Interview with a journalist Olha Zvonariova on being injured and working in frontline Zaporizhzhia

In April of last year, 2024, after another shelling of the city, journalists from Zaporizhzhia went to the scene to document Russian war crimes and the destruction of civilian infrastructure. They were caught in a second wave of shelling. That day, the Russians struck a residential area of Zaporizhzhia twice. The first strike was quick and unexpected, and the second came roughly 40 minutes later, when rescue services and media representatives had already arrived at the scene.

Truth Hounds, a non-governmental organisation that documents international crimes and human rights violations, has investigated Russia’s double strike tactics in Ukraine. According to human rights defenders, from February 2022 to the end of August 2024, the Russians carried out 36 such attacks in the Kharkiv, Donetsk, Dnipropetrovsk, Zaporizhzhia, Kherson, Mykolaiv, Odesa, Vinnytsia and Khmelnytskyi regions. The Russians first used this tactic on 1 March 2022, when they fired two missiles at the Kharkiv Regional State Administration. Forty-four people were killed. Today, this remains one of Russia’s methods of warfare – to increase the number of civilian casualties and to ensure that those assisting the victims also come under attack.

During one such Russian double strike, Olha Zvonariova, a correspondent for the state news agency Ukrinform in Zaporizhzhia, suffered severe injuries to her limbs. Together with her colleagues, she arrived at the scene of the attack, an ordinary residential district of Zaporizhzhia, without body armour or a helmet. There, she was caught in the second strike.    

Olha was not a war correspondent before the full-scale invasion, but living in a frontline city amid the full-scale war completely changed the context of her work. The journalist has now made over 200 trips to the areas of hostilities and the frontline, documented the testimonies of people who fled the occupied parts of the Zaporizhzhia region at the beginning of the invasion, and worked in hazardous war conditions. After being seriously injured, Olha spent more than two months in a hospital, underwent complex surgery and rehabilitation, and now she is not only regaining her pre-injury physical form, but also trying to become stronger and learn to do things she couldn’t do before, such as running a marathon.

On the eve of Journalist Day [June 6], ZMINA spoke with journalist Olha Zvonariova about the circumstances of her injury and rehabilitation process, her work in frontline Zaporizhzhia, and how to find a balance between dedication to the profession and personal safety.

I saw a bloodstain on my jeans, and then immediately, the second rocket hit

On 5 April 2024, you were seriously injured during the shelling of Zaporizhzhia. Could you please recall how it happened? And what was that day like?

It was a Friday morning. My colleagues and I were scheduled to cover a story about the sowing season. We coordinated with local farmers, visited the Zaporizhzhia district, and recorded comments from the regional state administration and the relevant department. We then planned to return to the media base of the Institute of Mass Information, where we are based.

Somewhere between 2 and 3 in the afternoon, we began reading on monitoring channels that explosions could be heard in some areas of the city. They couldn’t be heard in the centre. Once we realised that there were explosions and that they were in the Shevchenkivskyi district, I called my relatives who live in that area and asked if everything was okay. My mother said she could hear something in the distance. Then we saw reports from the local authorities that there were casualties and that infrastructure and industrial facilities had been hit. Initially, it was reported that several people had been injured, but no details were given about the scale of the incident. However, information began to spread that civilians had been thrown onto the streets by the blast wave. So we decided to go to the scene to see what was happening.

Photojournalist Dmytro Smolienko picked me up, as well as two local journalists from the website 061. We drove to the scene in Dmytro’s car, and at the same time, we contacted our police spokeswoman. She said that everything was more or less okay and that no people were lying on the roads. But we had already left and wanted to see what had happened with our own eyes.

Olha Zvonariova is a correspondent for the national news agency Ukrinform in Zaporizhzhia. Photo: Liudmyla Tiagnyriadno

At the scene of the strike, we were recording how the utility workers, rescuers and medics were working. I took a photo of a house with a destroyed roof and was already planning to go to my colleagues when I heard something flying. At that moment, I didn’t immediately understand what it was. It was a sound similar to a fighter jet flying. We had heard such sounds during various training exercises in the combat zone. I had never heard a rocket sound like that before. When I realised that it was flying very fast and straight at us, I fell to the ground. The instructors always told us that if such a situation ever arose, the most important thing was to get on the ground, cover your head with your hands and stay below the level of the kerb. I managed to lie down, but there were no kerbs there, so I just lay down next to a car. I heard an explosion, felt the blast wave, and immediately checked to see if my legs were still there, because I realised I had been hurt. I saw a bloodstain on my jeans, and then immediately, the second rocket hit. It flew a little further, but it did not have the same explosive effect as the first one.

How did you realise that you had been injured?

