Displaced: Civilians in the Russia-Ukraine War

by Valery Panyushkin, Brian James Baer (translator), Ellen Vayner (translator)

A Russian journalist’s first-hand account of the heartbreak and resilience of ordinary Ukrainians faced with Putin’s aggression

In The Hour of the Wolf, Russian journalist Valery Panyushkin chronicles the devastating impact of his country’s invasion of Ukraine. By uncovering the stories of ordinary Ukrainians thrust into the chaos of war, and transformed overnight from citizens into victims and refugees, Panyushkin sheds light on the brutal crimes committed by the Russian regime, and offers a necessary act of truth-telling and atonement.

Reporting from cities and villages across Ukraine, Panyushkin delves into invidual lives shattered by conflict, illuminating the human cost of war beyond the battlefront. Through interviews with people from all walks of life, the book paints a vivid picture of the challenges, choices, and hopes of those caught in the turmoil of war.

Urgent and necessary, The Hour of the Wolf is not only a compelling account of loss and survival, but also a testament to the resilience of the human spirit, a call for empathy and solidarity, and a Russian writer’s tribute to the courage of the Ukrainian people.

Genres: Nonfiction, Russia, History

240 pages, Paperback

First published April 1, 2010

Reviews

[Dmitry · Rating 3 out of 5]

(The English review is placed beneath the Russian one)

Эта книга чем-то походит на книгу «Take My Grief Away» т.к. и в той и другой книге мы находим короткие истории о гражданах Украины. В этом смысле, книги практически идентичны, с тем исключением, что эта книга менее... эмоциональная. Так же стоит добавить, что некоторые истории получились очень короткими. Вообще мне показалось, что автор писал эту книгу второпях, впрочем, возможно всё дело в малом количестве материала, который автор смог собрать.

Меня поразила первая глава, в которой автор пишет про своего отца, который поддержал Путина в этом конфликте. Я долго об этом думал, т.е. как можно вообще поддерживать те действия, что совершает российская ария, ведь не могут же люди на самом деле думать, что российская армия, с помощью самолётов, вертолётов и танков кого-то там освобождает, да и как быть с тем количеством жертв среди мирного населения, которые всегда сопутствуют любой военной кампании? В одной рецензии я уже приводил в качестве примера событиями 1993 года в Москве, когда даже в том очень локальном военном противостоянии погибло несколько десятков совершенно случайных людей. Если даже тогда погибло столько гражданских, то, как можно было ожидать, что от штурма целых городов никто не погибнет, а если это ожидали, то, как это можно было оправдать, да и какими аргументами можно это оправдать? Единственный ответ, который я нашёл, это психология.

В какой-то книге по психологии я читал, что сначала человеку достаточно поверить в маленькую ложь, чтобы потом поверить в ложь среднего размера, а потом и в большую ложь. Примерно это происходило в Германии в 30-40 годах, когда шаг за шагом в стране строилась не только тоталитарная система, но и система тотального вранья. Как могли немцы поверить в ту громаднейшую ложь, что им транслировал Геббельс? Сначала они поверили в небольшую ложь. Всё всегда начинается с небольшой лжи, а потом,…а потом человек не может признаться себе в том, что всё это время его обманывали. Поэтому иного пути у него не остаётся, как только начать верить уже и в большую ложь. Примерно похожая ситуация имеется и у нас. Сами подумайте, как человек может нормально жить, если он признается самому себе, что все эти смерти в Украине, они не только бессмысленные, но и преступные? Ведь в таком случаи он окажется чуть ли не соучастником убийства ни в чём неповинных людей. Как он может после этого жить, когда он одобрял бомбардировки украинский городов? Да вот взять самый последний случай, о котором сообщает BBC: ««Погибла девятилетняя девочка, ранен 16-летний парень», — заявил глава Запорожской областной военной администрации Иван Федоров». Как такой человек, который поддержал путинское СВО, сможет после этого не сойти с ума? Вот поэтому такие люди и придумывают причины, которые помогают им и дальше оставаться в психологически комфортной зоне, пускай эти причины и кажутся стороннему человеку совершенно абсурдными, но они поддерживают иллюзию оправданности СВО. Я думаю, некоторые люди просто не могут теперь не верить в путинский нарратив, иначе - безумие.

