‘If you stay, you will die’: How one front-line volunteer is saving lives in Ukraine’s Donbas

In Bakhmut – as in Soledar and Avdiivka and the outlying villages of Ukraine’s beleaguered east – most residents have already left. But as the Russian offensive progresses and the Ukrainian army resists, individual volunteers have been driving to the “gray zones” of the war and the site of ongoing clashes. 

Operating in small teams or on their own, the volunteers seek out the rare civilians who have stayed behind to persuade them to leave. Along with the intense pressure of working amid intense fighting, the volunteers face a psychological hurdle: How do you convince someone it is time to leave? And how can you assure them that a better life is within reach?

Kuba Stasiak, a 28-year-old volunteer from Poland, inadvertently found himself to be the right person for the job. He estimates that he has helped evacuate 200 civilians from Ukraine’s Donbas. Previously a journalist, Stasiak was in Kyiv when the war began with plans to be a correspondent. Driven by a desire to help people and realising “there was a lot of work for civilians”, Stasiak fully committed himself to “e-vacs” (evacuations) two months after the war began.

He began working in Severodonetsk and Lysychansk before moving on to the whole region and operating in cities like Bakhmut. Evacuations start months before a city falls. Some people get used to the shelling and loud noises while others decide to leave after the first missile, according to the volunteer.   

“There are certain types of people you cannot convince,” said Stasiak. “There is a difference between young people and older ones. The latter usually doesn’t believe a new life is possible.” Other people say they are too poor to move. Still others remain pro-Russian and cling to a “false security”, according to the volunteer.

FRANCE 24 was able to view some of the videos Stasiak filmed during the evacuation missions. In a video recorded in Soledar in September, Stasiak and another volunteer try to convince an elderly couple to come with them by showing them a pre-recorded video of their daughter in which she implores them to leave. The daughter, unable to connect with her parents, contacted the volunteers, giving them her parents’ address and asking them to step in.

“After 40 minutes of discussion amid intense shelling, the couple decided to stay,” said Stasiak.

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Stasiak is usually familiar with the people he saves by the time he gets around to evacuating them. “When the situation in Bakhmut was better, I was driving around the city and exchanging contacts. A Ukrainian volunteer created a point in the city where residents could get food and water. Going there, you can meet locals and, because of this, I was able to get requests from people around Bakhmut.” 

Building trust is a central component of the work. “What helps is to be around, so people know our faces and become more trusting. Even if they aren’t ready to leave right away, some of them change their minds and, when they do, they know how to find us,” he said.

A fatalist attitude

There are dozens of videos like this. With shelling in the background, discussions turn to arguments as the volunteers try to sway obstinate residents. “We tell them, ‘If you stay, you will die. The whole area will be heavily shelled and you will die inside your house. And there is only one solution: going with us’,” Stasiak said. 

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Residents have often adopted a fatalist attitude. They tell us, “I don’t mind, I will die in my city,” said Stasiak.

Others appear traumatised after spending months exposed to heavy shelling. Many appear to have spent months in their beds. Kuba remembers overhearing a conversation an elderly woman he had just evacuated from Bakhmut had with her daughter. “I’m alright, I just have a piece of shrapnel in my buttocks,” said the woman.

“She didn’t even mention there had been a strike. People get used to the circumstances and they do not mind any injuries. It’s like an unhappy marriage – they don’t think there is a chance to be happy with someone else and you feel the need to show them that a better life is possible,” said Stasiak.

Today the city of Bakhmut and the surrounding region lie in ruins and an estimated 10,000 residents remain out of a prewar population of 70,000. In a region with strong ties to Russia, propaganda airing on television and the radio has convinced many people that both the Russian and Ukrainian sides are to blame for the war. Stasiak hopes evacuees with divided loyalties “will get the chance to see things differently, wherever they are”.

‘You can take a wrong turn and end up in the Russian trenches’

Besides the satisfaction of saving lives, Stasiak found the evacuations helped him discover his strengths, which he says are beyond what he ever expected. “My first time in Bakhmut was in June. One of the most important things is to know the map, because you can take a wrong turn and end up in the Russian trenches,” he said, adding that he has learned how to depend on himself.

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In September, a few months before the city fell, Stasiak found himself in Soledar with five other volunteers. Seeking cover from drones and constant shelling, they parked their car under heavy foliage. The car was stuck and it took an hour before the volunteers were able to move it. 

“We managed to get the car out but then we had to go into the city, which was literally burning with fires starting every minute. We had two addresses we needed to visit while it was quickly getting dark,” he said. The worst part for Stasiak was thinking he was “doomed”, with constant shelling and not a single soul that could help him and the other volunteers.

Adventure for a better life

Stasiak remembered the woman at the first address was terrified, and he knew she would leave. At the second address, a couple and their neighbour hesitated. When they learned their neighbour was staying, the couple announced they were staying as well. “My friend started screaming at them, telling them they would die,” said Stasiak. Finally, all three people agreed to leave, packing their documents, photographs of relatives and some religious icons into plastic bags.

“Filip (a Russian-Ukrainian citizen and volunteer), Lee (a UK veteran) and three different people were waiting for us at a safe point. After six hours, they thought we were dead,” said Stasiak. On the trip back to Kramatorsk, the Land Cruiser crashed into barricades and the car the neighbours were driving crashed as well. The group left the area by boarding a bus.

Despite the huge risks, Stasiak wants to keep going where he is needed and useful. As long as he can remain focused, he said, “I find it fascinating how much impact you can have as just one person.” 

“It’s nice to know you can change people’s lives.”

Once in Kramatorsk, Ukrainians generally spend the night at a refugee centre. The next day they begin what Stasiak calls “their adventure for a better life”. Some of the characters he has encountered remain vivid in Stasiak’s mind. There were a couple of retired doctors, dressed in fur hats and coats and looking as if they were going to the opera when he rescued them from Bakhmut in March. They are now in Denmark. There was also a mother and her disabled daughter, who are now living in Poland.   

With the faces and evacuation details still vivid in Stasiak’s mind, he has been writing a book about what he has seen; publication is set for later this year. From journalist to front-line volunteer and back to journalist, Stasiak’s experiences have brought him full circle.