It felt like a blast of hot air. Everything suddenly became very hot, and you could feel this explosive wave. At that moment, I realised that I had been injured. I can’t say that it hurt terribly. Perhaps it was my body’s protective reaction, blocking all sensation. I just saw that my leg was covered in blood, and there was blood on my arm as well. My phone fell out of my hands, and after I moved to pick it up, I couldn’t stand back up. I sat down on the road so that people could see me. The police and paramedics rushed over and started cutting my jeans, applying tourniquets, and then took me to the hospital.

On the way to the hospital, I felt that something was wrong with my arm. I felt uncomfortable. As it turned out, I also had a fragment in my arm. Then I woke up in intensive care, saw my bandaged leg and the Ilizarov apparatus. To be honest, at that moment, I didn’t realise that it would be a long process. I thought I would lie there for a week or two, get up and go home. The treatment ended up lasting two and a half months in a hospital, where I had to stay on traction the entire time because surgery on my leg wasn’t possible. On top of that, many fragments remained in the leg.

And even now, after treatment, the fragments are still there?

Yes, they’re still there. They are small, so there is no need to remove them. They planned to put a pin in or somehow fix my leg with some kind of device, but it didn’t work because my body reacted in its own way, so they put me on a traction device, removed the Ilizarov apparatus, and the bones healed on their own. I just had to lie there and wait. I couldn’t stand up at all. You can’t even turn on your side. That was the hardest part, realising that you can’t stand up at all, you can’t move, you can’t be independent, you are constantly dependent on someone coming to you, bringing you things.

It’s difficult to accept that you have all your limbs, but you’re still unable to walk

How long did that period last?

This lasted two and a half months. During this time, my bone healed, and then they put my leg in a cast. In June, I was released home on a walker. I couldn’t put any weight on my leg yet, but I could already hop on the other leg. I even went to my first interview with our emergency service workers on a walker, still in a cast, because I wanted to get back to work. My arm was operated on while I was still in the hospital. I had three or four operations. In July, the cast was removed, and that’s when full rehabilitation began.

Since August, I have been learning to walk again, learning to bend my knee, and essentially everything that an infant does. It’s difficult to accept that you have all your limbs, but you’re still unable to walk. At those moments, I tried to send the right signals to my body from my brain. It took time, endurance and patience.

In autumn, I ran my first kilometre. It was terrifying because I could walk more or less, but I was limping and didn’t know if I could run. I even went to the gym, but I still couldn’t run. But then, sometime in November, when I ran my first kilometre, I was pleased.

Why did you decide to take up sports after your physical rehabilitation?

I have a relatively normal relationship with sports, so regaining my strength was very important to me. My rehabilitation specialist and I agreed that since this had happened to me, we would use the situation to my advantage. I wanted to learn something I couldn’t do before. I wanted to be physically stronger. I wanted to learn how to do pull-ups. It was like a dream came true. I am already doing this on my own. Overall, my full recovery took about eight months.

Once, a doctor accompanied me to the lift and took my walker, telling me to walk on my own. Those were my first difficult steps on my own. I arrived home, where my mother and grandmother were waiting for me. My grandmother even started crying.

My daughter found out about my injury through a chat group for the parents of her classmates

How did your family react to the news that you had been injured?

I must say that I had strong support from my family and colleagues, from friends and even strangers. I did not expect it. When I picked up my phone while still in intensive care, I read a bunch of messages from people and posts on social media. I was shocked that so many people had responded and were worried about me. My colleagues organised shifts at the hospital; they divided up a schedule of who would visit me and when, who would bring me what, and who would have coffee with me in the morning and in the evening. We were in constant contact, and they communicated with my family, which made it a little easier for my mother, as she didn’t have to be with me all the time.

While I was undergoing treatment, my daughter took on the responsibility of studying properly. It was hard for her. I found out later that when it all happened, my mother started calling me to ask what had happened. When she couldn’t reach me, she started calling my colleague Dmytro. When that didn’t work, she called his wife, because we are all very close friends. My mother realised that something was wrong when she was told that I was in the hospital. She and my father came to see me straight away. They didn’t tell my daughter until they knew what condition I was in.

The world of modern technology and chats changed things. Someone wrote in the school chat that a tragedy had happened in one of our students’ families. My little girl didn’t know anything about it yet. Some of her classmates, through their parents who were in the chat, started calling her and almost expressing their condolences. Then my daughter found out that I was in the hospital. She was silent; she didn’t say anything. When my mother arrived from the hospital, she told my daughter that I was injured but that everything would be fine. The next day, my daughter came to see me in intensive care, but she stayed strong and didn’t show that she was worried.

Olha Zvonariova, a correspondent for the national news agency Ukrinform, speaks with Liudmyla Tiagnyriadno, a journalist for ZMINA, in Zaporizhzhia. Photo: Yana Radchenko

How did you cope mentally with your injury and treatment?

I tried to joke, smile, and take the situation lightly. There were moments when I felt depressed because I realised that I would not be leaving the hospital in two weeks, and that my operation had been postponed and then cancelled altogether. Those moments got me down.

