Libraries in Wartime "They turned bookshelves into embrasures"

May 2022. We are moving on a temporary pontoon across the Irpin River, which flows towards the Chernobyl zone. We stop at a ring where a giant concrete egg lies, symbolizing the rebirth of life after the disaster - the work of a German architect, installed here at the turn of the millennium. Shell casings and cartridges littered the entire area. A little further on is the village of Obukhovichi, which is over five hundred years old, so this is not its first war or occupation. The villagers say that everything happened very quickly because no one had any idea that the Russians would advance through the contaminated zone. We go to the local library. The windows were shattered, the chandelier was shot through, and the books were damaged by fragments in a pile. I have recognized a collective collection of outstanding Ukrainian women, for which I wrote a story about the patron of the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, Halshka Hulevychivna. It's strange to hold your book, touched by death, in your hands. The employees clean up the mess and tell you that the Russians occupied the library, lived here, and destroyed patriotic publications purposely. "They turned the bookshelves into embrasures", - admitted the librarian Olena Shumak, and I noticed the bullet holes between the books. I take "Geography of Ukraine". I opened the first page. In the section "The origin of the name "Ukraine", I pull out a bullet fragment. For some reason, I feel this hole is a wound that needs to be covered with something. But I do not know what. And I don't know if this wound will ever heal. It will return to the pages of all the letters that were dragged into the abyss. I carry this fragment in my pocket now. Shot-through book: Obukhovychi, Kyiv region | Personal archive of K. Yehorushkina

 

Pile of Filth
 

"What were my first thoughts when I entered the library? I won’t say, because it would just be swearing," says Olena Shumak. Among the bookshelves and damaged volumes, the occupiers had left a pile of filth. This is not the first time I’ve heard such stories. In the same area, they left a pile—on a beautiful decorative plate!—on the desk of the village head who refused to collaborate with them. Elsewhere, another pile was found on the stage of the assembly hall. Perhaps this is the greatest "talent" the invaders managed to showcase.

Among the publications torn into small pieces were "The Formation of the OUN" by Zynovy Knysh, "I Will Not Let Ukraine Die" by Levko Lukyanenko, and "Ukraine is Not Russia" by Leonid Kuchma. Ms. Olena suggests that the latter was torn out simply because of its title, not out of patriotism. Instead, the occupiers stole several publications in Russian. Among them: "Fifty Shades of Grey" by Erica Leonard James and "The Bloody Century" by Ukrainian historian Myroslav Popovych. "I don't mind if they read Popovych. Of course, if it helps them..." says Ms. Olena. Most of the Russian-language books were taken away during the occupation, while the damaged Ukrainian works were left behind. Yet, just a few weeks later, the library was back in operation: "We wiped off two or three shelves, and people started coming. They took books to calm down…". Kateryna Yegorushkina with readers after the presentation: library in Mykolaiv | Personal archive of K. Yehorushkina



Glass

As a result of the airstrike on March 11, 2022, the building of the regional children's and youth library in Chernihiv was almost destroyed. This building is an architectural monument, but I only see part of the facade with a hole in the middle. After another "hit," the Chernihiv Central City Library was also damaged. Olena Tereshchenko shared that library workers and city volunteers saved children's books filled with glass shards. To ensure the safety of young readers, "we carefully checked, shook out, and wiped every book. Twice. To make sure we didn't miss anything," Olena recalls. We checked all 30,000 copies. "Books that were severely cut by glass were classified as damaged. There were about 5,000 of them". Twice shaken out and wiped.
30,000 copies.
Fairy tales, alphabets, comics... "Now a child could get hurt by a book not only figuratively but also literally. So, adults protected children in this way. 'The most valuable thing was that people offered their help in checking and cleaning the library... They brought books from their own libraries, board games, and toys. They left their phone numbers in case they were needed. It was very touching,' says Olena." Kateryna Yegorushkina's book "Our Adolescent Cosmos" against the backdrop of a destroyed building, in which the library miraculously survived, Mykolaiv region. | Personal archive of K. Yehorushkina




Folder

Sometimes librarians, risking their lives, saved fellow villagers. After all, printed words can not only be part of culture but also a reason for death. "On March 13, a villager came to us and told us that in Katyuzhanka, at the village council, the Russians had found documents with photos of ATO soldiers and were looking for and torturing them. For me, this was a shock, because in the Sosnivka library, in the folder 'Our fellow villagers – ATO soldiers,' there were photos and biographies of our fellow villagers..." recalls librarian Lyubov Slobodyan from Kyiv region. Enemy vehicles were constantly moving along the road, so the woman hurried to the library "through fields and gardens, hiding in the weeds." She saw broken doors, overturned bookshelves, and a folder in the books. She hid it under her jacket. Just then, the "Russians" arrived... Fearing that she might be searched, Lyubov threw the folder into the stove, burned what could have been a death sentence, and, hiding in the weeds, ran home.
 

