THE NATIONAL UNION OF
JOURNALISTS OF UKRAINE
Correspondent, program editor, and host Tetiana Pysareva lived through two horrifying weeks in Mariupol in March. Along with her family, she sought refuge in the Philharmonic building, where nearly a thousand people had gathered. Her mother tragically lost her life in the occupied city. Tetiana searched for shelter in different parts of Ukraine and, after all her trials of fate, returned to the TV-7 team.
“After leaving Mariupol, I thought I would leave journalism.”
On the morning of February 24th, Tetiana woke up to a call from her cousin, who said, “The war has begun!” Despite being told that neither her husband nor her teenage son needed to go to school or work, Tetiana still headed to the office. Mariupol had been a front-line city for eight years, so there was more concern than panic.
— On February 24th and 25th, we carried out our duties as usual, — recalls Pysareva. — The only difference was that we broadcast news updates not once a day as before but three times. The newsroom was bustling. Even those who had a day off showed up at work. Journalists went on shoots amid explosions and reported from the studio, taking cover during alarms and trying to convey accurate information to our fellow citizens.
By February 26th and 27th, the city had become so dangerous that the channel’s editorial team decided not to go to the office. They only published news online, managed by the social media manager Valeriya Moskovtsova. On Monday, February 28th, the realization that the city was under siege set in. The next day, internet, communication, and electricity disappeared, marking the beginning of Mariupol residents’ struggle for their lives.
— The war almost broke me, to be honest, — Tetiana says with bitterness about those days on the brink of survival. — In the first month after leaving Mariupol, I decided I couldn’t and wouldn’t work in journalism anymore. I used to think that we journalists were so cynical, having seen so much, and could perceive tragedies differently from others. But no. My only desire at that moment was to save the life of my younger son, Yevhen, who is 15 and reunite with my elder son, Oleksandr, who was in Kyiv. That’s why I couldn’t write or film everything; I only captured a short video of people preparing food in the courtyard.
Amidst relentless shelling, frigid temperatures, and scarce food supplies, Tetiana sensed the aggressor’s scrutiny. Even with functioning communication, her TV colleagues received calls from DPR [Donetsk People’s Republic] members seeking “cooperation.” They knew that if the city fell, they wouldn’t just be free to leave; their risk of capture or collaboration was much greater than that of other Mariupol residents.
As the siege intensified, more people sought shelter in buildings. The multi-story building where the Pysarev family had been staying lacked a safe basement. After a night of nearby tank battles, it became perilous to remain there.
— All night long, there were explosions so loud that I just prayed for us to survive,— Tetiana recalls. — We decided that if we survived, we would definitely go in search of shelter; otherwise, we were doomed. So, on the morning of March 2nd, we set off in our car towards the city center. Around us, everything was exploding, and we saw many destroyed, burnt buildings and disabled tanks on the roads.
The feeling of despair and helplessness when you’re denied entry to a shelter because they are already full, with no communication, while shells fly overhead, is something Tetiana will never forget.
Philharmonic: 800 people sleep on the floor, planes overhead
Tetiana and her family sought refuge in the Philharmonic building, joining around a thousand other residents. People were creating lists to account for their loved ones. Some stayed in the basement, while others were on the second floor. A nearby maternity hospital was struck by an airstrike, sending glass shards into the Philharmonic building. The residents battled the bitter cold, covering windows with plywood, but keeping warm at minus eight degrees Celsius proved nearly impossible.
— I’ve never been so cold in my life,— says Tetiana.
Her husband and son brought some cardboard, and someone gave them a few thin blankets. They made their beds on the floor in the corridor and kept warm by huddling together. Their Labrador dog lay beside them. The lack of hygiene only worsened their living conditions.
— There was no water to wash our hands. The sanitation situation was terrible. Imagine there was only one common toilet for this many people. Eventually, those who were managing the shelter decided to close it to prevent the spread of infection. Men dug two pits outside, placed wooden shacks over them, and people used them. However, many children started having stomach problems, and many residents of the Philharmonic building caught colds. Enduring all this was physically tough, and mentally, for me, it was incredibly hard. After March 8th or 9th, I can’t recall precisely, in addition to the Grad and Smerch artillery shelling, there were regular air raids,— Tetiana recounts. — Sitting on the second floor, we were constantly on the lookout for these planes, and I counted them. It felt like a ‘Russian roulette’: a pistol was pointed at your temple, the first shot was blank, and you didn’t know about the next one. I thought I was going crazy. Each time, we expected something to fall on us. And every time a plane flew by, we locked eyes with each other as if saying goodbye.
