David Pratt in Ukraine: My time here has made nation's resolve clear

More on that in a moment, but firstly, now is as good a time as any to pause and reflect on what I’ve already witnessed these past few weeks. I’m no stranger to Ukraine, having previously reported from the country in 2014 and 2018 in the wake of the Euromaidan protests and the then growing war in the eastern Donbas region between Ukrainian forces and pro-Russian separatists.  

Familiar as I am though with this nation’s recent political travails, nothing could have prepared me for what I encountered these past days. Since getting home, one question above all others has been asked of me by friends and colleagues. It concerns what I’m likely to remember most from my time there during the Russian invasion. In answering, two things immediately spring to mind. The first and by far most memorable is the remarkable sense of collective solidarity I found among the Ukrainian people.

In 40 years of covering conflicts, rarely have I witnessed a more comprehensive and committed mobilisation of people on every level towards a war effort and repelling the invaders of their country. Farmer or actor, television producer or welder, there was no hesitation among men and women to step up to the plate and take up arms when it mattered. If they couldn’t fight on the frontline battlefield, then they turned their skillset and energy to where it would be most effective and useful. All that mattered was stopping the Russian advance.  

If one thing has become increasingly clear, it’s that Ukrainians from the outset saw the Russian invasion for what it is, and the monster it has turned out to be. Had they rolled over in submission it’s doubtful it would have made little if any difference in avoiding the massacres and systemic atrocities, evidence of which is emerging daily from places like Bucha, Mariupol and elsewhere. 

This willingness to stand their ground, whatever the cost, and not give up their freedom lightly, is perhaps the thing that I will remember most from my recent time in Ukraine.  

Just a couple of days ago, while making the long journey out from the capital Kyiv heading westwards toward the Polish border, myself and two colleagues were stopped at one of many checkpoints in a place that can best be described as the middle of nowhere. 

Among the farm workers now turned Territorial Defence members manning the barricades across the road, one was carrying nothing but an air pistol. The other men’s weapons totalled no more than a few Kalashnikovs and shotguns, but you were left in no doubt that they meant business. With considerable scrutiny they checked our documents making sure there was nothing suspicious about our presence there. When finally waved through, I left with the overriding impression that, if push came to shove, such men would fight for their homes and families no matter whether outnumbered or outgunned. 

This determination and selfless sacrifice have of course already cost Ukrainians dearly. In the city of Lviv, the near-daily funerals there of soldiers killed in action brought home to me the scale of the cost. Multiply this across the country and the toll doesn’t bear thinking about, and this too before the ever-mounting number of civilians who have also lost their lives.  

Which brings me to that second indelible impression that I took from my time in the country. It’s perhaps best summed up as an unforgettable sense of a nation uprooted and lives turned upside down. Many Ukrainians I spoke with told me they had lost track of time since the war began. Only the day in which they were living mattered, some said. What had gone before and what lay ahead, they freely admitted, did not cross their mind, or was too painful to contemplate for now.  

Nowhere is that sense of dislocation so obvious than in the endless streams of mainly women and children dragging what belongings they can behind them, heading for God knows where. It’s an image that will long linger. Just a few days ago, along with the Scottish filmmaker Robbie Fraser, we arrived very late at night at Warsaw railway station having travelled by train six hours from the town of Przemysl that sits on the Polish side of the Ukrainian border.  

Standing on the Warsaw platform in the darkness and sub-zero temperatures amid snow flurries and a biting wind, we watched as an endless tide of grandmothers and mothers, their offspring in tow and struggling with baggage, stepped into what for many was an unknown city and future. 

“That’s one of the most heart-breaking things I’ve seen on this trip,” said Robbie, echoing my own thoughts from a journey that was not without numerous sad moments. How terrifying must it be to leave everything behind – including fathers, husbands, sons – and step into an unfamiliar city in the dead of night with nowhere to stay, unsure of what tomorrow will bring?  

Yes, it’s these two almost oddly juxtaposed things that I will always think of from my time in Ukraine at this tumultuous moment. That of a people on the one hand determined no matter the odds to stand their ground against a pitiless aggressor and those – the elderly, young and vulnerable – who, bombed out of their homes, have no choice but to flee. Writing this there is a danger in making it sound as if it’s almost over, but it’s not, far from it.  

On everyone’s lips now is the question of where this war goes from here? On the face of it, Russian president Vladimir Putin appears to have given up hope of taking Kyiv or rolling over all of Ukraine. That megalomanic dream was trashed around the same time as Russian soldiers were abandoning their tanks and vehicles north of Kyiv in the face of Ukrainian resistance. But Putin isn’t finished yet – as eastern and southern Ukraine are finding out as I write. 

Once again, the exodus of women and children is under way. Once again, the train stations are packed with a heaving mass of humanity on the move. 

Once again, too, Ukrainians are digging in for the fight ahead in the place where it all first started back in 2014 – the Donbas. Their story to date has been one of courage, resilience, and fortitude. From what I’ve seen of Ukrainians so far in this war, those qualities will continue to endure. 

As a reporter I only hope peace prevails soon, but if not, then I can return and continue telling their remarkable story.