But it’s not even the hardest part. It is impossible to accept that the golden standards of journalism I was taught and strive to follow are sometimes less effective than we think. We can’t always disclose exact locations due to security concerns, nor the exact number of casualties, and often must delay publi-cation, as people’s lives can depend on our work. It’s also hard to report on the war neutrally when there is a clear divide between good and evil.
I don’t want
to stand
in that divide;
I want to tell
the truth,
as only in truth
there is justice.
If journalists tell the truth,
they can’t possibly kill all
of them, can they?
Since 24 February 2022, Russia has killed 117 media workers, 18 while reporting and 99 due to shelling, torture, or in combat, according to the Institute of Mass Information, as of March 2025.
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Engaging with people and sharing their stories is the least I can do to contribute to the pursuit of a just peace. I hope that my work helps convey to the audience the importance of perseverance, supporting the Ukrainian military, and fighting for truth in all possible ways — whether through weapons, donations, volunteering, or information campaigns.
The flow of horror and pain that I have to hear and witness is impossible not to internalise — empathy makes me a good reporter, but it also leads to burnout. In early 2023, my team and I came under mortar fire near Bakhmut, where intense fighting was ongoing at the time. I had never been so close to death.
One of the most emotionally challenging stories was about a girl who, in the early days of the full-scale invasion, evacuated with her family from Kyiv. On the road, their car was shot at by the Russians. “I was sitting on my mother’s knees. All that was left were her knees.”
I never dreamed of a career as a war correspondent — it seemed like something very distant from me. But today, I write about soldiers and civilians who have lost their homes, been injured, or suffered torture, among other things.
This thought inspired me to pursue journalism, believing that if we are many, our voices can’t be silenced.
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KUPIANSK (Kharkiv region),
the first days after deoccupation.
2022
Photo credit:
Polina Vernyhor
Photo credit:
Polina Vernyhor
As a child, I often spent evenings with my grandmother, who watched the news every night. One evening, I heard a report about the murder of Ukrainian journalist Georgiy Gongadze that deeply shocked me. I asked my grandmother if he was killed for telling the truth, and she confirmed. That question led me to wonder:
Back at university, I was fascinated by investigative journalism, particularly anti-corruption work. I dreamed of conducting an investigation that would truly change my country. However,
I now realise that the greatest impact is made not by corruption but war. That’s why, although I never dreamed
of a career as a war correspondent, today I cover nothing but the war.
Originally from Zaporizhzhia. Lives and works in Kyiv.
As a reporter at the ‘Come Back Alive’ Foundation, which provides support to service members in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, Vernyhor has been working with the stories of people who have experienced the hardships of war and sharing the stories of soldiers defending Ukraine since the early stages of the full-scale invasion. She has worked in deoccupied territories, on the frontlines, and in frontline communities.
Polina
Vernyhor