Few days before she was killed, Hospitaller Iryna Tsybukh wrote to friend: "I am becoming ’Minute of Silence’ zealot"
On 30 June, ChekaFest, dedicated to the fallen combat medic, will be held in Lviv’s Shevchenkivskyi Hai for the second time. In addition to performances by the bands Iryna listened to during her lifetime, the festival will also feature educational programmes, as she believed it was important to convey to Ukrainians the significance of history and the need for continuous learning. This festival is not only about Iryna. She researched and developed the topic of commemorating those who have fallen in the Russo-Ukrainian war. So ChekaFest is a tribute to all those who gave their lives for Ukraine, but it is also a kind of bright sorrow.
Everyone who speaks about Iryna inevitably uses the word "love", because she radiated it, and because she herself was about love: love for her country, for children, for her family. To protect her loved ones, in 2023, during a rotation in the Serebrianskyi Forest, she wrote a will with specific instructions for the farewell ceremony, offering advice on how her mother, father and brother should live without her, what to sing when remembering her, and where to find the strength to keep going.
Ira was born on 1 June and was killed on 29 May, two days before her 26th birthday. It was around these dates that her friends and family decided to hold ChekaFest. Last year, it brought together thousands of people. This year, the programme promises to be rich and profound. Ahead of the festival, we spoke with Iryna’s family, her friends and her comrades-in-arms. During these conversations, I became convinced once again that Iryna’s personality was so multifaceted and expansive that no article could fully convey her scale. Ukraine has lost one of its finest daughters, someone who could have influenced the country’s development.
Iryna’s friend, Iryna Saievych: "People like that don’t die! What will?"
- The story of our friendship began in our youth. I was 19 and Iryna was 17 when we met. At the time, she was perhaps the youngest volunteer in Lviv. At least, I didn’t know anyone younger than her. And yet she was constantly travelling to the front line. There, she would say she was 18. On one of those trips, she was given a grenade pin, which she wore all the time – around her neck or on her wrist. Before that, she’d been given the call sign of some Greek goddess, but after receiving this gift, it became quite natural to call her Cheka. From then on, she herself began bringing grenade pins as gifts for her friends. That is why we named the festival after Iryna’s call sign – ChekaFest. This year it will take place on 30 May, between two important dates – the day of Iryna’s death and her birthday. It was important to her friends and family that on her birthday, her friends would gather around her. And also… In the will that Iryna left behind, she wrote that, as a farewell, Ukrainian songs should be sung at her grave and a bonfire lit. That is what happened on the day of the funeral. That is what happened last year at the festival. Iryna’s younger brother, Yurko, is the driving force behind the festival. Last year, he was defending his thesis whilst organising the festival. It wasn’t easy, but he and others close to Iryna decided to organise it again this year, thereby expanding the community of those for whom Iryna was dear.
One aspect of the festival is music. Maryna Krut, Iryna’s friend, will be there. There will be other bands that were important to her. Lots of great music. This year’s educational programme will explore the theme of identity. As last year, there will be areas dedicated to remembrance. Because the main idea of the festival is remembrance.
It was Iryna who actively promoted and established the tradition of a minute’s silence at 9 am across the country. She invited representatives of major businesses to a lecture on 9 May 2024 so that they could introduce this tradition in their companies. And the fact that Lviv, Ivano-Frankivsk, Vinnytsia, Chernivtsi, Kyiv and other cities now come to a standstill at 9.00 am is largely down to Iryna.
Her desire to honour the fallen emerged a very long time ago. Several years before the full-scale invasion, she began approaching the issue more systematically. Ira enrolled in a master’s programme in public administration precisely to look for ways to turn it into actual policy. Why do we not have such a national tradition? Ira often said it was because of the Soviet Union, which erected monuments to unknown soldiers everywhere, erasing names and faces, making them seem disconnected from the people living nearby. They were faceless. It was important to her that we know the names, stories and faces of our heroes, know their children and support their families. Iryna discussed this with lecturers at the School of Economics and spent a great deal of time talking with Anton Liahusha. Eventually, those reflections evolved into the idea of spreading the minute of silence. That is why Iryna communicated with businesses, major companies and civil society organisations, explaining why they should incorporate the minute of silence into their daily routines and how to do it properly. Shortly before her death, Ira was supposed to return from another rotation. She already had a meeting scheduled with the Ministry of Economy to pursue this work with businesses in a more systematic way. Around that time, Ira wrote to me: "I am becoming a ‘Minute of Silence’ zealot." Now, during the minute of silence, we remember Ira as well...
While still in high school, Iryna knew for certain that she wanted to become a journalist. In fact, that is where the two Irynas met — in the newsroom of a Lviv television channel.
"Ira was a ray of stability and kindness. She carried so much love and warmth within her. Nothing felt frightening when you were with her. She guided me through all the key events of my life. And when she, already working for Suspilne, suggested going to Sievierodonetsk to reform the local newsroom, I agreed: I broke up with my boyfriend, quit my job and followed her there... Later, we moved to Kyiv together. Ira led the way. When she was gone, all of us became orphaned, even those who were much older than her. She was an authority figure, almost parental."