At that moment, it was challenging for me because I was not working. I enjoy my job and business trips. The thought that everything would be put on hold indefinitely was very distressing. Then I realised that I would not be able to work at the same pace as before my injury. Not because I am afraid or anything like that. Simply because I have no right to disregard all the efforts made by my loved ones for my recovery.

In the past, I could go to the scene of a shelling without waiting for the all-clear, or rush off on a business trip to frontline communities, but now I understand that I can’t do that. My family made many sacrifices to help me get back on my feet. I wasn’t ready for how hard it would be to restructure my work.

Previously, my number one priority was work, and everything else could wait. Now, I am learning to see what is important and what is secondary

How do you currently work?

Previously, my number one priority was work, and everything else could wait. Now, I am learning to see what is essential and what is secondary. In this case, it turned out that my love for all these trips is not a priority at the moment. I feel very sad when I don’t go somewhere, knowing that I could have, and I feel sad when a text that I could have written is published by someone else. For me, it’s tears, sadness, and misery. However, on the other hand, it probably allows me to explore other topics, meet new people, and learn to work in a slightly different format.

Before the full-scale invasion, you weren’t a war correspondent. How has your work changed since the start of the full-scale war?

Before the invasion, I worked in Zaporizhzhia and the surrounding region. Dmytro and I travelled around all the districts of the Zaporizhzhia region, covering COVID wards in Berdiansk, Orikhiv and Zaporizhzhia. When there was a water problem in Berdiansk, we went to cover it. We were in Enerhodar, in the Vasylivskyi district, where we observed how vegetables are grown. We covered a wide range of topics. Since 2022, most of the region has been occupied. It was a shock for us. How can you not be able to go to Melitopol, not be able to go to Vasylivka, not be able to go to Berdiansk?

In the first months of the war, we started recording people who were fleeing the occupation and whose first stop was Zaporizhzhia. I now realise that we didn’t do enough back then. We wrote many stories about people who left Mariupol and escaped from the Azovstal bunkers. There was a centre in Zaporizhzhia where all these people arrived. We saw many foreign journalists there. Hundreds of cameras, photographers, journalists, and fixers. Just an incredible number of media people from all over the world. Now I realise that we probably didn’t tell many stories back then because we didn’t understand what was going on.

We saw this whole column of people. We noticed that the process was complicated. We understood that there was a so-called “road of life” from Vasylivka to Zaporizhzhia, but no one filmed it. It is a challenging route, not long, but difficult because there was shelling along the entire way, and the weather was bad, so the ground was muddy. Still, it turned out that we don’t have a single full report on how the evacuation took place along “the road of life.” I also think we should have done more stories about people leaving the occupied territories. However, at the time, we were concerned about causing harm and wanted to play it safe. However, we should have shouted about it as loudly as possible, as the foreign media did.

Olha Zvonariova. Photo: UkrInform

You work at the state news agency Ukrinform. Is there political censorship, and do you personally experience self-censorship now, during the war?

I remember one instance of censorship when [Oleksiy] Matsuka was still head of the agency. He had some preferences regarding speakers. I never followed that. For example, I once had a report from the Dnipropetrovsk region. There were water problems due to Russian shelling, and people had no water. We recorded volunteers from the Zaporizhzhia region delivering water. We also recorded people discussing how long they had been without water and how they were coping with the water being brought in. Additionally, we recorded a representative of the authorities explaining the measures being taken to resolve the situation. Frankly, I wrote the article as I felt it.

As for self-censorship, I think every journalist working in the field or combat zones has it to some extent. It all depends on the person. If the military asks me to approve material or wait before leaving, I choose to stay rather than push through at any cost, so I can do the story properly and maintain cooperation in the future.

Do you remember your first trip to the front line? What was it like? What stood out in your memory?

The first time we went was to visit the mortar crew from Verkhovyna. We had agreed to film the mortar crew. We had a great main character – a cool guy with the call sign “Frantsuz” (“Frenchman”). He was a cook and had come from France. It was my first assignment, so I didn’t even know what to expect. You imagine things in your head, situations where you arrive at the trench and the mortar gunners start shooting. Of course, my imagination ran wild. In real life, it was a little different. Young guys in their twenties came out, sat down around us, and you had to say something to get them interested. I understood that we weren’t the first journalists they had met. It was challenging to start a conversation, to get the ball rolling. I was very shy, afraid of asking something stupid or boring. But they were also nervous. However, once we started talking, everyone relaxed and realised that we were all normal people.

What was the closest distance you and your team reached to the combat zone?    

