Viktor Pichugin: “Every time I go to the scene of a hit or to the line of combat, I understand that I may not return”

I am fully aware of the risks we take in our work. Reporting from the front lines in Kharkiv has become part of my daily routine. I prepared myself for the constant threat of Russian shelling, knowing that another attack was highly likely. Equipped with personal protective gear—a bulletproof vest, helmet, and first aid kit—I was ready to film at any moment. On this particular day, I was documenting the aftermath of a shelling in a residential area of Kharkiv. Thanks to good communication with emergency services, I quickly learned about the incident and decided to cover how volunteer medical teams provide care to victims in the field. We met the medics and headed to the site.  

When we arrived, there wasn’t much to film. Fortunately, there were no casualties at the time, though one elderly woman was frantic with worry. I recorded comments from residents and spoke with them, while the medics found little to do beyond organizing documents. Then, the team commander approached me and warned that we had to leave due to an imminent air threat. Understanding the danger, we quickly prepared to evacuate. As we loaded into the vehicle, the live footage from our car captured the distinct sound of incoming shellfire. The sound was unmistakable—a shell was descending directly toward us. One paramedic froze momentarily at the vehicle’s open trunk, while we rushed to get everyone inside. The explosion hit nearby, but thankfully, we were all wearing bulletproof vests and helmets. None of us sustained shrapnel injuries, though the attack left its mark in other ways.  

In the hours that followed, I experienced nausea, likely from the shock. One of the paramedics wasn’t as fortunate—he suffered a severe concussion from the blast and continues to recover from it. When we examined the vehicle the next day, we found that shrapnel had pierced the car, narrowly missing us but damaging medical supplies. It was clear that our preparedness and protective gear had saved us. The threat doesn’t end when the immediate danger passes. Later, we faced prolonged attacks, and I spent sleepless nights in nearby shelters. It’s a haunting feeling, knowing that enemy forces aren’t targeting you directly but are indiscriminately attacking the area where you are.  

Each time I head out—whether to a training site or the front lines—I remind myself why I continue to do this work. I know that if I don’t go, someone else, perhaps less experienced, will take my place, potentially putting themselves at greater risk. Moreover, I can’t imagine being a journalist outside Kharkiv without being deeply involved in the city and its people. Reporting on the consequences of war crimes and sharing the stories of civilians affected by this brutal war is central to my mission. If I couldn’t do this work, I might need to consider another profession entirely. What keeps me going is the unwavering support of my team? We’re not just colleagues; we’re like a family. In moments of crisis, we lean on each other, providing strength and encouragement. The resilience and determination of the people we interview are also a source of inspiration. Witnessing their courage in the face of adversity—whether they are rebuilding their homes, resisting occupation, or fighting for their lives—reminds me why this work matters.  

Over time, I’ve become more cautious and methodical. I carefully plan and evaluate risks, not only for my safety but also for my colleagues and the editorial office. I feel a profound responsibility for the physical well-being of those I work with, and I’ve learned to approach each assignment with heightened vigilance and a focus on risk assessment.  

Created as part of the project “Raising awareness among target groups in Ukraine and abroad about Russian war crimes against journalists in 2024 and increasing public pressure for the release of captured journalists”, which is implemented by the National Union of Journalists of Ukraine with support of the Swedish non-profit human rights organization Civil Rights Defenders.