Everyone I spoke to, I asked the same question: where did Ira, a Galician woman and descendant of a family that included UPA fighters, get such love for Donbas? Why was she drawn there? Iryna made her first documentary film, "Distance", about the children of Donetsk Oblast. In fact, she presented it in Sievierodonetsk shortly before the full-scale invasion. On 24 February, the screening was supposed to take place in Kyiv...
- "Ira was very straightforward. Local Donetsk television was not entirely prepared for that directness. A local host would come out after broadcasts, while Ira had been feeding him sharp questions through his earpiece during the live programme — questions he did not dare ask the guests because he feared Iryna’s criticism. He even coined the term ‘Tsybuling’, meaning bullying, but derived from Tsybukh... But over time, we all became close friends and often laughed about this unusual word. Despite her bluntness, Ira made people fall in love with her. She created many projects for UA: Donbas. For ‘12 Myths About Donbas’, she involved the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory. She spoke about how Ukrainian Donetsk and Luhansk regions truly were, explaining that these regions in fact had a long history and had once been Cossack winter settlements. At Iryna’s initiative, actors from the Sievierodonetsk theatre read poems written by Ukrainian soldiers. And even during the recording sessions, she projected the energy of the main person in the room, teaching the actors how to truly act. ‘That is the intonation you need,’ she would insist. It turned out fantastic. And everyone listened to her. Because from the very first moments, she became an authority wherever she went.
"It was she who suggested: ‘Let’s teach media literacy to children across Ukraine.’ And we travelled everywhere there were clubs or school television studios. She focused on regions close to the front. During those meetings, she deeply cared about the children’s stories, because for many of them, in the conditions they lived in, being pro-Ukrainian was very difficult. Teachers with Soviet mindsets, Russian television channels still reaching those territories, imposing everything Russian. But despite all that, the children still felt Ukrainian. Ira saw enormous potential precisely in children."
At the age of 18, Ira, together with volunteer Hennadii Dubrov, a friend known as Bizon (he is in the photo with the two Irynas), who had been through the Maidan and was a cyborg defender of Donetsk Airport, travelled to schools to talk about the Revolution of Dignity. She asked pupils about common myths, whether they had heard that oranges at the Maidan had been injected with drugs, and explained why this was not true. Ira had seen the Maidan with her own eyes. Her uncle was among the protesters, and she would come to visit him there. Some teachers, Iryna recalled, were very sceptical of her stories. But she did not stop. She kept travelling and talking. Because she wanted to change people through different methods. And she succeeded. Iryna’s family is now very close to Sonia, whose school Ira visited with lectures. Largely thanks to Ira, Sonia decided to become a servicewoman and is now undergoing training.
After the first attacks on 24 February, I wrote to Ira: "How are you?" She was in the east. She replied: "I’m looking for a way to get to Kyiv so I can join the Hospitallers." It turned out that, without publicising it, she had been undergoing training and preparing. She had her "ticket" to the Hospitallers, and she was not going to exchange it for anything else.
I came to see her at the base two weeks later. I was afraid to stay in Kyiv on my own. That was when I saw a different person. Before that, she had been Ira the friend, the one we laughed with, dreamed with, fooled around with; now I saw an adult woman putting together first-aid kits until three in the morning because she had to leave for duty in the morning...
Ira did not avoid the question of being killed or of death, but discussed it with many friends as a practical matter that had to be planned in advance.
"In her messages, Ira kept writing to me: ‘We nearly died today,’ ‘I don’t know whether I’ll survive this rotation.’ She told me how, during the fighting in Kyiv Oblast, under heavy shelling, she lay in the grass and said goodbye to everyone. But neither I nor many of her other friends believed she could be killed. People like that don’t die! It is simply impossible. What will? She would live to see the end of the war and change the country. Even though she served in areas where losses were enormous: the Serebrianskyi Forest, Marinka, Krynky. She went behind enemy lines with the guys.
"When Ira was killed, Sonia arrived the day before the farewell ceremony and stayed at my place overnight. We sat on the balcony for a long time, remembering Ira and joking about her a lot. It was a kind of psychological defence mechanism. We joked that she had gone to heaven, and there were lots of her admirers there, because people loved her terribly wherever she went; wherever she ended up, someone was guaranteed to fall in love with her right away. We joked then: ‘There must be a battle in heaven for Ira’s heart.’ And at that moment, lightning appeared in the sky. I understand that it was a coincidence, but it felt as if Ira was somewhere here, in this space, and could hear us."
I could not pull myself together for a long time after losing her. Before, she used to pull me out of difficult situations, somehow doing it in a way that lifted me to another level. And then I found myself without her... At one particularly difficult stage in my life, I had to call Iryna’s mother. I was sobbing uncontrollably. And her mother told me: "We need to learn to grow an inner Ira. Otherwise, we won’t make it..." And I made an important decision: now I live with a sense of an inner Ira. When things are hard, I have a dialogue with her, I write to her on Telegram. When you lose someone so close... At the funeral, I imagined lying down next to her and being covered with earth as well. It made it easier. For a while, I was with her in that earth. Over time, I began to dig myself out little by little... If it is this hard for me, I cannot imagine what it is like for her family. Their grief cannot be compared with anyone else’s.