We went to the frontline – what the soldiers call the “Zero Line.” I had some material that was called “Night at the Zero Line.” We stayed overnight there because we needed to arrive after dusk and leave before dawn, as the military says, “under the cover of grey hours.” We were very close to the enemy, approximately 2-3 kilometres. There was only infantry in front of us. We saw Grad rockets and other shells being fired at us by the Russians. At that moment, I felt immense tension from being so close to the enemy.

We understand that Ukrainian journalists should leave occupied territories, and under no circumstances should they be captured

Have your priorities regarding safety changed over time, especially considering your injury? How has your understanding of security changed?

I have a clear understanding of who the Russians are and what they are capable of. We understand that Ukrainian journalists should leave occupied territories, and under no circumstances should they be captured. This awareness of safety has been with me from the very beginning. We all understand that Ukrainian journalists are just as much a target for the Russians as the military and other civilians.

As for other security issues, whereas before I could go immediately to the scene of a strike without waiting for the all-clear, now I can’t. The fifth of April changed everything. We understood perfectly well that this was a repeat attack. Later, I found out that either ZALA or Orlan had been working in this area for some time, recording everything and observing that there were people at the scene of a strike, including journalists, rescue workers, and medics.

After I was injured, I became more responsible in monitoring what was happening in the airspace above us, trying not to ignore alarms and not to be in the scene of shelling. If there is an opportunity to wait and not go to the scene, I will not go. As for safety, when we visit the military, we always wear body armour and helmets and take a first aid kit with us.

You have to find a balance in journalism, so that photos don’t become more important than your life

Human rights defenders have long been discussing a new Russian trend of double strikes when Russians want to destroy not only the civilian population, but also the services that are the first to arrive at the scene, including journalists. How has this understanding changed the work of journalists in Zaporizhzhia?

If we are working at the scene of the strike and the alarm sounds again, the State Emergency Service asks us to leave the area. Rescue workers do the same after being repeatedly targeted by double strikes. I have personally seen how they stop working and leave the scene. For example, if they are clearing debris from a building, they go into shelter and continue their work after the all-clear. They ask journalists to do the same.

I think you have to find a balance in this work, so that photos don’t become more important than your life. I always tell my photojournalist that. I understand that a photo exists in this moment, and in a second, it may be gone. But no photo is more valuable, more important or more significant than life itself. It’s better not to take the shot and stay alive.

Olha Zvonariova. Photo: Liudmyla Tiagnyriadno

Given your injury and experience, what advice would you give to journalists who travel to frontline areas and arrive at scenes of strikes? What do you need to know to stay safe even in such circumstances?

It is essential to subscribe to local official Telegram channels to receive alerts. Also, subscribe to monitoring channels that provide real-time updates on what is flying and in which direction. The authorities write “alert” or “explosion” in their telegrams. Some channels will notify you that a Shahed is flying in a specific area.

If you find yourself working at the scene of an enemy strike, make sure to carefully survey the area and think about where you could take cover. This way, you won’t have to run around looking for shelter later; you’ll know precisely where a safe spot is within about 10 metres.

It is essential to understand that if there is a real threat, you must drop to the ground and stay there. It is also vital to listen to the instructions given by the military or press officers responsible for your escort. If you are told to “stop, run”, there can be no “wait,” “I’ll finish up,” “I’ll take the last shot.” This is not only a matter of your safety, but also the safety of the person accompanying you. If you are told, “That’s it, we’re done, let’s go, we’ll talk later,” and if we don’t talk later, you can write in the text that we didn’t speak because the shelling started. We live in times when people’s lives and your own life are the most important things.

There are many recommendations, but the algorithm is quite simple. It just seems to all of us that we will never have to do this, but when it does happen, you realise that everything happens in seconds. You have to drop to the ground in a second, cover your head in a second, and you must always have a first aid kit within reach.

Despite the war and the proximity to the frontline, life in Zaporizhzhia goes on, and new people continue to arrive here

And finally, I would like to ask how it feels to work as a journalist in a frontline city in the fourth year of full-scale war, when nearly 70% of the Zaporizhzhia region is occupied?

It’s hard. Honestly, it’s very hard because we are not just professionals. We are all human beings, and we have various roles, such as those of daughters, wives, sisters, and mothers. We all have other lives. You constantly worry about your loved ones. If my child goes somewhere with her friends, I continually try to keep track of her location. It’s not about controlling a teenager; it’s purely for safety reasons, because you always need to know where to run to for shelter if the alarm sounds. These moments add stress; they sometimes throw you off balance.

However, in reality, cafés are opening in the city and new people are moving here. Part of our region has been occupied since the war began. But honestly and from the heart, I wish that Zaporizhzhia remains a Ukrainian city and that this war ends. I also really want to see the soldiers I interviewed alive and well. I honestly want everyone to return to their homes. I want my home to remain mine. I also dream that we will have a chance to recover, revive, and make up for what we have lost due to the war. I don’t have a depressive outlook about our city and region. After all, we believe that Ukraine will prevail.