At Kharkiv’s Gwara Media, young reporters document Russian attacks while navigating danger, discrimination and an uncertain financial future.

The city of Kharkiv lies 19 miles from Russia’s western border. Nestled within this historic and cultural urban center is a small news outlet that symbolizes so much of what Vladimir Putin intends to erase: the truthful recounting of Russian war crimes and the lived experiences of everyday Ukrainians. The journalists of Gwara Media are determined not to let that happen.

As world leaders gather for the U.N. General Assembly, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is in New York seeking support against Russia’s attacks. In Kharkiv, Gwara’s journalists are documenting the war as they contend with danger, discrimination and dwindling funds.

This is the story of how a small, award-winning independent media platform supports the diverse identities of their reporters who, in the words of Gwara’s mission statement, “ask uncommon questions, and listen to voices of the unheard.” Interviews with three of Gwara’s journalists reveal how the pursuit of this mission has affected the journalists’ own lives. What they have to say resonates far beyond Ukraine’s borders.

“I Don’t Exist”

Yana Sliemzina is chief editor at Gwara. Sliemzina lives with the fear of Russian attacks while reporting on their consequences.

Sliemzina also understands the risks of exposing corruption and prejudice in Ukrainian society today. Being queer and nonbinary adds another dimension to Sliemzina’s life in a country under attack.

“I’m nonbinary. I don’t exist in Ukrainian legislation. There is no such thing,” says Sliemzina. “I have a passport that says woman. Our language is gendered. Most politicians and military use female words that I don’t want them to use. I just don’t exist in their eyes.

“My friends in the army are also queer. If a queer person is in the army, they are just strangers. If they die, they are strangers; their real identity is not known. The new civil code that is being formulated will make things worse for so many people.”

Ukraine itself, while having made significant changes in the legal status and cultural acceptance of LGBTQ+ people since its independence from Russia, still has a long way to go. Outright International reports that progress has stalled after the Russian invasion in 2022, delaying the passage of a civil partnership and inclusive hate crime laws indefinitely.

Ukraine’s parliament approved a draft new Civil Code in its first reading in April; it is still being revised ahead of a second vote. Ukrainian LGBTQ+ advocates warn that its current provisions would exclude same-sex partners from the definition of family and could invalidate a marriage if one spouse legally changes gender. The proposed limits come after Ukraine’s Supreme Court upheld a ruling recognizing one same-sex couple as a family.

Sliemzina and other LGBTQ+ journalists fight two simultaneous battles: They risk their lives through the hellfire of Russian assaults and also face the psychological erasure of their own identities in their native land. The stress they carry is enormous, and the challenges of respect and full acceptance also holds true for Sliemzina’s female colleagues at Gwara.

Sliemzina added, “Most of my colleagues are women. We go to front line areas and dangerous places. I can’t tell you how demeaning it is to explain to people what you are doing. In the media industry, with older male colleagues, they often don’t say hi to women from my team.”

“We Are Young Freaks”

Polina Kulish is one of those colleagues, a frontline journalist and multimedia editor at Gwara.

“We are a very young staff; the average age is 27,” she says. “All our teams are women. Other local Kharkiv media have mostly older male journalists who become friendly with the mayor and other officials. We do not do that. After that, those journalists are reluctant to criticize the local government.

“That is the vibe of the old journalist school. In their eyes, we are young freaks; they don’t see us. At Gwara, I feel a strong community with our media team. I love working with our new staff, teaching them basic journalistic standards and ethics. That is my moral compass.

Those standards Kulish mentions are embedded in Gwara’s culture. The humanity, professionalism and accuracy of their reporting are remarkable features for a staff of only 22 people. Quality is evident in the articles Kulish and her colleagues write, as well as the Gwara video documentaries her team produces.

She attributes part of her success to Gwara’s culture. “I really like working with young people at Gwara because they do not have to endure this toxic atmosphere where you go to the editors and they just criticize you and make you feel like a loser. I often hear from colleagues on other media platforms who have to work in that kind of toxic atmosphere. I am thankful I do not have to be around people with outdated attitudes toward younger women.”

