In liberated Kherson, no water and no power – but finally hope

Russia's parting gifts were the destruction of infrastructure and the seeding of booby traps. Yet hope and happiness are back in liberated Kherson.

|
Yevhenii Zavhorodnii/AP
Ukrainians gather in downtown to celebrate the recapturing of their city Kherson, Ukraine, Saturday, Nov. 12, 2022.

During the long, long months when Russian forces were in charge, the national flag was contraband. Only rarely and in the privacy of his own home did Yevhen Teliezhenko dare bring out his prized possession, the banned yellow-and-blue of Ukraine.

Now the Russians are gone, forced out of his southern city of Kherson, and Mr. Teliezhenko is making up for all that lost time. He and his wife are driving around the city, flying their flag and asking Ukrainian soldiers who liberated them to autograph it.

“They were fighting for us. We knew we were not alone," he said.

Where just last week there was deep fear in Kherson, now there is an abundance of joy.

And that emotion is bursting out despite the fact there is no power, no water and barely any cellphone coverage. Food and medicines are in short supply. Life promises to be tough for weeks to come, as winter bites down on barely heated residences. Russia's poisoned parting gifts were the destruction of key infrastructure and the deadly seeding of booby traps around the city.

Still, at least hope and happiness are back, which will more than do for now.

“Finally freedom!” said 61-year-old Tetiana Hitina, Mr. Teliezhenko’s wife. "The city was dead."

Kherson was the only provincial capital captured by Russia, seized in the invasion's first weeks. It was a significant – but as it turned out only temporary – prize for Moscow, because of the city's port and its strategic position on the Dnieper River in southern Ukraine.

The Dnieper's wide waters now separate Ukraine's troops, who fought their way for weeks toward Kherson, and its former Russian occupiers, who abandoned the city last week in the face of the Ukrainian advance, escaping to the river's eastern bank.

Yet the fighting is far from over.

Russian troops are now digging in there, bracing for the next Ukrainian move. Over the sounds of Ukrainians rejoicing for a third day running Sunday in Kherson's main square, the thump of artillery fire could be heard in the distance. About 70% of the wider Kherson region is still in Russian hands.

Roads leading into Kherson bear witness to the ferocity of the fighting – much of it largely unreported at the time because Ukraine had blacked out frontline news from the region to avoid giving useful intelligence to the Russians. For tens of kilometers  on approach to the city, the war and its ravages have left not a building untouched.

Amid the abandoned trenches and the charred remains of military hardware, a surprising sight: children popped out of mutilated homes to wave at cars rolling through their village, which until only recently was a war zone.

Freed of their occupiers, residents of Kherson are now able to begin telling the grim stories of life under Moscow's rule. Some spoke of Russian soldiers detaining people in the streets, seemingly arbitrarily, for checks and questioning – and sometimes worse.

Others worry about friends and acquaintances who were told to leave Kherson when Russian forces were beginning their weeks-long withdrawal. Tens of thousands of people were evacuated, ferried across the Dnieper and bused deeper into territory that Russia still holds.

In the final days before they finished their pullout last week, Russian troops grew increasingly nervous and rumors flew around the city, said Karina Zaikina.

“They were stealing and morally pressuring us,” she said. “It was clear that they were scared because they all walked only in groups.”

“I woke up calm today,” she said. “For the first time in many months, I wasn’t scared to go to the city.”

In scenes reminiscent of European cities that Allied forces liberated in World War II, Kherson residents poured into the city's central square, honked car horns, danced, wept and hugged. In one place, two people who were alleged to have collaborated with the Russians were tied to poles with their hands behind their backs.

For the moment, billboards that the city's former Russian-backed administrators put up are still there. But surely, not for long.

Their now-outdated message reads: “Russia is here forever.”

This story was reported by The Associated Press. John Leicester contributed to this story from Kyiv, Ukraine.

You've read  of  free articles. Subscribe to continue.
Real news can be honest, hopeful, credible, constructive.
What is the Monitor difference? Tackling the tough headlines – with humanity. Listening to sources – with respect. Seeing the story that others are missing by reporting what so often gets overlooked: the values that connect us. That’s Monitor reporting – news that changes how you see the world.

Dear Reader,

About a year ago, I happened upon this statement about the Monitor in the Harvard Business Review – under the charming heading of “do things that don’t interest you”:

“Many things that end up” being meaningful, writes social scientist Joseph Grenny, “have come from conference workshops, articles, or online videos that began as a chore and ended with an insight. My work in Kenya, for example, was heavily influenced by a Christian Science Monitor article I had forced myself to read 10 years earlier. Sometimes, we call things ‘boring’ simply because they lie outside the box we are currently in.”

If you were to come up with a punchline to a joke about the Monitor, that would probably be it. We’re seen as being global, fair, insightful, and perhaps a bit too earnest. We’re the bran muffin of journalism.

But you know what? We change lives. And I’m going to argue that we change lives precisely because we force open that too-small box that most human beings think they live in.

The Monitor is a peculiar little publication that’s hard for the world to figure out. We’re run by a church, but we’re not only for church members and we’re not about converting people. We’re known as being fair even as the world becomes as polarized as at any time since the newspaper’s founding in 1908.

We have a mission beyond circulation, we want to bridge divides. We’re about kicking down the door of thought everywhere and saying, “You are bigger and more capable than you realize. And we can prove it.”

If you’re looking for bran muffin journalism, you can subscribe to the Monitor for $15. You’ll get the Monitor Weekly magazine, the Monitor Daily email, and unlimited access to CSMonitor.com.

QR Code to In liberated Kherson, no water and no power – but finally hope
Read this article in
https://www.csmonitor.com/World/Europe/2022/1113/In-liberated-Kherson-no-water-and-no-power-but-finally-hope
QR Code to Subscription page
Start your subscription today
https://www.csmonitor.com/subscribe