Then Bucha happened. I met with a refugee from this small town where more than four hundred people perished during the Russian occupation, and I wrote down her story. But as soon as I started paraphrasing this woman’s account to my father, he jumped up and began screaming. He’d never screamed at me like that before, not once in my fifty-two years.
“How dare you say such things? Don’t you have any decency left? How could you even think that a Russian soldier was capable of killing women and children?!”
He kept screaming, and I was afraid he’d collapse right in front of me and die of a heart attack. But suddenly I realized: He understands everything. People who don’t understand what’s going on or are confused by the official lies have a tendency to take an interest in what they hear, raising doubts and asking questions, especially when speaking with close friends and family. But my father was screaming in utter despair. People who react this way grasp the horrifying reality but are incapable of accepting it because that acceptance would be for them worse than death.

С какой же надеждой эти люди смотрят новости, желая увидеть подтверждение своим мечтам, т.е. что если ракета, то обязательно украинская, а если пуля, то обязательно НАТОвская. Ведь разве способен русский солдат, которого идеализировали все эти двадцать пять лет, на такие зверства, да и по отношению к кому - к братьям, к братьям славянам? Кто-то ловит такие вот тростинки, которые хоть как-то помогают ему не утонуть в этом безумии, а кто-то просто отворачивается от новостной хроники, для кого-то всё это происходит как бы на другой планете, на планете Эрун…

Обычно истории из фронтовой зоны у меня перемешиваются в памяти, ибо почти все они одни и те же, единственным исключением стал вот этот эпизод, который меня очень сильно эмоционально поразил. Вроде ничего такого в нём нет, но именно он яснее всего показывает, как на самом деле выглядит лицо войны.

Kristina leaves her basement and goes outside. On the street, there are corpses lying here and there. Kristina approaches the soldiers, possibly the same soldiers who killed these people, and asks if she can drive away with her small child. The soldiers say, “No, you can’t leave by car. The soldiers will fire at any moving vehicle without warning. But you can walk.”
Kristina puts her child in a stroller and makes her way through the corpses lying on the pavement. Don’t look back. Don’t look around. Just push your stroller. Kristina passes through one checkpoint, a second checkpoint, then a third . . . As soon as she passes through the third checkpoint, a soldier yells to her from behind: “Stop!”
Kristina stops, raises her hands, and waits for a gunshot. But instead of shooting, the soldier says: “Go on.”

Страшно представить, что творилось в голове этой женщины, когда ей крикнули «Стоп!». И вот…ради чего всё это?

Следующее описание или следующая цитата не только показывает, что значит быть непредвзятым и не только весь тот ужас ситуации, в которой оказались гражданские, но и то, насколько же мы мало знает о том, что в деталях происходило на территории Украины, начиная с февраля 2022 года. Именно поэтому я и воздерживаюсь от каких-то итоговых заключений.

On the second day of the war, Tanya almost made it there. She turned the corner onto Vokzalnaya Street and froze: The street was covered with dead bodies. Russian soldiers and people in civilian clothes lay mixed together on the street. What happened here? What could all this mean? There were messages on social media that the Russians shelled the city even though their own troops had already entered it. Or was it the Ukrainian army that shelled the Russian military columns, and civilians got caught under the bombardment? Or did the Russians hide behind the civilians, who were thereby forced to accompany the Russians to their destruction? Tanya couldn’t figure out what had happened on Vokzalnaya Street.

В подобных книгах я не часто встречал описание ситуаций связанных с поствоенным стрессом и как мне кажется, мы практически ничего не знаем о психологическом положении всех тех гражданских, которых коснулись боевые действия. В книге я нашёл лишь один фрагмент, который даёт представление о потенциально возможных масштабах этой проблемы.