Iryna’s friend, musician Maryna Krut: "People come to the festival because they want to learn about Ira. It is about memory, but not only about Iryna; it is about everyone who is no longer beside us"
- "We were fairly close friends. Of course, when Ira was gone, I found this loss very hard to bear and understood that there would be no simple way to come to terms with her death. I wanted to do something as a sign of love for her. Something grand and large-scale. Something that would keep Ira’s memory alive. For me, as a musician, the most natural thing was to create music. But I decided to go a little further: every year, during Iryna’s days, from 29 May, the day she was killed, to 1 June, her birthday, to hold a festival in her honour. Last year, it took place for the first time. This year, it is to be held between her birthday and the day she was killed, on 30 May.
"When we talk about music at this festival, my priority was to invite the artists she listened to on the road and in life. If she saw these artists playing at her festival, she would be happy.
"Long before her death, Ira wrote a will. She sent it to me and to one more friend of hers. In addition to asking for ten songs to be performed during the funeral, she also asked for a bonfire to be lit, and we did that at Marsove Pole. I remember that moment well: we lit the bonfire and wanted to play music, but the speaker died. So we started singing ourselves. I pulled the singers present out of the crowd. And we all sang together for about four hours. That was when the band Shepit was formed; it is opening our festival this year. We decided to invite one young name every year. In this way, we give newcomers a good platform to present themselves to the public.
"People come to the festival to learn about Ira. It is a festival of memory, but first and foremost it is about her and about everyone who is no longer beside us. ChekaFest makes it possible to live through different emotions.
"The bands performing this year, DakhaBrakha, Pyrih i Batih with the full line-up, and ShchukaRyba, will definitely perform those ten songs from Iryna’s will. We are continuing this tradition. We sing them abroad and present them specifically as Iryna Cheka’s list.
"Ira talked a lot about death. But every time she did, it was as if death heard her and moved away from her. During her final rotation, we did not talk about it, and Ira was gone. I noticed this painful symbolism...
"Iryna wrote the will during her rotation in the Serebrianskyi Forest. She wrote from there: ‘It’s so intense that I don’t know whether we’ll make it out of here’..."
Maryna’s acquaintance with Iryna began with a birthday greeting.
"A mutual acquaintance asked me to congratulate Ira on her birthday. I recorded a video. Later, we met in person, and I promised: ‘I’ll come to you during your rotation. I want to see how you work, how you live, and sing some songs.’ We met in Donetsk Oblast: Kramatorsk, Druzhkivka.
"I did not know Iryna before the full-scale war; that is just how it happened. But once we became friends, I saw two sides to her. One was a very adult, incredibly wise leader with high intelligence and emotional intelligence, sensitive and perceptive. All the best epithets that can be applied to a leader were inherent in Ira. The other side was Ira, who was only 25. Still rebellious, impulsive, rather sharp, gaining experience. There was a striking contrast between her age and what she was doing."
Iryna’s friend Tetiana Pylypets: "People come to the festival because they want to learn about Ira. It is about memory, but not only about Iryna; it is about everyone who is no longer beside us"
- Only recently, when Iryna’s first teacher was putting together a remembrance programme, we realised that it was she who had brought her Year 3 class to the children’s library on Okunevskogo Street for a form period. That’s when I registered Irina as a library member. In Year 5, she began to actively involve us in church life, as we’re neighbours too, living close by. Ira performed at church. She was the one who brought me into this congregation. We organised many events in which she took part, often reading poems. At around 12 years old, she set up the ‘Po-tyhenku’ group at the church and began organising many activities herself.
When she was 14, after her uncle—my mum’s brother—went to the front, I did my first bit of volunteering. Iryna told me that her uncle was in Luhansk Oblast, at the 27th checkpoint. And he’s an avid reader. When Iryna asked what he needed, he replied: "We’ve got everything. I need an e-reader." We raised some money and sent him an e-reader so he could read during his downtime. Thanks to Iryna, I learnt what a thermal imager is. We bought one straight away and sent it to her uncle in August or September. That’s when we started making ‘forest friends’ – we still do it today.
Ira gathered young people at the library where I worked. Sometimes we’d set up tables for 200–300 people! Iryna’s mum is a master of Easter egg painting. Everyone who took part in the workshop painted an Easter egg for themselves and for a soldier. We packed it all up and took it to the front line. At the same time, Ira was helping me organise the ‘Kalmius’ festival. She was already in Year 10 when she brought me a note saying her mum was letting her go to the festival. That’s how she ended up in Donbas for the first time. We stayed overnight with a friend, sleeping on the sofa with her. She tossed and turned terribly all night and eventually confessed that she’d forged the note. Back then, from Lviv, it seemed as though there was a war in everyone’s backyard in Donbas. Even though we were 80 kilometres from the front line.
