With bars and cafes buzzing with activity, the atmosphere resembles that of countless European summer spots. It is a stark and disturbing contrast to the scenes I saw on a visit to this city three months ago. Then, the invasion of Russia was two months in; Most of the city’s businesses were closed and much of the population was on the run. Now gone are the convoys of cars heading west across Ukraine, many with the words “children” plastered on the windows. Conversely, despite the proximity of the front lines and the constant threat of long-range artillery raining death from above, life in this country at war can seem deceptively peaceful. People still go to work, walk their dogs and play with their children in the park. “We’re used to it. And it’s horrible that we’re used to it,” said ballerina Katryna Kalchenko, as she rested for a performance at the 135-year-old opera house in Odessa. And here, in this port city on the Black Sea, there is this terrifying dissonance between the madness of war and the mundanity of everyday life. Odessa was once known as the “Pearl of the Black Sea” of Ukraine, a vacation spot popular with poets, writers and musicians. Even today, it retains much of its charm, though its tranquility is occasionally shattered by Russian strikes — such as the two Kalibr cruise missiles that struck just hours after Moscow had signed a United Nations-brokered grain export deal with Kyiv . Ballerina Kalchenko was forced to do her warm-up in the basement of the opera house because an air raid siren had sent the entire orchestra and dance troupe scurrying for cover just half an hour earlier. And yet, Kalchenko and her fellow athletes appeared for the first act a few yards later with enough calm and serenity to leave their audience spellbound — until, that is, the threat of another Russian missile attack forced the show to close early. .

Moral victory

It is as if, five months after the war, many Ukrainians have accepted their new reality. This is partly a reflection of confidence in those fighting on their behalf. Ukrainians are very proud of how their soldiers fought off the attempted Russian blitzkrieg in Kyiv in the north of the country in the spring. Many now hope there will be further successes as their forces wage a tough war of attrition on the eastern and southern fronts, where they hope to retake cities and towns lost to Russian President Vladimir Putin’s armies. It is a struggle that takes a heavy toll. An adviser to Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky said at one point that the country was losing up to 200 soldiers a day on these front lines. And yet it is clear that among these brave defenders there is a willingness to endure whatever it takes. Take Serhii Tamarin, for example. I first met him in March, when he had just been released from a military hospital and was recovering from a spinal injury and broken ribs suffered while commanding a Territorial Defense battalion of about 400 troops fighting northwest of Kiev.
“It’s not so scary to die, it’s much scarier to lose,” he had said at the time. Within days he was back at the front. When we reconnect, he’s in the hospital again, this time for injuries sustained as a special forces operator fighting in the south. Is there a word in English, he asked, for when something blows up near your head? A near miss from a tank round left him badly concussed and he now has trouble thinking straight, he said. But he insisted he felt well enough to return to the race. “I think in a few days I should be sent back to my platoon,” Tamarin said.

Contempt

But embracing Ukraine’s new reality isn’t just about trusting men like Tamarin. It is also born of contempt. The soldiers describe the war in existential terms, an invasion ordered by a Russian president who disputes Ukraine’s right to exist as an independent country. “They came to occupy our territory,” said Senior Lieutenant Andrii Pidlisnyi, who commands a group of about 100 men in the Mykolaiv region. “To maybe kill my parents and just destroy my house and live here and say it was historically Russian territory.” Civilians often express their seething anger by using Russian rhetoric — that it is “liberating” Ukrainians from their own democratically elected government — and throwing it in the Kremlin’s face. “Thank you for ‘saving’ me from my home, from my family, from my child who is in another country and whom I miss every day,” said Anastasia Bannikova, another ballerina I met in her underground bomb shelter Odessa Opera House. . Like many others, Bannikova fled Ukraine in the early days of the war. Now she has returned to work in Odessa — though she has left her daughter in the relative safety of Moldova.

Choosing life

Almost everyone you talk to in Ukraine has lost something because of the war. Many have buried loved ones. Others saw their businesses fail, homes destroyed and futures contracts overturned. How does a farmer think about planting next year’s crops or a high school student about enrolling in university while this war rages on without end? One answer might be that many have come to the conclusion that, amidst all the death and destruction, simply continuing to live as normal a life as possible is the greatest victory there is. The Ukrainians I met all accepted their hardships with quiet stoicism. they rarely complained or wallowed in victimhood. Sergei, a cargo ship captain who has been unable to go to sea since the Russian navy blockaded Ukrainian ports, said he was brought up with stories of the sacrifices his grandparents suffered during World War II. “Now it’s our turn,” he said.