Living with the air raid siren in wartime Ukraine
Since the start of the Russian invasion on February 24, the air raid siren has become an unfortunate staple of everyday life in Ukraine. Even an official app sends notifications to users every time the air raid siren sounds. The decision of officials to sound the alarm is not made haphazardly: each incident represents a real threat. How do Ukrainians learn to live with the air raid siren, especially when it can go off several times in a single day and disrupt their daily activities? Do they always go to a shelter? Sometimes the air raid siren can continue for hours on end—how do Ukrainians pass the time there? If they have no shelter to go to, what do they do?
Is there a temptation to ignore the air raid siren for those who live in relative safety in the country's west? What happens when that illusion of safety is shattered, such as when Russian rockets strike the train station in Lviv? What about those under near constant threat in the east? What does it mean when a sound which is a harbinger of death becomes “normal”? We collected testimonies spanning from Uzhhorod to Kharkiv, with people representing various spheres of Ukrainian society, to present a psychological portrait of living with the air raid siren — or rather, despite it — in wartime Ukraine.
Kateryna, academic
I didn't hear the air raid siren when I was in Irpin. My friend, with whom I was staying at the time, downloaded the application which notifies you about it and we waited for updates on our phones. During the first week of the war there was no fixed internet and so we huddled under the windows to try and catch a weak mobile signal. The alert was on vibrate. I was constantly looking at my phone and felt very nervous.
We didn’t go to the shelter. It would have taken us fifteen minutes to get to the nearest one and we thought it didn't matter that much anyway. To be honest, I think that the fact that we didn’t go to the shelter was also partly provoked by fear, because we had to admit to ourselves that the danger was high. Now I understand that this was very wrong of us.
The sound of fighter aircraft outside will stay with me for a lifetime. I'm used to the sound of anti-aircraft warfare, but fighters are something different. The sounds of explosions were also very intense during that time. Although I’m currently abroad, I’ve grown very anxious whenever I hear thunder. I have the same reaction to the rolling wheels of suitcases, because for me it resembles the sound of fighter aircraft.
Khrystia, writer
When I heard the air raid siren for the first time, it was almost like an echo, because it was very quiet, and for that reason it wasn't too bad. It turned out that the siren in my area did not work well. Since then it has been repaired and the wail is unbearable. When we hear it, we go to the basement in my parents' house next door. We go every time, because our house is at the highest point in the city and when planes flew overhead during the first days of the war (now I know that these were ours, but back then it was extremely frightening), they flew so close to our house that I thought they would strike the roof.
I work from my phone when I’m in the basement; since the start of the war I’ve been volunteering and collecting for our soldiers and refugees daily. If it's dawn or early morning, I usually drink some coffee. We do the best we can down there, so I can't complain too much. It is difficult only at night, because the siren disrupts your sleep. I am ready to hear the sound of the air raid siren for the rest of my life so as long as it does not mean anything threatening, but unfortunately, in addition to being alarming, it also announces danger.
Yuliia, translator and English teacher
The piercing sound of the air raid siren remains as frightening as it was when I first heard it two months ago, despite the fact that we are relatively safe in Zakarpattia, the westernmost region of Ukraine, just a few kilometers from the EU border. Naturally, we hurry to safe places when the air raid siren catches us outside. We do not go to a shelter at night though because there are none nearby, unfortunately. We try to at least find a safe spot in our apartment to wait it out I believe that even after we have won this war, Ukrainians will hear this horrible sound in their nightmares for a very long time... My biggest hope is that my infant daughter won't remember any of this, and the rest of her childhood will be spent in a peaceful Ukraine.
Roman, program manager
Before the war I lived in Kyiv, and spent the first week of the war in Ternopil. These days I'm in Lviv.
I first heard the air raid siren on February 24 in Kyiv. It was very scary, and I had never heard anything like it before in my life. I had the impression that something was about to explode, so at that moment I perceived the siren as a sign of imminent trouble. I was at the train station, so I immediately went to the nearest subway entrance and waited there.