During those festivals, Ira became friends with our active circle. Maksym Potapchuk (in the photo – standing in the centre), who is now an officer in the 25th Sicheslav Brigade, was a Plast leader. It was he who encouraged Ira to focus on the children of Donetsk Oblast. Even whilst preparing to apply for a journalism degree, she was writing a programme on how to talk to schoolchildren and debunk fake news. That’s how she began to put this idea into practice; she travelled there on her own – it was her own separate educational programme.
Even after Iryna had moved to Kyiv to work and study, we would always meet up with her on our way to the festival; she was always making reports, was involved in our lives and supported our initiatives. After her murder by the Russians, the children she had once visited to give lectures to, and with whom she had spoken, consciously chose the path of soldiers; some lived with her parents whilst looking for a place to stay, as many of the towns and villages where Iryna had visited schools were under occupation. The fact that these children turned out to be conscious, ready to defend the country, is a direct result of Iryna’s work, even though she was still a child herself when she travelled with educational programmes; she wasn’t even twenty...
Last year, ahead of the anniversary, we received an invitation from ‘Suspilne’ to watch a film that Iryna had made but hadn’t had time to present widely. I was struck by just how eloquent it was. Of course, I was moved at the end of the film by her thanks to Maxim and me for helping her fall in love with the Donetsk region… It was perhaps the first time I cried so hard that I couldn’t calm down for a long time.
When Ira sent me her will, it devastated me. She asked me to pass it on to her brother, her mum and her dad. The will contains words telling us that we must take action. It was those words that shook me to the core. When I read them, it was as if Ira herself had snapped me out of it, as if I’d walked straight into a glass door.
Ira believed very strongly in libraries and helped with strategic changes. She used to say: to reform, you first have to make yourself visible. And she did a great deal to make that happen.
Tetiana is twice as old as Iryna, but they were close friends. Now Tetiana is just as close to Iryna’s mum and her grandmother…
- All the connections Ira left behind are very much alive. We talk endlessly with Oksana about Irina. And her cousin did an internship with us – she’s studying printing. All the relationships continue.
In Ivanichuk’s library on Rynok Square in Lviv, every visitor is greeted by a photo of Iryna, and if you follow the link next to the portrait, you can access her recommendations for books and podcasts.
This is the list of a 23-year-old girl. Because it includes Snyder, Hrytsak, and Viatrovych. It is a reading list for those ready to work for this country. And in her childhood, Iryna’s favourite book was *The Bullfighters of Vasukivka*. Upon learning this, the schoolchildren brought us a beautiful edition of *The Bullfighters* from the ‘A-BA-BA-HA-LA-MA-HA’ publishing house, along with a letter for those who would borrow the book. It reads: ‘If you love books like this, then nothing will stop you on your path.’
As a teenager, Ira loved detective stories and adventure books. She became a fan of Zhadan, read his works avidly and was indignant that everyone saw him as a lyric poet, for she admired his prose and recommended it to everyone. She loved Izdryk’s poetry. She loved both listening to and reading Viatrovych, and never missed his open lectures. She was focused on studying the history of Ukraine and on contemporary authors who write in a modern style. She became very fascinated by the traditions of the people of Kyiv and read ethnographic books on embroidery.
From the perspective of her physical loss, it seems to me that Iryna had a healthy sense of fatalism – which is why she tried to get more done, to connect people with one another, because we all interact now. On the ninth day after Iryna’s death, we went out at nine in the morning to several locations. We had placards; we called on people to stop and pay their respects to the deceased. We explained that this was a healthy initiative by a healthy person. The police helped us, blocking off the roads. This morning I was walking and there wasn’t a single car, person or sparrow that didn’t stop. The initiative she started is spreading. And when I see cities coming to a standstill, I realise that it was Irinka alone who made this happen.
It’s not about standing still and keeping silent, because many of us don’t have enough time to list the names of all those who have died, whom we would like to honour, whose deeds we know, but in these 60 seconds we can think about what we can do today to make things worse for the Russians. Iryna also imbued the minute’s silence with this meaning. By remembering, you plan actions to make things worse for the Russians. Every day I am convinced: how much of Ukraine can be seen through Iryna!
Iryna’s younger brother Yurko: "When Iryna came home after the de-occupation of the Kyiv region, we all begged her not to go back there."
Yura is six years younger than Iryna.
- Ira has always been a mentor to me. I could really feel her support and guidance; that’s just who she is – helping, advising, guiding. She sowed seeds – thoughts, doubts. And they sprouted. Ira guided us.
It’s clear that Ira had the privilege of being the older sister. I was there to ‘fetch and carry’. And I was a good boy. Whatever was asked of me, I did. And she took advantage of that, which used to get on my nerves as a child. But then the roles reversed. She herself always helped me.
Ira’s brother repeated the phrase ‘a strong figure’ several times when speaking of his sister. And he came to realise this while she was still alive. And everyone who knew Irina says the same.