A family approaches Katya—a mother, a grandmother, and a boy of five. Katya asks the usual questions: name, age, any chronic diseases— while the boy stands there with his shoulder blades barely touching the wall; he’s motionless like a statue. Do you have pets? Do you have a working cellphone? And the boy is immobile, frozen. He might be breathing but it’s difficult to detect whether his chest and stomach are moving.
“Sweetie, what’s your name?”
No answer.
“Do you want to see our kids’ corner? There’s a lot of toys.”
No answer.
“We have people here who will play with you. They can draw with you too. Let’s go? Do you want your mom to take you there?”
The boy remains silent.
This is an ancient animal reaction to danger—to freeze, play dead. Many animals do this instinctually, hoping that predators won’t eat a victim they didn’t kill themselves. In this sense, the war takes children back twenty million years, not to the pre Neanderthal period but to our pre-simian past, to the time when we were frogs, gerbils, amoebas.
It’s interesting that the parents are okay with their children being in such a state. They don’t try to shake them out of it or to entertain them. It’s convenient for an exhausted mother to take a kid to the Refugee Center, put him next to the wall, and then respond absent-mindedly to the volunteers’ questions—name, age, any chronic diseases, phone, car . . .

Последнее что меня поразило в книге, и что я так же крайне редко встречал в подобной литературе, это взаимоотношения жителей Л/ДНР к остальной части Украины. Эта тема, конечно, заслуживает отдельно книги, но всё равно это очень большая и важная тема. В этой книге я нашёл лишь один момент, но который, если он верен, может очень многое рассказать о реальной ситуации.

For the most part, you have to admit the military of the Donetsk Republic is not always wrong. There’s just one thing . . . the extreme bitterness . . . ”
“Professor,” I ask, “what do you mean by ‘extreme bitterness?’”
“They don’t take prisoners,” Prof. Kaabak answers. “Only the Russian army takes prisoners in this war. The Donetsk army kills everyone.”

------

This book is similar to Take My Grief Away because both books give us short stories about the citizens of Ukraine. In this sense, the books are almost identical, with the exception that this book is less... emotional. It is also worth adding that some stories turned out to be very short. In general, it seemed to me that the author wrote this book in a hurry, but maybe it's because of the small amount of material that the author was able to collect.

I was struck by the first chapter, in which the author writes about his father, who supported Putin in this conflict. I've been thinking about this for a long time, i.e., how can one support the actions of the Russian army because people can't really think that the Russian army, with the help of airplanes, helicopters, and tanks, liberates someone there, and what about the number of civilian casualties that always accompany any military campaign? In one review, I already gave the example of the events of 1993 in Moscow, when even in that very localized military confrontation several dozens of completely random people died. If even then so many civilians died, how could it be expected that no one would die from assaulting entire cities, and if it was expected, how could it be justified, and by what arguments could it be justified? The only answer I found was psychology.

I read in some psychology books that, at first, it is enough for a person to believe a small lie, to believe a medium-sized lie, and then a big lie. This was roughly what happened in Germany in the 30s and 40s, when, step by step, not only a totalitarian system was built in the country but also a system of total lies. How could the Germans believe the enormous lies that Goebbels was broadcasting to them? First, they believed a small lie. Everything always starts with a small lie, and then...and then one cannot admit to oneself that one has been fooled all along. Therefore, he has no other way but to start believing in big lies. We have a roughly similar situation. Think about it: how can a person live normally if he admits to himself that all these deaths in Ukraine are not only meaningless but also criminal? After all, in such a case, he will be almost an accomplice in the murder of innocent people. How can he live after that, when he approved the bombing of Ukrainian cities? Here is the most recent case reported by the BBC: “A nine-year-old girl was killed and a 16-year-old boy was wounded,” said the head of the Zaporizhzhya regional military administration Ivan Fedorov”. How can such a person, who supported Putin's SMO, not go crazy after that? That's why such people come up with reasons that help them stay in their psychological comfort zone, even if those reasons seem completely absurd to an outsider; they maintain the illusion that the SMO is justified. I think some people just can't help but believe in Putin's narrative now or otherwise - insanity.

Then Bucha happened. I met with a refugee from this small town where more than four hundred people perished during the Russian occupation, and I wrote down her story. But as soon as I started paraphrasing this woman’s account to my father, he jumped up and began screaming. He’d never screamed at me like that before, not once in my fifty-two years.
“How dare you say such things? Don’t you have any decency left? How could you even think that a Russian soldier was capable of killing women and children?!”
He kept screaming, and I was afraid he’d collapse right in front of me and die of a heart attack. But suddenly I realized: He understands everything. People who don’t understand what’s going on or are confused by the official lies have a tendency to take an interest in what they hear, raising doubts and asking questions, especially when speaking with close friends and family. But my father was screaming in utter despair. People who react this way grasp the horrifying reality but are incapable of accepting it because that acceptance would be for them worse than death.