When I was in Ternopil, I constantly went to the shelter. I was staying with my friend's parents, and they are very responsible people. The shelter was a ten minute walk from their house, and we went there every time, sometimes five times a day. We usually just sat there. Nobody had the mood or energy to try and be productive. Sometimes we played games on our phones, but more often than not we just sat and dozed off, waiting for it to end.
Here in Lviv I almost never go down to the shelter, only when I am in a public place and we are asked to go. Usually, when I'm at home, I just sit behind the kitchen wall and continue what I was doing beforehand, be it work or sleep. I hear the siren so often now that there is simply not enough emotional strength to constantly go to the shelter. When you go down there five times a day, several times a week, life starts to seem meaningless. So at some point you just think—well, great, just great. I understand that this is irresponsible, but it is easier for me to live than to spend the foreseeable future in hiding.
Kateryna, journalist
I was reporting from Kramatorsk in 2014 when I first heard the air raid siren. The city was under Russian occupation. I was standing out on a balcony and looking at fires in the direction of Slovyansk, which the Ukrainian army would liberate the next day. I wanted to record the sound of the air raid siren for posterity, but as it turned out, that sound would stick in my mind on its own because of its unnaturalness and totality.
It was so unsettling to hear the same sound again in Kyiv in 2022. I don’t remember the exact day when I first heard it again. I was living at the top of a tall multi-story building, and the most common sound in the first days of war was that of fighter jets passing by. I didn’t hide in a shelter since there weren’t any in my residential area. Instead I hid in a windowless corridor in my apartment.
The sound of air raid siren made me so nervous that I decided to become friends with it. When I hear the siren now, I just imagine that it’s is a cat howling at me. These days I’m in Lviv, and I go to a shelter only if it goes off when I’m outside. When I’m at home I don’t hide. I don’t know why…
Rustam, software developer
I’m originally from Donetsk, so war has been my reality since 2014. To be honest with you, I didn’t hear the air raid siren until the start of the current Russian invasion, when I was on the way home from my friend’s house. I now hear the air raid sirens regularly in Kharkiv, where I live, but I don't go to the shelter for two reasons: first of all, there are no active hostilities in my neighborhood and secondly, I am determined to remain stoic. If I find myself outside during an air raid siren, I try to stay away from large open spaces, and head toward places where I can quickly take cover.
What is it like to live in Kharkiv now? Well, I would describe it as life in a nature reserve. On the one hand, you are relatively free in your actions and movements, but on the other hand, you understand that this freedom has lessened: there is a curfew, the banks are closed, and a lot of the usual urban infrastructure does not function as usual.
Anastasiia, intellectual property lawyer
I have been living in Kyiv since 2013. On the morning of February 24, I went to my boyfriend's house in the Kyiv region, and two weeks later, we left for the south of the Odesa region, to Izmail, to visit my family. I first heard the air alarm on the morning of February 24 in Kyiv, waiting for my boyfriend near the Magellan shopping center. It was a surreal feeling, as if this was not actually happening to us, and I was watching a movie from the side, but the burst of adrenaline probably allowed me to keep myself together.
While we were in the Kyiv region, we listened to the siren only via the app because there were no sirens in the village. The sirens sounded from the app on our phones for the first few days, but we just turned it off after a while. When we heard the sound of airstrikes, we hid in the bathroom, as we did not have a basement.
In Izmail, it is as if there is no war at all, besides the presence of internally displaced persons and Territorial Defense Forces. We live in a house where a siren can be heard from three sources, and we are already used to it as something normal. However, after the recent attacks on Odesa and the rising tensions in occupied Transnistria, neither of which are very far from us, the sound of the air raid siren is more cause for alarm. But again, we have no basement, no shelter nearby, or even rooms without windows, so we do not go anywhere during the air raid siren. In general, I really do not like the fact that you get used to such an awful sound so quickly, but so be it.