- In 2020, Ira invited me to train with the ‘Hospitaliers’. It was a comprehensive course where you’re given the basics of combat military medicine. It was there that she truly gained a deep grounding in combat medicine. It was at the "Hospitaliers" that she gained a better understanding of what needed to be done to save lives. She said she’d acquired the fundamentals at that training course. And I can confirm that.
From my training cohort, there was one person who went straight onto their first rotation. But that was in the autumn of 2020, and the rotation went smoothly, with no casualties. At that time, Ira was focusing on her studies at the Kyiv School of Economics. In early 2022, when talk of an offensive was rife, I think she had a clear understanding of her plan; she was in contact with the ‘Hospitaliers’, who in turn were actively preparing for a large-scale war. That is precisely why, on 24 February, Ira arrived from Donetsk Oblast after attending a film screening and went straight to the base.
Ira was very close to her family: her mum and dad, her grandmother, and, of course, her brother. But her relationship with each family member was different.
- Ira shared more with me than with her mum, because she didn’t want to upset her. She told me a lot. In the first months of the full-scale war, she had the feeling that it would all be over very soon, that the country wouldn’t hold out. She saw government departments burning documents in the centre of Kyiv. She evacuated the wounded from the ‘Sviatoshyn’ metro station. And everything she saw back then felt to her like the end of everything. The Russians were almost in Kyiv! Despite that sense of the end, Ira carried out her work clearly and consistently, evacuating many civilians.
I remember well how Ira came home for the first time after the full-scale war began – two or three months had passed since it started, following the de-occupation of the Kyiv region. Everyone begged her not to go back there. But her stance was clear and unambiguous. She knew what she was doing.
Ira had many difficult rotations. She told how it took over an hour to get a wounded person to their vehicle. It was hard to wait; every minute counted in saving a life.
Iryna and her mum developed their own ritual. They messaged each other every day – in the morning and in the evening. Iryna didn’t need to write much: "Kisses. Everything’s fine." We didn’t just check in with each other; we talked a lot. She asked me to tell her about my life, and I, comparing what was happening to me with her experiences, felt it was somehow strange to talk about volunteering in Lviv. Over time, that evened out. I realised that we had different experiences, and that she was actually really missing stories about everyday life. So we talked about everything. My phone is full of voice messages.
We agreed straight away: if anything happened, they’d ring me; my number was listed in Iryna’s documents. I still get a jolt whenever an unknown number rings. I really don’t like talking on the phone… That evening, Yana Zinkevych, the head of the ‘Hospitaliers’, rang me…
The importance of a minute’s silence is, of course, extremely important to Irina’s brother.
- Formally, there had already been a minute’s silence, but in reality, hardly anyone observed it. Ira believed that ritualising remembrance was very, very important. It’s a moment of unity when the whole country stops and everyone has someone to remember. But at the same time, it is a collective story. I am in favour of this being as flexible a ritual as possible – if someone forgot, didn’t hear that it was nine o’clock, or was still asleep at that time, it’s no big deal. At any time of day, you can pause and remember the fallen. But at 9 o’clock in the morning, we are all united. We are reliving the experience of war. Most people have someone to remember. That is how Ira explained why it is important to observe the minute’s silence. That is why Ira and the girls began to introduce other practices of remembrance. The plan was ambitious. Ira didn’t manage to implement everything. The NGO ‘Vshanui’, which she founded, continues this work. And in Lviv, the city authorities have joined in. A minute’s silence is announced over the public address system. And the city comes to a standstill. It’s a fantastic result!
Yurko – one of the organisers of ChekaFest.
- The festival’s story is a collaborative one. There’s a team of enthusiasts, people driven by a shared vision. Most of the co-organisers do everything on a voluntary basis. It was a collective decision to support Marina Krut’s idea of holding an annual music and education festival, because education was very important to Iryna. The musical part of the festival is about culture. The first year was extremely difficult. But we knew we would hold the festival in the second year too. Now I know we will hold it in the third year as well. And this is also partly about a key issue in honouring Iryna – the culture of remembrance. This festival is an example of the formation of a new, people-centred culture of remembrance. Now it is no longer just about Iryna, but about all the fallen soldiers. The further we move from the first anniversary, when everything was still very painful, the more the festival will, over the years, take on a key focus – the memory of the fallen soldiers. Therefore, with this overarching goal in mind – and I am already aware of this – we certainly do not want to stop. ChekaFest is an important mission. I would also like to mention that this festival is currently building a community of people who share common values and have lived through the experiences of war; this is also a crucial point for fostering mutual understanding.
And also… I don’t believe in the afterlife or in signs. That’s my rational side speaking. But there’s still an emotional side to me that I can’t help but feel. There are many moments when you could say that Ira contributed to my efforts. During the first festival, a downpour was forecast. And we didn’t have a plan B for that scenario. But the rain gave our venue a wide berth.
I asked Yurko if he listens back to his sister’s voice messages.