With what hope these people watch the news, wanting to see the confirmation of their dreams, i.e., that if a missile, it must be Ukrainian, and if a bullet, it must be NATO. After all, is a Russian soldier, who has been idealized all these twenty-five years, capable of such atrocities, and against whom - his brothers, his Slavic brothers? Someone catches such reeds, which somehow help him not to drown in this madness, and someone just turns away from the news, for someone all this is happening as if on another planet, on the planet Erun...

Usually, stories from the front zone are intermingled in my memory because almost all of them are the same. The exception was this episode, which hit me very hard emotionally. There doesn't seem to be anything special about it, but it is the one that most clearly shows what the face of war really looks like.

Kristina leaves her basement and goes outside. On the street, there are corpses lying here and there. Kristina approaches the soldiers, possibly the same soldiers who killed these people, and asks if she can drive away with her small child. The soldiers say, “No, you can’t leave by car. The soldiers will fire at any moving vehicle without warning. But you can walk.”
Kristina puts her child in a stroller and makes her way through the corpses lying on the pavement. Don’t look back. Don’t look around. Just push your stroller. Kristina passes through one checkpoint, a second checkpoint, then a third . . . As soon as she passes through the third checkpoint, a soldier yells to her from behind: “Stop!”
Kristina stops, raises her hands, and waits for a gunshot. But instead of shooting, the soldier says: “Go on.”

It's hard to imagine what was going through that woman's mind when she heard “Stop!”. And so...what was it all for?

The following description or the following quote not only shows what it means to be unbiased and not only the horror of the situation in which the civilians found themselves but also how little we know about what has been happening in detail in Ukraine since February 2022. That is why I am refraining from making any final conclusions.

On the second day of the war, Tanya almost made it there. She turned the corner onto Vokzalnaya Street and froze: The street was covered with dead bodies. Russian soldiers and people in civilian clothes lay mixed together on the street. What happened here? What could all this mean? There were messages on social media that the Russians shelled the city even though their own troops had already entered it. Or was it the Ukrainian army that shelled the Russian military columns, and civilians got caught under the bombardment? Or did the Russians hide behind the civilians, who were thereby forced to accompany the Russians to their destruction? Tanya couldn’t figure out what had happened on Vokzalnaya Street.

In books like this, I have not often found descriptions of post-war stress situations, and it seems to me that we know almost nothing about the psychological situation of all those civilians affected by the war. I found only one fragment in the book that gives an idea of the potential scope of the problem.

A family approaches Katya—a mother, a grandmother, and a boy of five. Katya asks the usual questions: name, age, any chronic diseases— while the boy stands there with his shoulder blades barely touching the wall; he’s motionless like a statue. Do you have pets? Do you have a working cellphone? And the boy is immobile, frozen. He might be breathing but it’s difficult to detect whether his chest and stomach are moving.
“Sweetie, what’s your name?”
No answer.
“Do you want to see our kids’ corner? There’s a lot of toys.”
No answer.
“We have people here who will play with you. They can draw with you too. Let’s go? Do you want your mom to take you there?”
The boy remains silent.
This is an ancient animal reaction to danger—to freeze, play dead. Many animals do this instinctually, hoping that predators won’t eat a victim they didn’t kill themselves. In this sense, the war takes children back twenty million years, not to the pre Neanderthal period but to our pre-simian past, to the time when we were frogs, gerbils, amoebas.
It’s interesting that the parents are okay with their children being in such a state. They don’t try to shake them out of it or to entertain them. It’s convenient for an exhausted mother to take a kid to the Refugee Center, put him next to the wall, and then respond absent-mindedly to the volunteers’ questions—name, age, any chronic diseases, phone, car . . .

The last thing that struck me in the book, and what I have also rarely seen in such literature, is the relationship of the inhabitants of L/DNR to the rest of Ukraine. This topic, of course, deserves a separate book, but it is still a very big and important topic. I found only one point in this book, which, if true, can tell a lot about the real situation.