Despite Gwara’s supportive workplace environment, journalists remain in danger of encountering deadly violence. Since the Russian invasion, Women Press Freedom reported, “Russian forces have continuously targeted journalists reporting in Ukraine, resulting in significant injuries and trauma. Since 2022, at least 18 (female) journalists have been directly affected by missile strikes, drone attacks, and shelling.”

In addition, at least 10 female journalists have been killed, either by targeted missile strikes or through outright assassinations.

Women and LGBTQ+ journalists face online prejudice and violence. A UNESCO funded survey found that “81 percent of women journalists have experienced some form of online violence.” Furthermore, gendered disinformation remains a pervasive problem for women and LGBTQ+ journalists. A study by Women in the Media warned that Russian and Ukrainian far-right propaganda have churned out relentless online gendered violence, such as doxing, trolling, cyberstalking and bullying.

“I’ve Changed Emotionally”

Given the risks investigative journalists like Sliemzina and Kulish have faced, it remains a question why anyone would become a reporter.

Arina Rybalchenko—who at 21 years old is the youngest journalist at Gwara—says, “I’ve been here more than a year. Before the full-scale invasion, I wanted to do lifestyle journalism, but now everything has changed. I want to share information that counters the disinformation that has spread a lot, especially among young people.”

The disinformation she refers to is the numerous social media outlets that Russian propaganda uses to obscure, diminish or undermine what platforms such as Gwara investigate in their war coverage. Vox Ukraine finds that “fake news” is spread through social media outlets, such as TikTok, Facebook and Instagram.

As for the stress and dangers of being a young, female journalist in her early twenties in Ukraine, Ariana said,

“I feel supported at Gwara, 100 percent. I feel like I can speak up about anything. It is not a conservative place where I have to listen to an authoritarian boss. Also, if I know I am in trouble or having psychological problems I can always ask for help.

“I would say this experience at Gwara has made me stronger, more confident, more serious and more determined. When I first started, I often felt insecure because of my age and inexperience. Now the only thing that matters to me is doing my job well.”

Gwara’s sense of community, its mission and perhaps, Sliemzina’s youth, have sustained her in the work she does. She manages to slough off the sexist remarks of officials who refer to her as “baby or call [her] a condescending name.”

But Rybalchenko admits there is an emotional toll she pays for being a reporter.

At the same time, I’ve changed emotionally. I used to be much more sensitive, but unfortunately, living through daily missile and drone attacks, talking to people who have lost everything and constantly reporting on tragic events has made me more emotionally reserved and composed. The deaths of civilians no longer shock me the way they once did. That realization is difficult to bear.

Across Ukraine, several non-profit organizations have begun addressing the emotional costs that female journalists endure in their work. The National Union of Journalists of Ukraine has created six Solidarity Centers throughout the country that offer psychological and medical care for reporters. The Take Care of Your Health project, sponsored by the European Centre for Press and Media Freedom, also focuses on the mental and physical health of women journalists working in frontline zones. Yet these and other organizations offering similar support are struggling with serious funding issues.

“Let’s Get Delusional”

Gwara is not immune from funding issues. As an NGO, Gwara relies on grants, donors and crowdfunding to support its work. The Pulitzer Center notes that the Trump administration has frozen all foreign aid contracts through USAID, which sustains nine out of ten media outlets in Ukraine, including Gwara.

How do Sliemzina, Kulish and Rybalchenko deal with this challenge on top of all the others they face? Sliemzina sighed and said,

It is hard to get funding. It’s a huge mess. So the answer is I pretend. Let’s get delusional and just imagine that things will not be as bad as I think they will be. On that, I drive forward.

Later in our interview, Sliemzina added,

This job is so bizarre. I cannot describe to you how strange it is. Rybalchenko and I were in the beach during three days of Russian attacks. There were signs warning about unexploded ordinance, but we swam anyhow. It was fun, and we were coming back with a volleyball in my tote bag. This was in the middle of a Russian attack on the city center and the Kharkiv Art Museum. We asked ourselves, who are we? It’s bizarre.

What is this life? You tell me.

Indeed, what does the international community tell Sliemzina and other female and LGBTQ+ journalists in Ukraine? At this political moment, it is financial aid that speaks loudest so that their work can keep alive desperately needed truth-telling.

If you are interested in making a contribution to help support the journalists of Gwara, head here.

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