- I do go back and watch some of the video footage: Iryna’s interviews, her podcasts. I keep coming back to them. I know that many of her friends listen to the voice messages again and carry on messaging Iryna, but I haven’t gone through our messages, I haven’t looked at them. I’m not ready for that yet…
Iryna’s comrade-in-arms Taras, call sign Liutyi: "Ira heard what others didn’t pay attention to"
- In the ‘Hospitaliers’, I was initially the commander of the 38th crew. I met Iryna twice – the first time was when I was assigned to the crew in April 2022. I was due to leave for my first rotation when Yana Zinkevych arrived. Ira was just putting together a crew. She noticed me because I’m a medic by training, a driver, and I can shoot too… But Yana said: ‘He’s strong, and you’ve got strong crew members. He’ll have his own crew." And Ira took the German. I’d already been on two long rotations when Ira wrote: "Hi. We’re short a surgeon; could you join us for two weeks while I look for a replacement?" I agreed. That’s how the first two weeks of our two years together began. At that point, Iryna’s 5th crew was doing two-week rotations; only later did they start doing monthly rotations and even six- or seven-week ones.
I went to join them, and we got to know the crew. At first, they didn’t really trust me, but at the end of the rotation, Ira handed me a cheque. It was the ultimate sign of trust. And I stayed with that crew for two years. Mind you, before the second rotation I injured my leg and was undergoing treatment when Ira called me and asked if I’d join them again. I packed my things and went to them, even though I hadn’t fully recovered…
Many people asked me how I, as the senior crew member, had joined a crew where I was now being managed by someone else—and a woman at that. But I had no complaints whatsoever about Ira’s working methods. Besides, we’re the same age, and we discovered we had mutual acquaintances: her classmate, for example, turned out to be my coursemate. Ira had her own approach to working with people. Every evening she held meetings; we discussed what we’d done wrong, where we could improve, and how to get things done more quickly. Everyone had their own mini-area of responsibility. And this had a great impact on the team’s internal atmosphere and our communication with the units we visited. Because everywhere we went, we heard people say: "If the 5th crew is working nearby, we know we won’t die."
I’m a medic by profession, I worked in A&E, and I have experience in deciding what to do and how to do it in a matter of seconds. With gunshot wounds, when you can’t get an MRI and your only diagnostic tools are your medical skills and intuition, you realise one thing: you have no right to lose a person. And somehow it turned out that, fortunately, we didn’t lose a single person in our care. No matter how critical the injuries were—whether to the head or the chest, or from severe bleeding— but thanks to our speed and ability to provide care, the training we constantly organised, and the fact that we were constantly improving our skills—working on the fine motor skills of our hands so that we knew exactly where everything was, where to find the right instrument without looking or thinking about it—we managed to save the wounded. It got to the point where we could insert intravenous lines on the move, even though the vehicle was travelling off-road. Our patients were kept warm – we administered only warmed infusions. We had a small fridge converted into a heater. We might have uncharged phones, but the heater had to be working without fail.
At the triage point, whilst I was attending to the wounded with the medics, the driver would clean the vehicle, and Ira or a paramedic would plug into the mains to charge a large power bank. These were our mandatory rules of conduct. We always had the means to wash the vehicle thoroughly, so that not a single bloodstain remained and so that our next patient wouldn’t have even the slightest chance of catching anything whilst we were treating them.
I knew that Ira had written a will and given it to Maryna Krut. I took a negative view of that. ‘You have to live,’ I told Ira, ‘so many people know you! You know, there’s a person, and then there’s a person-idea. And the idea must live on. It’s like when Che was killed—they killed the body, but the idea lived on. Roughly speaking, that was true of Ira too. Because she was a kind of ideologue of the minute’s silence, something the country hadn’t had before. It was she who laid the foundations for remembrance, for the importance of this for future generations. That is a person-idea. You can destroy the body, but not the ideas. Her importance in society and in re-educating people aged 35 and over was incredible. She could reach out to everyone. And in conversation, she always had arguments and counter-arguments.
Even before I met Iryna, there was a situation where my life was hanging by a thread, and I had even said my goodbyes. It was the Bakhmut sector, in Klenove. I went out with the unit as a combat medic; the crew had left me in a safe place. There was a Grad rocket attack. And I was left alone with the wounded man, with no communication, with nothing. A drone was flying overhead, giving coordinates that were being used to drop mines on us. If I’d been on my own, I might have tried to run across the field, but with the wounded man, that was impossible. We had to hold out until morning, when the enemy changed their position and reloaded. We had about 20 minutes, during which we covered a fair distance. Thank God, we made it out; the wounded man is alive. But in that ditch where we were sitting… Debris was falling on our heads. There were dead bodies nearby – the distinctive smell gave it away. The wheat started to burn… I wondered if the fire would spread to the bushes that were sheltering us. It didn’t…
I always knew where I was going… That’s why I cleaned my flat until it was spotless, so that if I were to die, anyone entering my home wouldn’t be able to say I’d left a mess. During rotation, I didn’t shave or trim my beard. When we had our photos taken, I always said it was for a memorial. We all understood where we were and what we’d agreed to. But at the same time, we believed in luck, in our skills, yet we also understood that we might end up in the wrong place at the wrong time. And it happened that we’d carry a wounded man across a minefield… Somehow we’d get through it. We were lucky.
