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Life in the Dark: How Ukrainians Amuse Themselves during Relentless Blackouts

  • Writer: Matthew Parish
    Matthew Parish
  • 2 hours ago
  • 4 min read
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The winter months in Ukraine are long, cold and unforgiving even in times of peace. In periods of war, when Russian missiles and drones strike at the heart of the country’s energy infrastructure, leaving vast swathes of major cities without heat or light for hours on end, the prospect of warmth or entertainment appears even more fragile. Yet Ukraine, with her deeply ingrained communal culture and her unyielding sense of humour, has never faced adversity with resignation. Instead she turns recurring blackouts into moments of creativity, sociability and even modest joy, demonstrating how a nation might remain optimistic in circumstances others might judge intolerable.


In Kyiv, Lviv, Kharkiv and Odesa, whole districts sometimes fall dark without warning. Generators hum in the courtyards of apartment blocks; torches and LED lamps glow in kitchens and stairwells. Nevertheless urban life refuses to come to a halt. Families gather around battery-powered radios or speakers, listening to the news, exchanging stories of the day and taking the opportunity to speak in ways the frenetic pace of modern life rarely permits. A blackout, although unwelcome, becomes an enforced moment of intimacy, recalling older generations who remembered the importance of conversation before the ubiquity of screens.


In cafés and restaurants that can switch to generators, there is often a quiet buzz of camaraderie. Staff move swiftly, boiling water on gas hobs and preparing simple menus that rely less on electricity. Patrons play cards, read by candlelight or share portable chargers. Strangers joke with one another about whose power bank will die first. It is remarkable how often these partial refuges become lively meeting points during the darkest hours, with musicians producing battered acoustic guitars and turning an impromptu gathering into a small concert. Indeed this has become a recurrent feature of wartime urban culture: a group of friends or even total strangers singing folk songs that evoke both nostalgia and pride.


Technology, despite the absence of electricity, remains central to how Ukrainians occupy their time. Many invest in power banks and solar chargers sufficient to keep mobile telephones operational long after the grid has faltered. A great many households own laptops that can run for several hours on battery alone. People gather in common areas, share wireless hotspots and watch downloaded films or television series. University students huddle in groups, using the last remnants of battery life to continue their studies together. It is not unusual for an entire neighbourhood to treat a blackout as an unofficial evening of collective study or swapping entertainment files, reinforcing the sense that life and learning will continue regardless of the enemy’s intentions.


Children, perhaps surprisingly, are often the most resilient. For them a blackout may feel like an adventure. They play hide-and-seek in the darkened corridors of Soviet-era apartment blocks or invent games that require little more than torches, blankets and imagination. Parents, even when exhausted, find themselves inventing new stories or shadow-puppet performances. In many homes, bedtime during a blackout acquires a ritualistic charm: candles lit, stories read aloud, and a family warmth that the harshness of the conflict has otherwise made rare.


Communities have developed their own larger traditions. Residents of a single tower block might gather in a basement shelter not only for safety but for shared evenings of entertainment. Volunteers bring thermoses of tea, portable chess sets and packs of cards. Whispered tournaments of chess or draughts last deep into the night. Poetry readings, once considered the reserve of the bookish, have re-emerged as a communal pastime. People read favourite verses by candlelight and discuss their sentiments. It is no exaggeration to say that, in the gloom, culture feels more vivid.


Outdoor activity also provides escape. Some Ukrainians, wrapped in heavy winter coats, stroll the darker city streets to observe the starlit sky, which appears clearer when streetlights are absent. Couples walk together, making light of the cold, and admire how their cities look in these unusual conditions. The exodus of cars from the roads during blackout periods means that urban areas acquire an unexpected tranquillity. Kyiv’s boulevards, normally packed, fall silent. Lviv’s old town, emptied of light, gains an almost medieval character that stirs both wonder and melancholy.


For many, volunteering becomes both a pastime and a form of therapy. The blackout periods free citizens from digital distraction and allow them to focus on tasks that strengthen their communities. People distribute food, help elderly neighbours carry water, or assist territorial defence volunteers with logistical tasks. Sewing circles for camouflage net production become informal places of gossip and shared cheer, lit by rechargeable lamps and the warmth of collective endeavour.


One should not pretend that blackouts are anything other than an ordeal. They disrupt daily rhythms, create anxiety and impose hardship on millions. Nevertheless Ukrainians have repeatedly demonstrated that adversity need not extinguish cheerfulness or imagination. If anything it brings out the national instinct for solidarity, humour and resourcefulness. The war has tried to plunge Ukraine into darkness, yet she has answered by finding light in the company of others. In doing so she has reaffirmed a truth long familiar to those who know her well: resilience is not merely a matter of endurance but of refusing to let the spirit be dimmed.


Ultimately the optimism that sustains Ukrainians through the bleakest evenings is less a forced emotion than a practical philosophy. When the lights go out, they turn towards one another and create their own brightness. This is a lesson in how a society may remain unbroken, even when confronted with deliberate cruelty. It is also a reminder that darkness, however deep, cannot prevail over a people who insist upon living joyfully in spite of it.

 
 

Note from Matthew Parish, Editor-in-Chief. The Lviv Herald is a unique and independent source of analytical journalism about the war in Ukraine and its aftermath, and all the geopolitical and diplomatic consequences of the war as well as the tremendous advances in military technology the war has yielded. To achieve this independence, we rely exclusively on donations. Please donate if you can, either with the buttons at the top of this page or become a subscriber via www.patreon.com/lvivherald.

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