KYIV, Ukraine — As evening falls, the streets are mostly dark in Ukraine’s capital. Russia has been systematically destroying the country’s national power grid as Western allies have dawdled over providing promised air defense systems. The whir of generators has become the new night music for the restaurants, hotels and homes that can afford to hold back the gloom.
Trudy Rubin
The damage caused by the six-month congressional holdup of U.S. arms shipments to Ukraine is raised in every conversation I have had — the lives lost and morale lowered, all while allowing Russia to go on the offensive. In the wee hours of the night recently, five air-raid warnings for Kyiv lighted up my cellphone on the country’s Air Alert app. Dozens of alerts buzzed for other cities that have much less protection.
The good news: New Western supplies of missile interceptors have finally arrived. On the recent night of alerts, they shot down the entire barrage of Russian missiles and killer drones over Kyiv, and nearly all of those unleashed on other parts of the country.
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But what has cheered me up early in my trip — and bolstered my faith in Ukraine’s future — is that the civilian volunteers who rose up after Russia invaded are still actively involved, helping other Ukrainians escape the fighting or getting them medical care after terrible wounds.
They are not waiting for U.S. government aid to act.
I have been covering world conflicts for decades, and I have never witnessed such strong civic activism in any other country besides the United States. These grassroots movements define the difference between democratic Ukraine and authoritarian, top-down, follow-orders-or-be-killed Russia. They will be critical to any future recovery if the West helps Ukraine drive the Russians out.
A typical example: In Odesa, I visited a small metal factory where the workers were actors and stage designers in the city’s famous opera and theater house. Now, they are welding military vehicles and prototype drones.
Dimitro Bogachenko began the factory several years ago with a colleague to produce sets and metal stage curtains.
“I was an actor for 15 years in musical comedy, and then stage director at the opera,” he told me. “Now I can’t remember any of the sets I designed, only the specifications for the work that we do for the army.”
During the first week of the war, he and his friends began producing flak jackets with metal plates with money they raised on the Telegram app. They then armored 40 trucks and gave them to Ukrainian forces.
Their work caught the eye of National Guard Lt. Col. Sergei Sudets, who commands mobile units that patrol 157 miles of southern coastline to protect against drones. He shaped the volunteers into an innovative unit that repairs and repurposes old equipment to meet new needs.
“The Russian drones are flying higher now,” Sudets told me, referring to Shahed drones bought from Iran, as welders’ sparks flew on the factory floor. They are taking old Soviet machine guns from 1943, mounting them on truck beds, and modernizing them so they can strike up to 3 miles high, Sudets said.
As we spoke, a tall former ballet dancer in a work-stained jumpsuit passed by.
These innovative artists have put together a new model of a flying attack drone, a weapon that has become crucial to compensating for Ukraine’s lack of ammunition. “Hitting drones with a range of 40 kilometers would push (Russian) artillery out of range,” Bogachenko said. “We have the people to produce them, but we lack the financing.”