Underwater

There are areas that can only be accessed with a special pass, as both civilians and volunteers often lose their lives there. One such place is the Korabel Island in Kherson. I am talking to Halyna Nezhynska, the director of the centralized library system of the city. "Our island was very beautiful, green, with fountains, roses, and sailing sports. The residents loved it so much that they didn’t even want to go to the city center for errands. We had everything here: a school, a kindergarten, and even in 2016, we opened a new library. We called it the 'Eco-Library.' There were many eco-themed books, a natural science club, and vocal club rehearsals took place… In short, life was thriving here…" With the start of the invasion and occupation, active operations ceased, and only after tFhe liberation—despite constant shelling—did the library resume full operations. "People were disoriented and really needed support," says Halyna. So, in addition to its main functions, the library also served as a humanitarian hub. A volunteer psychologist worked there, and medicines and humanitarian aid were brought in. "We were like 911," Halyna jokes. But then came another blow: on the night of June 6, 2023, Russian troops blew up the Kakhovka Dam. The flood was so powerful that staff feared the building might be completely swept away. However, the library held firm, though it was submerged, including part of the second floor. It wasn’t until a month later, when the water receded, that the librarians were able to reach their workspaces. Computers had been soaked with water and rust, shelves and books were covered in mold, the walls were crumbling, and among the books floated the collection of carefully dried herbarium from the natural science club. The librarian stood there and cried. The "Eco-Library" became another victim of Russia's ecocide. "We hope to rebuild our beautiful library," says Ms. Halyna. "Because we have no other choice. We are holding on not only for ourselves but for the whole community of the city." Books damaged by water and mold are being prepared for disposal, "Eco-Library", KoraBel Island, Kherson. | provided by G. Nezhynska


Trash bin

At the end of November 2023, my team from PEN Ukraine, along with fellow writers, embarked on a volunteer trip to libraries in Mykolaiv region. We aimed to talk to people, listen to their stories, and share the hundreds of books we brought to replenish library collections. We sat in the spacious reading hall of a library in Snihurivka. Before the invasion, there was a computer center here, but during the occupation, the Russians stole all the computers. The library director, Alisa Kosei, shared her account: “From March 14, our community was in an active combat zone. From March 19 to November 9, 2022, we were under occupation, and on the 10th we were liberated. Russian forces immediately took over the library. There was a checkpoint in front of the library, with BTRs standing there. They lived here, launching shells from here, so people were afraid to even step outside.” Her memories are supplemented by Tetiana, who works at the circulation desk: “When we saw that the columns were leaving and the new ones hadn’t arrived yet, we would enter the library and lock the doors. One of us noticed books in the trash bin. Specifically, patriotic books: about the ATO, about our cyborgs who defended Donetsk airport… And there were many more behind the containers. I climbed into the bin, retrieved the books... Some were soaked, but every book is a valuable treasure for our library! I would bring them in and dry them... This is what stayed with me the most”. After the liberation of Snihurivka by the Ukrainian military, the library staff had to spend several months cleaning up the mess. "Everything was scattered, broken... We were afraid the building was mined because pyrotechnicians and sapper units were stationed here. The scene was horrific! The roof, doors, heating, and windows were damaged. Everything was looted... Only a third of the collection remained," says Ms. Alisa. Among the publications that survived their time under occupation, we recognize some of our own. These books were lucky. Remnants of Russian shells serve as flowerpot stands in a room next to the library in Mykolaiv region. | Personal archive of K. Yehorushkina


Bonfire

People who have survived occupation often have a different outlook — sad and somewhat faded. Many, especially men, were taken "to the basement." Some neighbors enrolled their children in the occupation school. There is much pain and distrust. The greatest fear people have is the possibility of a repeat of the occupation, so life near the front line feels psychologically safer than in the occupied territories. For these people, the worst is behind them. Several residents of the Snihurivka community share a memory: the occupiers wanted to have a celebration by the river, to roast shashlik. They bought a cow and took books from the library to burn. They got drunk on homemade moonshine and began arguing over which unit was better. A shootout broke out, and "about twenty of their own were killed..." One would like to think that the Ukrainian books and the cow contributed to the destruction of the enemy, but most likely, it was the moonshine that played the main role.

15 minutes

We travel south to the Mykolaiv region, to the village of Lymany. This is where the Southern Bug River flows into the Black Sea, which I haven’t seen in six years. Very close by is the occupied Kinburn Spit. At the library, we are met mainly by elderly people, bundled up in winter clothes despite the lack of frost. Due to the shelling, not only the building was damaged, but also the heating system. The collection of indoor plants was moved to a small room where a heater works. The village head, Natalia Panashiy, shares that out of 120 plants buried under the rubble, only the cacti survived. As a result, people are sharing and collectively restoring their green oasis. Parts of anti-tank shells, which the Russians used to shell the community, serve as flowerpot stands.

"Actually, we’re not planning to stay more than fifteen minutes," says one of the bundled-up grandmothers reproachfully. Our PEN team was delayed at a meeting with the previous community, so we are late for the one in Lymany. Every minute here is a risk to life, so the delay feels much more significant. We quickly tell them about the books we’ve brought as gifts, listen to the people, and need to disperse. I sign my books for the library outside. Nearby is a small stage, its roof riddled with holes from shelling, the canvas for the projector similarly torn up. The sounds of distant explosions are heard. A black dog limps by. On the shot-through flagpole, the Ukrainian flag waves.

We head northeast of Mykolaiv region to the village of Pervomaiske. On one side, there's a ruined sports hall; on the other, the library building is almost intact. Nearby, there's a school that had been renovated before the invasion, with colorful walls and interactive boards. The Russians dropped an aerial bomb on it, so it is now beyond repair. In this village, children now only study online, and the surviving library has become one of the few places for socialization and cultural events.

At the entrance, a generator hums because there are power shortages here. Christmas music and children's laughter can be heard. The windows have been recently replaced, still with the manufacturer's stickers on them. The curtains and walls are riddled with holes from shelling. The ceiling in the back room leaks, so the bookshelves are covered with plastic. In a dry corner, there's a photo zone: a Christmas tree made of books, a cozy chair, and a blanket. Children—from toddlers to high schoolers (some in red aprons and chef hats, others in everyday clothes)—are happily making gingerbread cookies. My colleagues and I from PEN join the group.