Tetiana’s 15-year-old son, Yevhen, understood everything. In that situation, even adults went gray, let alone teenagers. But Yevhen didn’t intend to sit idly by; he helped his father and other men.
— They searched for firewood, food, delivered medicine, diapers, and baby food to people,— Tetiana recalls. — Our soldiers allowed us to enter a pharmacy and take what we needed. There were many elderly people and mothers with babies in the Philharmonic building. Despite my pleas and tantrums, Yevhen refused to stay with me. He helped his father and the other men.
With each passing day, the area of active combat inched closer and reached the city center. The Pysarev family realized that staying in Mariupol, given Tetiana’s profession, was just as perilous as attempting to leave. But they chose to seize even the slightest chance to escape Mariupol.
The Road to Freedom: Searching for Shelter
In the city, sporadic phone and internet signals allowed occasional contact with Tetiana’s elder son. The knowledge that battles were raging near Kyiv compounded her emotional distress. On March 14th, they heard about a column of five private cars passing by the Philharmonic, driven by someone who knew the way. They had just five minutes to join this uncertain lifeline. It wasn’t an organized evacuation; it was a faint hope for survival, with a single glimmer of hope – a free can of gasoline from a friend.
— People near the Philharmonic looked at us as if we were kamikaze,— Tetiana recalls. — Someone took my husband’s phone to try to inquire about us later. And then we drove away… We passed a broken and mined checkpoint. We reached Berdiansk through fields, where armed men with rocket launchers greeted us.
In Berdiansk, the family stayed briefly, renting a room to care for their son’s fever. As refugees, they journeyed towards Zaporizhzhia, enduring humiliating inspections and crossing numerous checkpoints under scrutiny. Even a minor injury on their 15-year-old son raised suspicion. Near Vasylivka, they took a perilous path through a mined field. Eventually, they reached Zaporizhzhia, a free zone with temporary housing support from acquaintances.
Their journey continued to Odessa, where they initially planned to settle, but a nearby rocket strike changed their minds, prompting a random westward move. Their next stop was Khmelnytskyi, where finding monthly rentals was impossible at the time. They spent nights on sports hall mats and in an office converted into living quarters for 700 UAH per day, as the owner explained how difficult times had affected his business. A similar pattern followed in Kamianets-Podilskyi until they reached Lviv.
Lviv and Kyiv: When the Sense of Teamwork Saves
In Lviv, Tetiana Pysareva found solace and reconnected with colleagues who had stayed in Ukraine. Escaping Mariupol had scattered survivors across various cities, but they remained linked through chats. Recognizing the importance of remote mutual support, TV channel staff began the slow process of reviving their work, crafting stories, sharing them online, and posting news on their website tv7.ua.
— I longed to be part of the team again,— Tetiana recalls those moments of unexpected inspiration. — And it was heartwarming to see the creative process come alive once more. Even colleagues who were abroad offered their assistance, even without pay, just to help us rebuild and start working again.
In Lviv, Tetiana faced challenges without her regular cameraman and proper filming gear, but her determination persisted. She sought assistance from the Lviv City Council to resume her work, particularly in finding a volunteer cameraperson. They supported her by sharing her request on social media, and colleagues from the “Prawda Tut. Lviv” TV channel stepped forward to help.
— We started creating stories about the people of Mariupol and their survival stories,— the TV journalist narrates. — We collected practical information for the city’s residents, who are now scattered across the country.
However, Tetiana’s stay in Lviv lasted only a month, as she encountered housing issues once again. The small private house she had rented for 5,000 UAH turned out to be in poor condition, and the landlady raised the rent to 6,000 UAH the following month, a sum the family couldn’t afford. Another forced move dealt a heavy blow to the television reporter.
— I cried because I had seemingly settled into work, and now I had to uproot myself again. But finding different, affordable housing proved impossible. On top of that, nobody wanted to take in our dog,— Tetiana recalls.
