Standing on a picturesque bridge overlooking the road to Odesa’s bustling main port, Nina Sulzhenko assessed the destruction caused by a recent missile strike: the House of Scientists, a beloved architectural gem, lay in ruins. The once vibrant gardens spilled into a shattered residential area, and charred bricks were scattered across the sidewalk. Sulzhenko, a spirited 74-year-old, expressed her pain and desire for revenge, unable to articulate the extent of her fury. Other buildings, including the music school, presented similarly damaged sights. To the residents of Odesa, these attacks felt like a betrayal from those who once shared their community. The sentiment of anger and an unremitting refusal to forgive pervaded the air.
This outrage was not limited to Sulzhenko. Odesa’s Mayor Gennadiy Trukhanov spoke passionately about the exhaustion felt by the city’s inhabitants. The uncertainty surrounding the continuous missile strikes had worn them down, causing sleepless nights filled with anxiety. However, Trukhanov firmly stated that this weariness morphed into an indomitable hatred. The missile attacks, paired with prolonged air raid alerts, formed part of the escalating tensions in the Black Sea following Russia’s withdrawal from a key trade agreement. The significance of Odesa to President Vladimir V. Putin, who considered it an integral part of Russian culture, was met with a resounding rejection from Odesans, both officials and residents alike.
Russian literature further deepened Moscow’s connection to Odesa. Renowned Russian-language writers of the past found solace and inspiration within the city. For instance, Aleksandr Pushkin, the adored Russian poet, spent over a year in Odesa writing his narrative poem “Eugene Onegin” during a period of exile. Numerous writers who Russia claims as their own also spent crucial periods of their careers in the city. However, Odesans increasingly reject this attachment, as their growing preference for Ukrainian over Russian indicates. Mayor Trukhanov emphasized that Putin, too, had come to realize, even in the second year of the war, that this was not a Russian city. In fact, far from welcoming Russian soldiers, it was a city filled with intense animosity towards him.
This sentiment was echoed by many officials and residents, including Marat Kasimov, the deputy head of city planning and architectural preservation, who admitted to avoiding speaking the Russian language altogether. Although Odesa had managed to avoid the relentless onslaught of attacks experienced by other cities, the war had now permeated their lives. The air-raid sirens provoked residents to seek shelter, and with that, the vital tourism industry suffered alongside the city’s bustling ports. Derybasivska Street, once teeming with tourists, now seemed eerily deserted. The empty smaller streets, adorned with vines creeping from old houses, mirrored this strange scene. The thriving beach clubs of the coastal Arkadia district now stood with a noticeable lack of patrons. No ships graced the waters, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Previously, securing a table at the trendy Dacha restaurant on Frantsuzkyi Street, also known as French Boulevard, proved a daunting task. Yet, with droves of Odesans leaving the city following last year’s full-scale invasion and an additional exodus following the recent missile strikes, the clientele has dwindled. Savva Libkin, the owner, noted that less than one-third of the tables were occupied on a recent summer evening. The menu underwent changes, removing fish from the Black Sea waters—once a staple of the region’s cuisine—due to environmental damage caused by the explosion of the Kakhovka Dam. The regular air-raid alarms served as a deterrent for many Odesans, who chose to stay home. Despite the fear and uncertainty, Libkin remained resolute in keeping his restaurant operational and maintaining the city’s penchant for the pursuit of pleasure. Every morning, his chefs prepared food for the soldiers defending the Odesa skies.
While anxiety persisted, Odesans sought ways to momentarily forget the war. Even after four mines washed up on shore, sunbathers still ventured to the beach, including Illia Matiushchak, a 24-year-old soldier, and his fiancée Khrystyna Kukhar, 22. Matiushchak, taking a much-needed respite from the frontlines, spoke of his overwhelming happiness at being reunited with Kukhar. Although apprehensive about visiting Odesa given the recent strikes, Matiushchak believed it would be foolish to die in the city rather than on the frontlines. The couple’s first experience of Odesa together revealed glimpses of unease, like the prevalence of Russian speakers and streets named after figures linked to the Russian Empire and the Soviet Union. These reminders were “triggering” for Matiushchak, despite the lively party music in the background. This dynamic could soon shift, as a law banning place names that glorify Russian historical and political figures recently took effect.
Not everyone rejects ties to Russia. Older Odesans, in particular, still appreciate the Russian-language culture, a sentiment less prevalent in other parts of Ukraine. A gathering of 30 Odesans to celebrate the Moscow-born singer-songwriter Vladimir Vysotsky on the anniversary of his death exemplified this appreciation. Although some Ukrainians might disagree with such an event, those present emphasized their desire to preserve cultural touchstones connected to Russia. They believed that changing times and regimes did not warrant the destruction of what they did not personally create. Stepan Matsiyuk, a 75-year-old craftsman, expressed deep respect for Pushkin and regarded him as a significant figure worthy of honor. Matsiyuk firmly believed that outsiders had no authority to interfere with history.
On Wednesday, three air-raid alerts disrupted the day’s activities, with one delay affecting a rock concert by Serhiy Zhadan, a cherished contemporary poet, writer, and musician. Hundreds of people waited patiently for over 90 minutes before receiving the all-clear signal, eager to support the concert, which also doubled as a fundraiser for the Ukrainian Army. Katia Dubyshkyna, a 26-year-old interior designer, remarked that despite taking refuge in bomb shelters, they would not allow fear to consume them. The aggressors sought to instill terror, but they could not extinguish the residents’ zest for life and their determination to persevere.
Dzvinka Pinchuk contributed to the reporting of this article.
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