instead to thank one of the many “city angels” who do the gardening in the park. This woman was a bit amused at my greeting but accepted my thanks. Nearby, Taras will have to wait a bit longer before enjoying the sunshine and flowers again.

Back in the gardens again, I suddenly heard my first name “Justin!” called out brightly as though from a close friend. I turned round and saw a young boy standing with a wide grin and the sun streaming onto his face and blond hair. He was eight years old and it took a full three seconds for me to recognise him as the boy from the train. On the train from Kyiv, he had tried learning some English on his phone and I had introduced myself to his mother and spoken to him – my being a “real” Englishman.

Now there he was and somewhere further back was his mum but a girl of about the same age was also standing beside him and smiling at me with the same enthusiasm. I asked who this friend was and the boy answered: “Justin, this is my girlfriend!” I realised he was delighted to use my first name and his mum was laughing at his boast of having a “girlfriend”. And I nodded seriously with approval, trying not laugh myself. These children were the sweetest couple with the sun reflecting off them, and represented in that moment the very heart of Kharkiv.

So, for all kinds of reasons, Kharkiv is the beloved home for many people. There are those who know nowhere else and are prepared to die here. There are those who can’t face moving further west or who want to stay closer to loved ones in the other “hero” cities and front-line regions. But the majority help keep the city alive and actively assist in the defence of Ukraine. But all this stoicism often comes at a cost. I met children at a hospital that suffer from psychological traumas and must sleep each night in their bomb shelter under the hospital. A few tried some words of English but their faces and especially their faltering voices told their stories of anxiety; such deep scars already in these innocent children.

Indeed, I taught a long lesson at one of the city’s schools from their own bomb shelter – thirty children who never left Ukraine and spoke English with an impressive fluency because of their hugely dedicated teachers. They were delighted to discover this language “actually works”. More usually, I teach children online – teenagers from front-line cities and especially from across Kharkiv Oblast; so I know something about their daily lives, their hobbies and the pets they hold up to the screen for me to see. And their incredible fortitude.

A few of the teenagers organised a reunion face to face in Nikolsky Mall with a couple of parents. Because they were from different schools, they didn’t know each other – just me! They could hardly believe I was in their Mall – and I could hardly believe these were the grinning faces from many hours in front of a screen. I glanced up at the vast glassy ceiling and questioned if we were safe enough – only to be told the mall had already been bombed. Over lemonade, we tried to focus on dreams and the future and foreign travel. And because Kharkiv is the absolute “best city on earth”, as I was informed, they enthusiastically suggested I hike somewhere, take a canoe, go fishing and meet their grandmothers. I think we almost forgot there was a war on. These children, with their positivity and pride, are survivors in every sense.

There is a kind of example of survival that is worth mentioning. Kharkiv always had a mixed population in ethnic and religious terms because of the strategic importance of the city for trade routes. I learned that although the Nazis in World War Two slaughtered the Jewish population across Europe in the Holocaust, there is now a thriving Jewish community in Kharkiv. In spite of the Nazi genocide, Jews now live and worship freely alongside a range of religions and supported by the local government which defends democratic freedoms.

I visited the synagogue now directed by the Chief Rabbi and his wife and was reminded how religions hold a much longer perspective on politics and wars while their believers, individually, find some measure of comfort in faith. I respect this inspiration. For me personally, I think I am driven by my outrage at this war, rather than a faith. I have met priests and chaplains and the religious leaders in Ukraine and England and judge them by their deeds relating to this war. And just when I think I have no God at all, I find myself praying for others.

Before this full-scale invasion, I would often reflect that “nationality” is over-rated. People are people. Their sense of belonging is their family or home or region rather than their “nation”. But I’m watching Ukraine create itself as a response to this latest Russian aggression – stronger than ever in its conviction that being Ukrainian is “not Russian”.

Just after its independence from the USSR regime, the citizens of Kharkiv Oblast were asked what they wanted – to be citizens of the Russian Federation or of Ukraine. It was 1^st December 1991 when 76% responded to the survey and, of these, 86% chose to stay with independent Ukraine. And this was before the bloodshed of the current war that actually began in 2014 with the invasions of first Crimea and then the Donbas before the recent full-scale invasion in 2022. Yes, it is a fact that many Kharkivians still speak the Russian language but they do not identify as Russian citizens just as Irish citizens in Eire don’t identify as British and haven’t since their independence in 1922.

Of course, Ukraine’s independence is now at the very heart of the bitter and bloody contest but why would any rational person look back at the perspective of what happened the last hundred years and doubt why this city wants to remain Ukrainian.

Often mentioned as Soviet achievements are factories for tractors and trains and scientific institutions in Kharkiv. It is true that engineering was encouraged by the Soviet authorities and there are many universities with leading scholars in various sciences even today. But these are the same places whose windows are now blown out and whose students study online.

I had a pleasant meeting with students and academics in Karazin University, pouring tea and eating sandwiches as the sirens blared yet again. The British term “stiff upper lip” has no direct equivalent - except a phrase that literally means “to clench one’s teeth”. That seems vividly the way to describe current Ukrainian resilience. In Kharkiv, people teach me to “clench my teeth” and carry on.

And thinking back to the idea of the Cossack fortress – this Kharkiv is indeed what it is. A “fortress city” and a “hero city” as well as being home to almost 1.5 million people. And while some people of Kharkiv live temporarily in the United Kingdom these days, their heart has never moved from their home or indeed their gratitude for those thousands of men and women who serve and guard it, day and night.

I have met both soldiers and veterans and some even volunteering from other countries to support Ukraine. But every soldier, army medic or responder is a person with their own story, their dreams shared with their own family. I sat in the office of a director of veterans’ affairs with other responsibilities - as he took an urgent phone call. His affable face changed so suddenly to a darkness; he put his phone down. He had just received word that a fireman who was badly injured in a double-tap strike early that morning – that this man had just died. This bombing had woken me earlier and even now another life was taken in a moment. We stared at each other. Someone now had to tell the family. I got up and took my leave and, before I left, I gave this man a hug. I have given too many such hugs.

So, after such countless tragedies, if you meet soldiers and responders, even those in rehabilitation and veterans recovering from years at the front – then you know they already prepared themselves mentally in order to sacrifice their own single life to preserve freedom for everyone. But especially in such a place as Kharkiv, all people have to accept that life can end in a moment.

So for those soldiers who have survived so far, do you seriously think they will surrender this one chance to secure their nation’s independence - not just for their families but for the countless generations that come after them?

And that is why it is worth celebrating the anniversary of the City of Kharkiv, and especially to do so when its Ukrainian independence remains intact in spite of years of aggression from its huge and vicious neighbour.

And that’s why I believe we should all raise a glass to the people of Kharkiv.

Author: Justin Robinson