By Yuriy Butusov, Chief Editor at Censor.NET | 04.01.2014
Translated and edited by Voices of Ukraine
lives. I wrote down her story, very simply and completely devoid of
picturesqueness and narcissism.
“I came to Maidan five times during the revolution. My sister and husband came with me every time when it got dangerous on Maidan. We were always on the front lines. I knew that Maidan was our chance to change our life for the best, and I did not have questions as to what had to be done and what didn’t. What is the point of living in fear? We always lived in the tent of our Busk Sotnia [company]. We were at home in Busk on February 18, 2014, when we saw horrifying pictures from events in Kyiv, dozens of dead and injured people, we were shocked. But in the evening, my husband and I gathered our things and came out to the [town] square where the bus was leaving for Kyiv. Here was the first time I saw how scared many men were–there weren’t too many volunteers. 30 of us left for Kyiv, and I was the only female.
We arrived on Maidan at 3:30 pm on February 19. I exited the bus, and was so happy–I saw a lot of people, I saw that Maidan will not give up no matter what, and Maidan gave me strength. Later my husband said that he had a completely
different impression from what he had seen on Maidan–he saw what I didn’t pay attention to–that the last line of defense ran under the stage, they did not have enough fuel, and there were few Molotov cocktails left. We immediately started to pour Molotov cocktails and pass them to the frontline. We worked all day and all night this way. I had already started helping the wounded, and began to cook food. We found out about the truce on the morning of February 20, and as soon as the police left Maidan, we decided to get some sleep. Just as I dozed off, our guy from Busk ran into the tent – he said that our people were shot at near the October Palace, and that they urgently needed medics.
I ran towards the October Palace- I did not have a helmet or a bullet-proof vest. I decided not to put on the Red Cross cape. Sniper shots easily pierce through this armor. Ever since the confrontations on Hrushevskiy Street, I saw how medics in bright uniforms could become targets, and that’s why I did not want to attract unnecessary attention. On the road above me, I saw how they had
started shooting at people on Instytutska Street. The hail of fire was very dense, the roar of shots went on continuously. At first, I helped one young man with a light wound. Then I crawled towards the fighter who got wounded in a leg. But cries for help were coming from the very top of the barricade. I crawled upwards. Here, snipers would not let people approach the wounded.
The guy in a photo was shot when I was already quite close to him. When I approached him, I saw that he had a severe head wound. The hole from a bullet entrance was about 2 centimeters [.8 inches] in diameter, and the blood kept pouring out in a forceful stream, just like from a faucet. All I could do immediately was to stop the bleeding. As soon as I put a bandage on him the orderlies ran over and carried him out. Then, another man by a tree got wounded in his stomach–a very severe wound. The bullet literally ripped him open and also spurted blood like a fountain. The young medic could not give him a shot– people kept falling around, bullets were whistling, screaming, blood. But I have the [necessary] experience–my hand did not tremble. Other people already put bandages on him and took the wounded man. Time seemed to no
I stopped for a minute. I remembered my [son] Dmytryk, my life, people I am close to, everyone I love. But the cries for help were louder than the shots. And so I crawled to him.
longer existence and I did everything on autopilot, and saw nothing but
wounded and dead. The man from Kolomya covered me with a shield–I only
remembered him the next day, when he reminded me of the day before. I
looked around–others could no longer be helped, and the guys were dragging the bodies out.
this. I said the following,