When I arrived in Kiev, on February 1 this year, Independence Square was under siege, surrounded by police loyal to the government. The protesters who occupied Maidan, as the square is known, prepared for battle, stockpiling homemade weapons and mass-producing improvised body armor. The Euromaidan protests began peacefully at the end of 2013, after the president of Ukraine, Viktor Yanukovych, rejected a far-reaching accord with the European Union in favor of stronger ties with Russia. In response, tens of thousands of dissatisfied citizens poured into central Kiev to demonstrate against this allegiance.
Kada sam stigla u Kijev, 1. februara ove godine, Trg Nezavisnosti je bio pod opsadom, okružen policijom koja je bila lojalna vladi. Protestanti koji su okupirali Majdan, kako se trg naziva, bili su spremni za bitku, opskrbili su se ručno pravljenim oružjem i na veliko su pravili improvizovan oklop za telo. Evromajdanski protesti su mirno počeli krajem 2013. godine, nakon što je ukrajinski predsednik, Viktor Janukovič, odbio dalekosežni dogovor sa Evropskom unijom u korist jače povezanosti s Rusijom. Zauzvrat, desetine hiljada nezadovoljnih građana slilo se u centar Kijeva da bi demonstrirali protiv ovog saveza.
As the months passed, confrontations between police and civilians intensified. I set up a makeshift portrait studio by the barricades on Hrushevsky Street. There, I photographed the fighters against a black curtain, a curtain that obscured the highly seductive and visual backdrop of fire, ice and smoke. In order to tell the individual human stories here, I felt that I needed to remove the dramatic visuals that had become so familiar and repetitive within the mainstream media. What I was witnessing was not only news, but also history. With this realization, I was free from the photojournalistic conventions of the newspaper and the magazine. Oleg, Vasiliy and Maxim were all ordinary men, with ordinary lives from ordinary towns. But the elaborate costumes that they had bedecked themselves in were quite extraordinary. I say the word "costume" because these were not clothes that had been issued or coordinated by anyone. They were improvised uniforms made up of decommissioned military equipment, irregular combat fatigues and trophies taken from the police. I became interested in the way they were choosing to represent themselves, this outward expression of masculinity, the ideal of the warrior.
Kako su prolazili meseci, sukobi između policije i civila su se pojačali. Napravila sam improvizovani studio za portrete kod barikada u ulici Hruševski. Tu sam fotografisala borce ispred crne zavese, zavese koja je zaklanjala veoma zavodljivu i živu pozadinu sačinjenu od vatre, leda i dima. Kako bih ovde ispričala pojedinačne ljudske priče, mislila sam da sam morala da uklonim dramatične efekte koji su postali toliko poznati i stalni u mejnstrim medijima. Bila sam svedok ne samo vesti, već i istorije. Kada sam ovo shvatila, oslobodila sam se konvencija novinskih fotoreportera koje nameću novine i časopisi. Oleg, Vasilij i Maksim su bili obični ljudi, sa običnim životima, iz običnih gradova. Ali detaljni kostimi u kojima su se našli su bili sasvim neobični. Kažem "kostimi" jer to nije bila odeća koju je bilo ko propisao ili koordinirao. To su bile improvizovane uniforme od rashodovane vojne opreme, nepravilne vojne uniforme i trofeji uzeti od policije. Zainteresovala sam se za način na koji su odabrali da se predstavljaju, za ovaj spoljašnji izražaj muževnosti, ideal ratnika.
I worked slowly, using an analog film camera with a manual focusing loop and a handheld light meter. The process is old-fashioned. It gives me time to speak with each person and to look at them, in silence, while they look back at me.
Radila sam polako, uz pomoć analognog fotoaparata uz ručno podešavanje fokusa i ručni svetlomer. Proces je staromodan. Daje mi vremena da pričam sa svakom osobom i da ih u tišini gledam dok oni gledaju u mene.
Rising tensions culminated in the worst day of violence on February 20, which became known as Bloody Thursday. Snipers, loyal to the government, started firing on the civilians and protesters on Institutskaya Street. Many were killed in a very short space of time. The reception of the Hotel Ukraine became a makeshift morgue. There were lines of bodies laid in the street. And there was blood all over the pavements. The following day, President Yanukovych fled Ukraine. In all, three months of protests resulted in more than 120 confirmed dead and many more missing. History unfolded quickly, but celebration remained elusive in Maidan.
