Elisa Mignot, a French journalist and writer, shares her experiences of three trips to Ukraine, her quest to find individuals from the February Maidan, an encounter with Vasyl Slipak in a Paris cafe, and the publication of two books about Ukraine.
“I stayed on a video call with her mother and grandmother living in Ukraine”
In the spring of 2014, I embarked on my first trip to Ukraine, accompanied by the renowned French photographer Eric Bouvet. He had captured numerous portraits in the heart of Kyiv during the tumultuous days of the Maidan protests in February. A few weeks later, in March, he returned, and I joined him on a mission to find the people from his February photographs.
I was struck by the diversity of individuals involved in Ukraine’s Revolution of Dignity—people from various social and economic backgrounds hailing from all corners of Ukraine. Eric Bouvet and I embarked on a journey across the country, visiting bustling cities and remote villages alike in search of our subjects in their everyday environments, going through their daily routines. Our aim was to gain deeper insights into their lives and motivations and to understand why each of them had risked everything during the revolution.
In 2016, I returned to Ukraine once again as a journalist. This time, I decided to focus on uncovering the reasons ordinary civilians took up arms to defend their country. I sought to delve into their thoughts, emotions, and motivations for making such a profound choice. While I didn’t venture to the frontlines during this trip, I conducted interviews with volunteers, combat medics, and wounded soldiers in hospitals.
During my time in Kyiv, I had the pleasure of meeting Olha Kurovska, who served as my translator. Olha not only excelled in her work but also took the time in the evenings to answer all my questions about Ukraine — a country she was striving to understand better. She shared your history with me.
Long before the full-scale Russian invasion unfolded, Olha had already moved to France. Though we weren’t exceptionally close, we stayed in touch and caught up from time to time. On the morning of February 24, I received distressing news and immediately reached out to her. I was eager to know how she and her family were faring in Ukraine… Understanding the gravity of the situation in Ukraine proved to be a daunting task.
Olha worked at a wine shop. I visited her there, offering my support in any way possible, although, truth be told, there wasn’t much I could do to ease her burden. When customers entered the store, I filled in for her and remained on a video call with her mother and grandmother in Ukraine. Regrettably, I couldn’t converse with them due to my lack of proficiency in Ukrainian, but we maintained our connection nonetheless. Later, I spoke with Olha’s sister, Sasha, who spoke French. She shared that she and her boyfriend were taking refuge in a parking garage, recounting the details of their newfound underground existence…
I was really eager to report on this war and to share updates from Ukraine with French readers. But at that time, I couldn’t travel — I had other work commitments, and on top of that, I had two children. So, I decided to approach things differently. I asked two sisters, Olha and Sasha, if they could write diaries about the war — each from their own viewpoint. Sasha explained she wasn’t directly involved in combat, living her life like everyone else, and was unsure if she could handle it. Meanwhile, Olha noted the large number of Ukrainian refugees in France and asked, “Why me?” “I’m not sure,” I replied. “Perhaps because I trust you. I know you well. Because I believe you can give it a try — even if just for a week.”
I presented these diaries to the Le Monde newspaper. They agreed, saying, “Yes, yes, just give us one week” … However, it turned out to be not just a week but a whole year. And now, we produce one such “letter” every seven days. Writing daily became challenging for Olha and Sasha, and the intensity of events has diminished.
The diaries of the two sisters became a book following the first year of the invasion.
“He showed me videos of a man singing”
My journey in Ukraine began with Maidan and the volunteers and continued thanks to Olha and Sasha, but parallel to that, in 2019, I accidentally heard about Vasyl Slipak. I didn’t know him personally.
I was in Paris and wanted to buy coffee. I entered a café where they also sold tea. One of them was named “Odesa”. And I said to the seller:
“Oh, ‘Odesa’, I’ll take this tea!”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve been to Ukraine, but I’ve never been to Odesa. However, I’ve always wanted to visit!”
The man I talked to was a typical Frenchman. And I never expected him to talk to me about Ukraine. But he asked if I had time. I said I needed to go, but what could I do… He then asked me to follow him to the back of the store, and on the computer, he started showing me videos. There was a very tall man singing an opera. I didn’t quite understand what was happening. In other videos, someone else was also singing, but this time in a military vehicle.
After a few minutes, I realised it was the same person. The guy from the café said, “His name was Vasyl Slipak. I wanted to share his story with you.”
I often reflected on him later. And about other stories, previously documented in Ukraine, about what compelled people to go to war. I wanted to understand why an opera singer, successful in France, perished in Donbas. I tried to meet with Vasyl Slipak’s relatives in France; many locals didn’t comprehend his motivation. But when I eventually met with Ukrainians, his Ukrainian friends in France, I understood Vasyl better. The French couldn’t grasp how he felt after Maidan… For many Ukrainians abroad, Maidan and the beginning of the war in 2014 were something very profound. Something that stirred them.
At first, Vasyl sent countless items to Ukraine that could help. But then, perhaps, he thought he could send… himself. I think, at that moment, it became the best way for him to be true to himself.
I write not only about Vasyl Slipak as a soldier but also about his musical career. I didn’t know him, and for me, it’s like a puzzle. Every person who was close to Vasyl added their own piece to it. What his comrades tell differs from what his relatives say. And it’s through this mosaic that we get the complete picture.
In my book, there will be events after 2022. Today, the same war in which he perished continues. Showing the story through one person, tied to one person, is always better. Today, I arrived in Ukraine because a Swiss newspaper asked me to come and finish the story. For now, they will publish it in separate episodes.
My work with Olha and Sasha and my work on Vasyl Slipak’s story is not just daily news from your country. But it helps not only to know what’s happening in Ukraine but also to understand Ukrainians.