For the most part, you have to admit the military of the Donetsk Republic is not always wrong. There’s just one thing . . . the extreme bitterness . . . ”
“Professor,” I ask, “what do you mean by ‘extreme bitterness?’”
“They don’t take prisoners,” Prof. Kaabak answers. “Only the Russian army takes prisoners in this war. The Donetsk army kills everyone.”

[Matilde Zonzini · Rating 5 out of 5]

“Dite che a voi non può capitare? Sfogliate questo libro dall’inizio: nessuno dei protagonisti si immaginava di ritrovarsi a scappare. Erano tutte persone di successo, professionisti facoltosi. Scienziati, uomini d’affari, artisti, contadini. Nessuno ci aveva pensato mai”

Valerij Panjuškin è un giornalista russo con una carriera eccezionale. Ha lavorato per uno dei più importanti giornali russi, poi ha cercato di proseguire il suo lavoro nei giornali e nei media dell’opposizione, in maniera sempre più difficoltosa e rischiosa. Poco dopo lo scoppio della guerra è scappato in Europa, ma prima ha scritto un grande libro: si intitola “L’ora del lupo” e racconta una categoria molto importante di persone comuni le cui vite sono state travolte dalla guerra: i profughi. Raccontando i profughi, Panjuškin racconta la guerra in Ucraina da un’altra prospettiva, e in questo modo racconta anche se stesso.

Ascolta questa puntata di Globo (14 giugno 2023), un podcast del Post https://www.ilpost.it/episodes/scappa....

[Abc · Rating 3 out of 5]

Pensavo che mi avrebbe presa di più, invece devo ammettere che l'ho trovato interessante solo all'inizio, poi man mano mi ha saturata.
Le storie dei profughi sono ovviamente drammatiche e fa orrore pensare che da un giorno all'altro la vita possa cambiare in modo così radicale.
Allo stesso tempo vengono raccontate anche storie di persone meravigliose che hanno avuto il coraggio di fare qualcosa per aiutare chi fugge dalla guerra. Storie di volontari che mettono a repentaglio la loro stessa vita pur di non voltarsi dall'altra parte di fronte alla sofferenza umana.
Forse il libro è stato scritto troppo frettolosamente e risulta un po' frammentario.

[Norbert · Rating 5 out of 5]

Ogni capitolo una "categoria" diversa di profughi, o di persone che cercano di aiutare i profughi.

Lo consiglio

[Adelais · Rating 1 out of 5]

Sighs extremely tiredly.
While Mr. Panyushkin may be the embodiment of all journalist virtues (one can assume until proven otherwise) and a mirror of Russian dissidency, I feel that the bravest thing he could do for Ukrainian people is to step back and not write this book in the nearest twenty years. He might claim that he gives the voice to Ukrainians, but it still comes under his own name, with his own life experience and baggage of a person not native or really close to Ukrainian realities.
One can feel extremely tired with such appropriation, especially after a few Russian ballistic missiles and drones every other night.

[Tinzing Artmann · Rating 5 out of 5]

I thoroughly enjoyed Displaced by Valery Panyushkin. The book provides a powerful look into the devastation of war on ordinary people, exposing the stark contrast between those who suffer and the leaders who make these decisions from a distance. Panyushkin’s portrayal of the struggles and resilience of displaced individuals is both heartbreaking and inspiring. Amidst chaos and loss, these people demonstrate remarkable strength, compassion, and an unbreakable commitment to their humanity. Their resilience is a profound reminder of the depth of the human spirit even in the darkest times.

[Michael · Rating 5 out of 5]

I am so very glad I read this book. The writer communicates in very direct, spare prose, through the stories of people met along the border and on both sides of the border of the war. The author is clear and moving in describing the realities and the questions, the challenges and the gifts discovered in the midst of the war.

[Aly Orvis · Rating 4 out of 5]

I’m not sure. The topic aligns with my interests and the writing is good. Something just felt off. I’m not sure this author is the right one to tell these particular stories.

[Susan Leigh Connors · Rating 5 out of 5]

Well written. I thoroughly enjoyed it.

[Meagan · Rating 4 out of 5]

Poignant. Made me really consider what it means to be a modern day refugee from a westernized country. And made me wish more Americans would read this book.