Rastuće tenzije dostigle su vrhunac na najgori dan nasilja, 20. februara, koji je postao poznat kao Krvavi četvrtak. Snajperisti lojalni vladi počeli su da pucaju na civile i protestante na ulici Instituskaja. Mnogo ljudi je ubijeno za veoma malo vremena. Recepcija hotela Ukrajina postala je improvizovana mrtvačnica. Na ulicama su ležala poređana tela. Krv je bila svuda po pločnicima. Sledećeg dana, predsednik Janukovič pobegao je iz Ukrajine. Na kraju, tri meseca protesta za posledicu su imala više od 120 potvrđenih smrti i mnogo više nestalih. Istorija se odvila brzo, ali na Majdanu se nije slavilo.
As the days passed in Kiev's central square, streams of armed fighters were joined by tens of thousands of ordinary people, filling the streets in an act of collective mourning. Many were women who often carried flowers that they had brought to lay as marks of respect for the dead. They came day after day and they covered the square with millions of flowers. Sadness enveloped Maidan. It was quiet and I could hear the birds singing. I hadn't heard that before.
Kako su prolazili dani na centralnom trgu Kijeva, bujici naoružanih vojnika pridružile su se destine hiljada običnih ljudi, koji su se širili ulicama u činu zajedničkog žaljenja. Bilo je puno žena, često sa cvećem koje su donele da obeleže poštovanje za mrtve. Dolazile su dan za danom i pokrile su trg milionima cvetova. Tuga je obavila Majdan. Bilo je tiho i mogli ste čuti ptice kako pevaju. To nisam čula pre toga.
I stopped women as they approached the barricades to lay their tributes and asked to make their picture. Most women cried when I photographed them. On the first day, my fixer, Emine, and I cried with almost every woman who visited our studio. There had been such a noticeable absence of women up until that point. And the color of their pastel coats, their shiny handbags, and the bunches of red carnations, white tulips and yellow roses that they carried jarred with the blackened square and the blackened men who were encamped there.
Zaustavljala sam žene dok su se približavale barikadama da odaju počast i tražila sam da ih slikam. Većina njih je plakala kada sam ih slikala. Prvog dana, moja asistentkinja Emine i ja smo plakale sa skoro svakom ženom koja je posetila naš studio. Do tog trenutka se osećalo neverovatno odsustvo žena. Boje njihovih pastelnih kaputa, njihove šljašteće torbe i hrpe crvenih karanfila, belih lala i žutih ruža koje su nosile nasuprot pocrnelog trga i pocrnelih ljudi koji su se samo utaborili.
It is clear to me that these two sets of pictures don't make much sense without the other. They are about men and women and the way we are -- not the way we look, but the way we are. They speak about different gender roles in conflict, not only in Maidan, and not only in Ukraine. Men fight most wars and women mourn them. If the men showed the ideal of the warrior, then the women showed the implications of such violence.
Jasno mi je da ove dve serije fotografija nemaju puno smisla jedna bez druge. One se tiču muškaraca i žena i toga kakvi smo - ne kako izgledamo, već kakvi smo. Govore o različitim ulogama polova u konfliktu, ne samo na Majdanu, i ne samo u Ukrajini. Muškarci se bore u ratovima, a žene ratove oplakuju. Ako bi muškarci prikazali ideal ratnika, onda bi žene prikazale posledice takvog nasilja.
When I made these pictures, I believed that I was documenting the end of violent events in Ukraine. But now I understand that it is a record of the beginning. Today, the death toll stands around 3,000, while hundreds of thousands have been displaced. I was in Ukraine again six weeks ago. In Maidan, the barricades have been dismantled, and the paving stones which were used as weapons during the protests replaced, so that traffic flows freely through the center of the square. The fighters, the women and the flowers are gone. A huge billboard depicting geese flying over a wheat field covers the burned-out shell of the trade union's building and proclaims, "Glory to Ukraine. Glory to heroes." Thank you. (Applause).
Kada sam stvorila ove slike, verovala sam da dokumentujem kraj nasilnih dešavanja u Ukrajini. Ali sada shvatam da je to zapis početka. Broj žrtava je danas oko 3 000, dok je raseljeno stotine hiljada ljudi. Bila sam ponovo u Ukrajini pre šest nedelja. Na Majdanu, barikade su rasklopljene, a kaldrma koju su koristili kao oružje tokom protesta je zamenjena, tako da saobraćaj slobodno teče kroz centar trga. Borci, žene i cveće su nestali. Veliki pano sa guskama koje lete nad poljem pšenice prekriva spaljenu ljušturu zgrade radničkog sindikata i na njemu piše: "Slava Ukrajini. Slava herojima." Hvala vam. (Aplauz)