After the first rotation, I wrote down everything I had on me, for my family. And I thought about what I needed to write, how I’d like to be buried, how my family would be treated, what ideas to leave behind so they could carry them on. When I’d written my will and sent it to Iryna, she told me about hers. It was an interesting conversation – with mosquitoes around the house after a tough day, over a couple of glasses of Sprite. It was about an ordinary day, not about death… We spoke openly about the possibility of dying. And what to do to hold on a bit longer, to make society much more aware.
When I went to work at the military hospital, Ira would drop by; we saw each other and talked constantly. The evening before she died, we were messaging each other. In a couple of days, I was due to meet her in Lviv. She was just in the final days of her rotation. And I was at a conference on tactical first aid organised by the Serhiy Prytula Foundation. Ira sent me a photo of herself. A very nice one. We joked about each other. She wrote ‘I love you’, and I replied that we’d meet up tomorrow. That night I was travelling to Lviv. I couldn’t sleep on the train; I wasn’t feeling well. In the morning, as soon as I got off the train, I started calling Ira. It was seven in the morning. She wasn’t answering. I felt even worse, I started getting nervous. I thought her phone was on silent, that she was asleep because she’d been on duty all night. But a colleague called me and told me what had happened. I’d just changed to go into the operating theatre...
You know, Ira picked up on things that others didn’t notice. Once I complained to Ira that I couldn’t perform autodermoplasty because I was missing a certain instrument. She asked what it was called. A few days later, she sent the money to the seller of dermatomes. And they sent me that knife. Every time I see large burn wounds, I think of Ira.
On 24 August, Ira gave each member of our team a vyshyvanka. At that point, some of us didn’t even have one. For us, it’s not about the vyshyvanka itself, but about the level of culture in her mind, her upbringing, her high intellect, her soul...
Ira, like glue, was able to bind together a very large circle of united individuals from the smallest of particles – people who shared common interests and a single understanding of who we are, who identified themselves and respected themselves as Ukrainians, as a nation.
Iryna’s mother, Oksana: "I don’t feel Iryna’s absence. To me, she’s just on a long rotation."
- I don’t think anyone fully understood what lay ahead of us, that a war had begun which would last not just a day or two, and that Iryna would be involved quite seriously, that she would be on the front line. But she didn’t even ask us…
In one conversation, when we were trying to convince her that she could be more useful elsewhere, not on the front line, she said to me: ‘What’s the point of all this if I’m not going to have a country?’ Yes, we tried to persuade her not to go on rotation anymore, but Iryna’s intellect, awareness and patriotism – and these aren’t just empty words, not grand ones, but ones that truly characterise our daughter – demanded that she make difficult decisions. And we simply had to support her as best we could.
During the Kyiv campaign, I realised from Iryna’s posts what was happening and that she was in hell. She always told me that everything was fine. But I found out what was really going on from her social media. One of our first conversations after the full-scale offensive took place when I saw a TV report about Russian ‘chmobiks’. I told Iryna about it, and she said: "Mum, I can see them right in front of me. And they’re not ‘chmobiks’. This is truly the world’s second-strongest army, very well-equipped. They’re highly trained. There might be some there who don’t know what an electric kettle is, but the situation is dire. Drones are flying overhead." Iryna was one of the first to speak this truth openly.
Even when Iryna was at school, she’d already had things published, which is why she tried her hand at journalism. After her first year, she switched to part-time study because she went to Kyiv to work in various media outlets – on projects and at ‘Suspilne’ – to gain skills and experience. I really wanted her to have a student life, but she found it boring.
Why did Iryna fall in love with the Donbas? I don’t know where it came from at all, as it was risky for her life, but she believed she could make a difference. One of her first personal projects was ‘We’ve Switched’ – she filmed short clips of people switching from Russian to Ukrainian. She considered even such small steps to be important. She knew how to choose her words and convince my father and me that this was what had to be done now and that there was no other way. She saw some kind of purpose for herself. Of course, as a mother, I wanted her to be safe, so that I could have peace of mind. But when we thought about her choice, about what she wanted, we took her side, supported her decision, and helped her as best we could. I even wrote to her in our family chat: ‘You know I’m always on your side.’ Of course, we were terribly worried about her at the same time.
In Kyiv, Iryna met Hennadiy Dubrov, call sign Bizon. He was an active participant in the Revolution of Dignity; he left Maidan to fight as a volunteer and saw action at Donetsk Airport. He was an incredibly kind, caring man. He would pick Iryna up from work and cook meals. Hennadiy is from Mykolaiv himself; his mum still lives there. On 10 April 2022, Bizon was killed in Slobozhanshchyna. Iryna took this loss very hard. She was on rotation at the time, so she couldn’t attend the funeral.
