In brief
In the eastern city of Zaporizhzhia, dawn is no longer quiet: glide bombs and FPV drones strike each day, shattering the safety of ordinary citizens. Local IT‑specialist Anna Holovchenko reports waking at five to the clatter of bombs, while the city mayor Regina Kharchenko admits that even the city’s high‑rises feel vulnerable. Yet amid the terror, the community actively adopts protective measures inspired by deep‑rooted traditions of collective effort—installing anti‑shatter film in schools, creating underground shelters and relying on ancestral networks for information. These practices, reminiscent of indigenous communal resilience, illustrate how heritage can become a living shield.
It was five in the morning when Anna Holovchenko, an IT specialist, was woken by glide bombs exploding over the suburbs of Zaporizhzhia, a city just 24 km from the front line. The relentless attacks have eroded security for weeks, turning ordinary citizens and their homes into targets across the city.
Anna explains that a second wave of drones lifted just an hour later, and Ukrainian air defences tried to neutralise them. She almost smiled at the absurdity—a city that still seems “ordinary” as she feeds herself and flees to shelter at a time that would make megacities shudder.
Urban life, it turns out, is a sharp contrast to the wartime reality: schools, buses and government offices have all been struck. Mayor Regina Kharchenko told the BBC that during one of the most intensive attacks she avoided the official shelter and hid instead in the toilet of her building after the drones crashed outside.
The collective trauma and fear triggered a grassroots response rooted in a shared cultural heritage of resilience. Communities are installing anti‑shatter film over windows of public buildings, building additional shelters in underground spaces and talking about a network of long‑term knowledge that echoes indigenous neighbour‑help practices. “We apply the same communal ethic that the Slavs and other peoples in our region have for centuries,” Kharchenko says.
Technically, Russian forces now deploy FPV drones that cannot previously reach the city, but they are using motherships and mesh networking to extend their range. Ukrainian forces have pushed Russian troops apart, but the constant bombardment makes urban defence a moving target. In that context, the community’s reliance on ancient wisdom becomes a vital tool, a living memory that offers protection and a way to keep going even when the city refuses to crumble.
Residents such as Anna keep the city alive with daily protests: “Why leave? We have food and fuel, we stay underground until the moment.” They emphasize that they want Zaporizhzhia to survive intact, a testament that no war can bleed the heart of a people that grew up in a place of hope, resilience and ancient shared wisdom.