Unexpectedly, help came from Kyiv when acquaintances of Tetiana’s husband learned of their struggles. They provided the family with free accommodation in an available apartment starting from June 2022. The family stayed there until they found their own place to rent. Tetiana and her TV-7 colleagues also resumed receiving their salaries. While working in the capital after leaving Mariupol felt unfamiliar at first, they successfully adapted to the city over the next few months.
— In Kyiv, everything finally started falling into place for us,— Tetiana sums up this part of her journey.
“All this time, I see my mom in my dreams, constantly trying to save her…”
Despite Tetiana’s return to work, the Mariupol horrors still haunted her. Her parents, who stayed in Mariupol, had their apartment hit by shells. They survived but were later evicted by the Russians from their damaged home. Forced to flee to Novoazovsk, they eventually sought medical treatment for her ailing mother in Crimea. Despite claims of “liberating” Eastern Ukraine’s residents, they were denied medical help for Tetiana’s mother.
— When my father brought her back to Mariupol, my mother was on the brink of death and passed away a few days later,— Tetiana tearfully recalls. — We couldn’t take her to the free territory. This happened on June 21. I don’t even know what was worse: when she passed away or when we had to bury her. At that time, there was no electricity in Mariupol at all, and the morgues weren’t operating. My father stayed in the same room with my mother’s body for several days. We called everyone we could from Kyiv, hoping to have her body transported somewhere else. She was taken to what you can’t even call a morgue. It was just a pile of bodies on the street, no other way to describe it. You couldn’t approach her without a respirator. To prevent a loved one from being buried in a mass grave, you had to go there and find her. I, of course, couldn’t do that. My godmother agreed to go with my father, who was already losing his mind. He recognized my mother’s body by her sweater. They gave my mother a number, and she was buried under that number. It’s simply impossible to comprehend and endure. All this time, I see my mom in my dreams, constantly trying to save her. Because over the last eight years, we have spent a lot of time in hospitals together. But at that critical moment, I couldn’t help my mom.
Given the dramatic events in her life, Tetiana sees her journalism during the war as a risk, a responsibility, and a heavy mental burden. Yet, this is the cost of achieving victory on the information front.
Escaping Hell and Continuing to Work!
Colleague Anna Ovcharenko, who previously managed TV-7‘s sales department and has been temporarily serving as the company’s CEO since April 2022, added her thoughts. The team’s strong desire to get back to work, their determination, and unity paid off: TV-7 is now up and running. It’s the only TV channel from Mariupol currently broadcasting, despite the fact that its journalists escaped with almost nothing.
— At first, there were eight of us. Some managed to take their own computers, but there was only one camera— shared by the top manager. — We started recovering in April. First and foremost, we analyzed our audience: during the full-scale invasion, it had significantly grown. The strength and resilience of Mariupol residents led to a search for loved ones and a strong need for information about life arrangements for internally displaced persons and refugees. This helped us define our priorities.
To secure funding for our operations, including salaries and equipment, we applied for support from various sources, particularly emergency media assistance programs for regions affected by the occupation. We received assistance from organizations such as the Independent Media Association (which provided the most substantial support), Internews Ukraine, the Association of Independent Regional Publishers of Ukraine, the Lviv Media Forum, and the Donetsk Institute of Information. The National Union of Journalists of Ukraine supplied us with a video camera, tripod, and audio recorder. Currently, we have four production teams working in Kyiv, Dnipro, Zaporizhzhia, and Lviv, with a team of 23 members that includes journalists and cameramen from Kherson and Dnipro.
— We managed to escape hell, and we’re continuing to work – this is our motto now,” says Tetiana Pysareva, together with her colleagues.
This series, titled Executed Free Speech, is created as part of a project Drawing Ukrainian And International Audience’s Attention To Serious Violations Of Human Rights And Crimes Against Journalists And Mass Media By The Russian Federation, which is performed by the National Union of Journalists of Ukraine, with support from the Swedish non-profit organization Civil Rights Defenders.
JOURNALISTS ARE IMPORTANT. Stories of Life and Work in Conditions of War is a cycle of materials prepared by the team of the NUJU with the support of the Swedish human rights organization Civil Rights Defenders.
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