As a child, Iryna was an angelic child, well-behaved; we never had any problems with her. It was her first teacher who first told me that my child was not an ordinary child. Now, Olena Serhiivna and I recall those moments, as we have a joint project in the education department on remembrance. She teaches teachers how to talk about Heroes at school. Truthfulness was Iryna’s main trait. And also – when she was at school, she was friends with the boys. Girls in her circle appeared much later and very selectively. Despite her steely character, Iryna was very gentle with those close to her. Probably because, as a child, she felt the warmth of her grandfather, with whom she went to the woods and fishing, and her grandmother, with whom she could do things together in the garden. And, of course, she grew up and was brought up in family traditions and respect.
We had an agreement that our daughter would text me in the morning and in the evening. And she would text me: "Everything’s fine. Kisses." The same in the evening. I would ask: "When will you text?" or "When should I text you?" So when there was no message, I would panic. Of course, Iryna might have fallen asleep after a tough shift and not managed to text me on time. Then, after she explained, I’d reply: "God be with you. Kisses."
My daughter didn’t give any details about her service. But sometimes she’d share that she’d been transporting a wounded man, to whom she’d sung riflemen’s songs to keep him conscious. Someone told her on the way that his child was about to be born… She’d cover someone up to keep them comfortable. I know that Iryna’s crew made the evacuation vehicle warm – so that the wounded man himself would be comfortable and well looked after. She said that she might not remember the soldier’s face or name, but she remembers every minute detail of what happened to the wounded man and the specifics of his injuries.
I’m in touch with Fagot – a Marine battalion commander. Iryna evacuated him during her first rotation. She saved him twice. There was a battle going on, and she was forbidden from driving as close as possible to the spot where the wounded could be carried out. But she got very close. And that was priceless. She later told me: "Mum, every metre closer to them is a life saved – someone’s brother, son, dad, husband." And because the crew were close to that battle, they managed to rescue the wounded; they carried out 11 people at once!
Not only did Ira treat the wounded, she was also constantly studying medicine. One of the commanders said to her: "I won’t be applying those tourniquets so often. How many can you possibly do?" He came to me last summer and said: "A night battle. I was wounded. I had a weapon in one hand and a tourniquet in the other. I still don’t know how it ended up tightened around my leg." That officer said it was entirely down to the training he’d had with Iryna.
Ira’s greatest fear was losing someone from her team. She said she wouldn’t survive that… She worked on their development. She wrote a post on Instagram about each of them.
Where did Iryna learn those riflemen’s songs? There were UPA fighters in our family, something our daughter knew well. And we always honoured Galician traditions. There was a theatre studio called ‘Potyhenku’ attached to the church, where they ran various social projects. Iryna drew a lot from there too. My daughter always went to Shevchenko Park for the spring celebrations. At first she sang there herself, then she directed the performances.
For me, every way of remembering her is important, because at the beginning, when I was starting to come to terms with it, I was afraid of forgetting her. Perhaps I didn’t get fully involved straight away in all the initiatives that Iryna’s friends had launched. ChekaFest is an event that unites the whole of Ukraine; it carries meanings that were important to Iryna. And they’re important to me too. Why did she love songs? Because they represent the continuity of our history. That’s why there’s a list of songs she wanted people to sing and share, and books she recommended reading.
People can come here to find their own kind. They can bring their children, or grown-up children can bring their even older parents. And spend time in a community united by shared values.
The existence of the will that Iryna wrote struck me deeply. Although she and her crew had looked death in the face—once, twice, three times—and understood that it could happen to them too. My daughter tried more than once to talk to me about it, insisting that we needed to discuss it because we are living through a war. But I didn’t even want to hear about it… And only with time did I realise just how brave a step it was, imbued with love for us, for the family. This is a message for all of us, a guide on how to live as worthy Ukrainians, to understand who you are. She even looked after my father and me in that regard, writing: if journalists pester you – you are not obliged to speak to them; if it’s difficult for you, then you don’t have to. She didn’t force anyone, and she thought everything through so that no one would feel guilty. That’s why she wrote all this. It’s so profound, she went over everything, every detail, about saying goodbye to her, about our future life without her…
For almost two years now, my husband has been dreaming of our daughter, but I haven’t. I see so many signs that I didn’t believe in before. I feel that she is guiding me, helping me. I don’t feel her absence. To me, she’s just on a very long rotation.
I cannot comprehend her death and do not know if I will ever be able to come to terms with it.
Before her death, Iryna was at home for Mother’s Day 2024. We had dinner, and on 9 May she had planned a meeting with representatives of Kyiv’s major businesses to discuss the theme of uniting memories. The memory of a person isn’t in a memorial plaque or a street name. ChekaFest, on the other hand, is a living organism where an exchange of energy takes place. Last year it was fantastic. Everyone who came was happy to see one another. That is where the value lies – in remembrance and communication, in the chance to spend at least a day together. That is why we are looking forward to seeing everyone on 30 May at ChekaFest. It is important to us, to Iryna’s friends, to honour her memory and to carry her ideas forward.
Violetta Kirtoka, Censor.NET
