Veteran Alina Sarnatska Discusses Women in War and Their Significance

Before the full-scale war began, I spent my time watching series that primarily focused on environmental issues and recycling. We lived in a comfortable world where we discussed how to better preserve nature while enjoying Harry Potter, anime, and dining out. I remember how, in early February 2022, my friends and I engaged in an emotional debate about whether it was better to eat sushi in a restaurant with disposable chopsticks or to bring our own in a case. This even led to an argument with a friend who insisted that buying cheap chopsticks on AliExpress was wrong, as it increased waste. Suddenly, our world cracked, and we, the ultimate subscribers to Xbox, had to go to the trenches.

People who claim that modern trenches resemble those from World War I are mistaken. No, they are not similar; they are the same trenches, but now the enemy has many more ways to destroy us. We placed the remote control for the air conditioner on a mattress from Jusk and set out to fight, living in a pit in the middle of a field and shooting at the enemy with an assault rifle. Perhaps it was for others. How foolishly Shakespearean, right? Ask ChatGPT what it thinks about self-sacrifice. It will say it is foolish behavior, but it would be wrong, as not all people possess such foolishness.

People do not want to fight; they want to live. They have always wanted this and still do. Our grandparents wanted it just as strongly, even though they lived without food delivery. We think they were a bit less alive. But no, they also experienced love, death, and sex. The army is a time machine that transports us back to the nineteenth century, to an era of petticoats, suffragettes, stove heating, simple tools, and hunting. Therefore, in our unit, people who grew up in the countryside were highly valued.

Our battalion, formed from residents of Kyiv, did not have answers to many important questions. How do you light a stove with wet firewood? How do you clean a well to get water? What do you do with a horse that wanders around the village, neighs, and bites? Seriously, there are many non-obvious problems when you are transported back two centuries. For example, we usually lived in abandoned houses near the front line. One autumn, our house was attacked by mice. This does not mean that two fluffy mice entered the house and stole cheese. No, dozens of mice gnawed at the walls of the old village hut at night. I lay under the light of a lantern, thinking that they would eat the whole house and then me.

War is a different, quite terrifying world. People do not want to be there. They yearn for safety, for Warsaw. Before the full-scale war, I had a colleague named Vitalik. He had pristine white sneakers that looked too big for his feet, spent his evenings at the gym, and often repeated that 'a real man should belong to all women, not just one.' Although I don’t remember anyone asking for his opinion on this matter.

After the full-scale war began, I did not hear from him for a whole year. Then suddenly, he wrote to me on Messenger from his new apartment in Warsaw: 'How are you holding up morally? What helps? Because it’s so hard for me morally.' I replied from my damp basement in the Bakhmut area: 'I’m not holding up at all. In the first week in the army, I felt like I would go crazy, just standing up in the middle of a frontline village and screaming. That would have sent me to a madhouse. But somehow I endured, learned to breathe with half my lungs, and believed in a quarter of a dream. I was too ashamed to go to a madhouse while others were holding on.'

Vitalik, not understanding what I meant, replied: 'Eeeee… You’re saying something incomprehensible.' I tried to explain: 'The ashes of heroes knock at my heart!' He responded: 'Ah, I see, you’re a strong woman, I couldn’t do that.' I joked about his sneakers: 'Hey, how do you manage to keep your sneakers looking so white?' He told me he uses Domestos on a toothbrush for the soles, but not on the leather. I thought that Vitalik could have fought. Anyone could. There’s nothing genius about washing yourself with cold water from a barrel, hand-washing socks in a basin, grabbing a rifle, and going to guard a dugout while a Russian tries to kill you with all kinds of weapons. It doesn’t take much strength. Even our grandfathers managed. You just need to forget everything you know about Harry Potter, Netflix, and ecology. Toss that knowledge into the Styx, so to speak, at the crossing near the sign that says 'Donetsk Region.'

In Poland, everything is going wonderfully for Vitalik, but for some reason, he feels ashamed to communicate with me. Most people in the rear tend to start viewing soldiers as slightly more heroic and slightly less human. 'They don’t want to live as much; they are military. They are different; their motives are different, and they have almost no desires. We can’t understand; we couldn’t do that. They are no longer people, but functions,' people think about soldiers. And girls start to be hated.

'What did you forget there, among the rough men? You’ve always been a bit crazy,' Vitalik says to me, suspecting that I am here for a good man. I respond: 'Why? Because I had the great sin of being born a woman?' He continues: 'A drunk slept through the departure to the positions? Well, it happens; he was tired, let’s give him a warning and pity him. Can’t find coordinates on the map? Well, that’s hard; there was little training; not everyone is cut out for it. Speeding down the highway to 200 kilometers and flipping over? That’s our style, a risky Cossack! Until he passes assembly, disassembly, and theory – we won’t give him a weapon! Don’t let him into the trenches; the commander forbade it. Of course, these women are useless; they don’t sit in the trenches with everyone. You don’t understand army documents? Sit down and learn; you’ll replace the political officer when he’s on leave. If you have breasts, it means you have attentiveness and a knack for paperwork. The car was hit by shrapnel in three places and won’t start? Well, of course, it’s a girl; who even let her behind the wheel?'

Near every soldier stands a myth that whispers tales of crusaders, Valhalla, and free Cossacks into their ears. But behind a girl, there is nothing. Emptiness.