Olena, university student
I remember the first air raid siren very well: it was like a baptism by fire. I was so scared then that I couldn't speak; it felt like I was having a panic attack. Luckily, a close friend was with me and helped me through it. I couldn't find a shelter that first night, so I had to go home. The next time the air raid siren sounded, the shelters were open and ready to receive people. If the air raid siren goes off during the day I usually go to the shelter but at night I hide in my corridor. Fortunately, I have acquaintances and friends who go there with me: we live next door to each other. We sit and talk about work and our studies, discuss the war and other current events. We joke a lot and try to support others, especially people with children and pets.
I got used to the sound of the air raid siren within a week. Still, it makes you shudder and start thinking differently. Although I feel a sense of illusory security that we are more or less safe in Chernivtsi, the sound of the siren compels you to take a good look at yourself and your life.
Anastasiia, journalist
In the early hours of February 25 I heard the air raid siren for the first time. It could have sounded on the 24th as well, but I can't remember anything from that day. On February 25 at two o’clock in the morning, Kyiv was quiet. I worked and listened for the slightest noise. When the disgusting sound of the siren cried out, cutting through the night, it felt as if I was thrown into a cold and sticky darkness—it was that feeling of terror you can’t hide from nor wash off your skin. For several weeks after that I frequently worked at night, because falling asleep became a terrifying prospect. With each siren it was became scarier to live, because you understood that it meant the sound of explosions would soon follow. I went to the shelter with my family only once. Unfortunately there aren’t many of them where I live. In my case we took shelter in a church. It was very cold, crowded, and some people could be heard praying while others were sleeping. I hugged my dog tightly to keep her warm. After that we hid in the bathroom at home, but then I stopped hiding altogether and even slept by the window. Some will say that I acted unwisely, but in the second week of war all I dreamt about was a little stability, and the closest I could get to that was to sleep my own bed.
Taras, artist
My fiancée and I were flying back to Chernivtsi from Vienna the morning the invasion started. We felt this combination of initial shock, not knowing if our city would still be there when we get back, and a sense of grief that nobody in Vienna seemed to care. Strangely it felt better once we crossed the border into Ukraine. Even though we knew from the sound of the air raid siren that from a missile can land on our heads at any moment, it was much better for us, psychologically-speaking, because we were in the same boat as the rest of our people.
During the air raid siren we go to the basement at my parent’s house. My father’s very old and his memory and hearing aren't good anymore. He keeps forgetting things. During one of those times I saw my dad sitting on a stool in the doorway with the radio playing the sound of the siren at full volume. He figured that the wall of that door waywas the strongest in the house and the radio was on so he could hear the end of the siren. I explained to him that it's better to turn it off and check once in a while. But he keeps forgetting.
Andriy, surgeon
When I first the air raid siren in Kharkiv, I felt annoyed, for lack of a better term. Upon hearing that god-awful sound, I understood that all of our lives had changed forever, and there was nothing we could do about it. That feeling was quickly replaced by a sense of the need for the immediate safety of my loved ones. Now I'm pretty much used to it. It's like the sound of an ambulance during peacetime. I went to the shelter only during the first days of the invasion, mainly because my family was with me. My youngest son is 2 years old. When we were in the shelter, we talked with other people and took care of the children. The children needed a lot of attention, and it was the best psychological remedy for adults. If we do not panic, children do not perceive these events as stressful. I stopped going to the shelter for several reasons. I sent my family away from Kharkiv, and now I am much calmer knowing my loved ones are safe. I also do not want to spend my life in hiding. Of course, I do not rule out that I sometimes have no choice but to go to a shelter, but this is, for example, in the case of heavy shelling.
The situation in Kharkiv depends on what area of the city you are in and what you do. Some people, despite everything, try to live their lives as usual. In my opinion, they are detached from reality. The gravity of the situation eventually comes for them in the form of a rocket strike, an explosion, and so on.
I've gone to the front to do what I can to help. For those who defend the country or support our defenders, the reality is entirely different. Everything we do is for victory. We devote every waking moment of our lives to it because there’s no other choice.
Glory to Ukraine.
Artwork by Jenya Polosina