Ravages of Russia-Ukraine war hit close to home in Pa. as conflict enters 4th year

For three years, the Rev. John Charest has kept a list of names of those he knows who are caught up in the drawn-out war in Ukraine.

Some are relatives of local Ukrainian seminarians while others are friends and family of Rev. Charest's congregants at St. Peter & St. Paul Ukrainian Orthodox Church in Carnegie, Pennsylvania.

Each week, they have prayed for the safety of the people on that list and for an end to the war, now entering its fourth year.

On Thursday, Rev. Charest was devastated to learn that two other names had to be added, as news spread that the father of one seminarian and the godfather of another were listed as missing in action.

"Sharing in their helplessness, we want to do something, and to just sit there and hear this news, you feel so helpless," he said. "What can you do? You can't comfort the wife of the man who's gone missing. It's so hard."

At 8:59 p.m. Sunday, Rev. Charest will ring the bells at his church on Mansfield Avenue, along with other Ukrainian Orthodox churches around the country, to mark the exact moment Russia invaded Ukraine on Feb. 24, 2022.

The war, considered to be the biggest threat to security and peace in Europe since the end of the Cold War, has left widespread devastation. An estimated 70,000 Ukrainian troops and more than 800,000 Russian soldiers have been killed, while at least 6.8 million people have been forced to flee Ukraine.

President Donald Trump, just a month after beginning his second term in office, upended three years of U.S. policy toward Ukraine when he announced last week that he and Russian leader Vladimir Putin had a long phone call and agreed to begin negotiations toward ending the war.

Seeming to turn on Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, Trump branded him a "dictator without elections" who pushed the U.S. into spending billions "to go into a war that can't be won." It marks a sharp pivot from the approach of former President Joe Biden, who repeatedly insisted, "Nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine."

For some Ukrainians who have settled in the Pittsburgh area, Trump's stance has only escalated their fears for those still living in their war-torn homeland.

"I was hopeful when Trump was voted to be president ... but last week was just a nightmare," said Karina Shevchenko, who fled Ukraine nearly a decade ago and now lives in Ross, Pa. "It feels surreal to me. I feel fear and think about what's going to happen with the people who I love, who are still there in Ukraine."

Shevchenko was seven months pregnant when Russia invaded Crimea in 2014. She and her husband fled Kyiv, fearing the unrest might escalate.

"We were thinking about building a family, but we were worried about personal security, and I had a feeling that someday something bigger might happen," Shevchenko said last week.

She can't imagine raising a family in the home she left behind, and worries about friends who are navigating routine family life with the ravages of war.

"My friends (in Ukraine), they're in their late 30s and raising kids. I don't understand how I would raise a child in those circumstances with everyday missile attacks, where there is no safe place and you never know if you're going to meet the next morning," she said.

"I'm devastated, burned out, probably like other people are feeling. I'm feeling helpless because I'm experiencing the same level of anxiety right now these days, with the new Trump administration, that I had when the war started."

For others, like Diana Denysenko, the fear has turned to sadness.

"I no longer experience the overwhelming fear, deep anxiety, and worry that consumed me three years ago," said Denysenko, who fled Ukraine with her two children a month after the war began.

"Instead, my heart is filled with sorrow as I think of those enduring immense suffering amidst destruction and uncertainty. I feel a profound connection to every mother who has lost her son, husband, or loved one in war; their pain resonates deeply within me."

Denysenko, who now lives in McCandless, Pa., said seeing news coverage of the war and knowing her loved ones are still there is like watching memories of a life that was left behind.

"I recognize that they were vital parts of my joyful life, which was taken from me unexpectedly," she said. "We support one another, sharing moments of laughter, yet our eyes often reflect a deep sadness and the understanding that we will never again feel as carefree as we once did."

'Ukrainian fatigue is real'

Members of Pittsburgh's Russian community have also felt the impact of the ongoing conflict.

For Anastasia Gorelova, the constant barrage of news coming out of Russia and Ukraine can, at times, be too much to bear.

Gorelova, 32, of Scott, Pa., left Moscow in 2014 to attend graduate school at the University of Pittsburgh and hasn't returned in eight years. She was busy with school, and then the COVID-19 pandemic hit. Not long after, Russia went to war with Ukraine.

"The main feeling that I am feeling is a sense of powerlessness in a way," Gorelova said. "There's nothing I can do to affect the situation. It's heartbreaking. I love the place where I grew up. I loved my apartment. I loved the family and friends I had there, so there's a lot of sentimental nostalgia."

Now, despite Trump's ramped-up efforts to broker a peace deal, Gorelova isn't getting her hopes up.

"I just want to wrap myself in a blanket and hide behind my desk and stay there for as long as I can," she said. "That's how I feel. I don't want to make any projections or think about what could be. It's too overwhelming to think about. There's so many things to consider."

Getting involved in aid work to try to ease some of the suffering has helped Yurij Wowczuk and his brothers, who launched the nonprofit Vovk Foundation to help displaced Ukrainians.

Wowczuk, of Monroeville, Pa., said he is in regular communication with troops in Ukraine. He said exhaustion has set in.

"The notion of Ukrainian fatigue is real and I understand that to a very great degree," he said.

Others, including Stephen Haluszczak, a third-generation Ukrainian-Pittsburgher and head of the Ukrainian Cultural and Humanitarian Institute, have also been offering assistance to Ukraine.

Through work with UCHI and other Ukrainian organizations, Haluszczak has been helping in Lustk, a city in northwestern Ukraine, to address the trauma of children now living in orphanages and foster care.

"There are thousands and thousands ... who have been displaced from these regions in southern and eastern Ukraine that were forced out of their home, lost their families and lost everything they know," he said. As this week ushers in the third year of the war, in Pittsburgh's Ukrainian community, the frustration is palpable.

After reading about a prisoner of war exchange in December that saw the release of hundreds of captives, Rev. Charest looked over the names hoping to find one man on his weekly prayer list.

His name wasn't there.

Rev. Charest made an impassioned plea to his congregation that week to remember the humans behind the names and keep praying that they remain safe and one day will be free from the terrors of war.

"That week, on Sunday when it came time to read all the names of the soldiers, I turned around and I stopped the liturgy and I said to everybody — maybe it came across as a little angry — and said, 'I just want to remind everybody that these are not names.'" Rev. Charest said. "These are not people that we've made up. They're not fictitious. These are dads, husbands and sons."

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