In Bakhmut, Soledar and remote villages in eastern Ukraine, most of the inhabitants have already left. But as the Russian offensive continues and faces resistance from the Ukrainian army, volunteers are heading into the "grey areas" of the war.
In small teams or alone, they search for the few civilians still on the spot to convince them to leave. In addition to their work in the midst of intense fighting, they face a psychological obstacle: how to convince these inhabitants that it is time to leave and assure them that a better life is possible?
Kuba Stasiak happened to be the right person for the job. The 28-year-old Polish volunteer estimates he helped evacuate about 200 civilians from Donbass.
A journalist by training, he was in Kiev with the intention of becoming a correspondent when the war broke out in February 2022.
Driven by a desire to help people and realizing "there was a lot of work for civilians," Kuba Stasiak became fully committed to evacuations two months into the conflict. He worked first in Severodonetsk and Lysychansk, then throughout the region and in cities such as Bakhmut.
>> Read also: the battle of Bakhmut, symbolic or strategic issue?
"That people know our faces and become more confident"
Evacuations begin several months before a city falls. Some civilians get used to the bombing and the sounds of war, others decide to leave after the first missile. There are also "some people you can't convince," says Kuba Stasiak. He cites "the elderly who generally do not believe that a new life is possible", those who say they are too poor to move or those who remain pro-Russian and cling to a "false security".
In a video shot in Soledar last September, Kuba Stasiak and another volunteer try to evacuate an elderly couple by showing them a pre-recorded video of their daughter begging them to leave. "After 40 minutes of discussion in the middle of the shelling, the couple decided to stay," Stasiak said.
In general, the Polish volunteer knows the people he is saving before evacuating them. "When the situation was better in Bakhmut, I would travel around the city and have contacts," he said. "A Ukrainian volunteer had set up a reception point where people could get food and water. We could meet them and receive requests (for evacuation)."
Building trust is key to doing this work, according to the volunteer: "What helps is being present, so that people know our faces and feel more confident. Even if they are not ready to leave right away, some change their minds and, when they do, they know how to find us."
The fatalism of inhabitants ready to "die in their city"
Discussions sometimes turn into arguments when it is necessary to convince the stubborn inhabitants. "We tell them, 'If you stay, you will die. The whole area will be heavily bombed and you will die inside your house. There is only one solution: go with us,'" says Kuba Stasiak. These people often adopt a fatalistic attitude and reply: "I don't care, I will die in my city".
Others are traumatized after months of heavy bombardment. The volunteer recalls a conversation between an elderly woman – whom he had just evacuated from Bakhmout – and her daughter to reassure her: "I'm fine, I just have shrapnel in my buttocks."
"She didn't even mention there was an attack. People get used (to war) and don't care about injuries," says Kuba Stasiak, who compares this mindset to "an unhappy marriage": "You don't think there's a chance to be happy with someone else, and then you feel the need to show that a better life is possible."
Today, Bakhmut and its surroundings are in ruins. An estimated 10,000 people still live there, compared to 70,000 before the start of the war in Ukraine.
Obstacle course in the middle of bombs
In addition to the satisfaction of saving lives, the Polish volunteer has also discovered strengths that exceed all expectations. "The first time I went to Bakhmut was in June. One of the most important things is to know the plan (of the city), because you can take a wrong turn and end up in the Russian trenches," he said, adding that he has learned to depend only on himself.
Sometimes, evacuation operations become an obstacle course, as in Soledar, a few months before the fall of the city in September. Kuba Stasiak went there with five other volunteers. Seeking protection from drones and relentless shelling, they parked their cars under thick foliage. But the vehicle was stuck and it took them an hour to move it.
"We managed to get the car out, but we had to go to the city, which was literally burning and where fires broke out every minute. We had to go to two addresses as night fell quickly," he said.
The Polish volunteer remembers that the woman at the first address was terrified. He knew she would leave. At the second address, it was necessary to convince a couple and their hesitant neighbor. The three eventually agreed to leave, carrying documents, photos of their relatives and some religious icons in plastic bags.
"Philip (a Russian-English citizen and volunteer), Lee (a British veteran) and three other people were waiting for us at a safe point. After six hours, they thought we were dead," Stasiak said. On the way back to Kramatorsk, their car crashed into barricades, the one the neighbors were driving too. The group left the area by boarding a bus.
"A better life"
Despite the huge risks, Kuba Stasiak wants to continue to go where he is needed. "I find it fascinating the impact that one person can have. It's nice to know that you can change people's lives," he says.
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Once in Kramatorsk, evacuated residents usually spend the night in a refugee centre. The next day, they begin what Kuba Stasiak calls their "adventure for a better life".
The Polish volunteer remembers some of the people he helped. He thinks of the retired doctor couple – dressed in a fur coat and hat as if they were going to the opera – rescued from Bakhmut in March. They are now in Denmark. There was also this mother and her disabled daughter, now settled in Poland.
The faces and details of these evacuations are still very much present in Kuba Stasiak's mind. He is currently writing a book about it, with publication scheduled for the end of the year. A way to close the loop for the journalist/front-line volunteer.
This is an adaptation in French of the original article in English, to read here.
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