Farmers in war-torn Kharkiv region face economic battlefield

Ukraine is set export up to 42 million tons of grain this year, despite facing another Russian offensive and a prolonged drought. Yet, its farmers are determined to work despite the new the threat of occupation.

 

Ukraine is one of the top global agricultural powerhouses. According to the UN, the harvested grain fed more than 400 million people before the all-out war. Russian blockade of the seaports in 2022 plunged 47 million people into the risk of starvation, according to the FAO and the UN World Food Program.

 

Russian forces are targeting Ukrainian farmers, shelling fields, illegally exporting grain in the occupied territories, attacking grain storage facilities, and destroying tons of products. In 2023, Russia’s sale of stolen Ukrainian grain contributed to a market collapse in Europe.

 

Denys Marchuk, Deputy Chairman of the Ukrainian Agrarian Council, says Ukraine is still among the top three wheat and top five corn exporters in the world. Since 2022, Ukraine has not only resumed exports, but implemented the Grain from Ukraine humanitarian mission, donating over 220,000 tons of grain to 10 countries in Africa and Asia facing food shortage. The state pledged to donate 7,000 tons of wheat flour and 750 tons of oil to conflict-affected Palestine.

 

About 1.4 million hectares of formerly cultivated farmland along the Ukrainian frontline remain unusable due to ongoing fighting and minefields. 128 Ukrainian farmers have been killed during their work by explosive devices.

 

Aside from the tensions on the battlefield, this year’s harvest is threatened by the drought, crawling to the entire Europe. Denys Marchuk expects Ukraine to export 40 to 42 million tons of grain.

 

“These are good figures, given all the conditions, like war, and drought, which particularly affected spring crops.” 

 

Kharkiv farmers face a double struggle: the 2024 Russian offensive and a persistent drought. Once showered with rain, their fields are drained with guided bombs. Government subsidies have been replaced by increased taxes. Regardless, farmers are adapting to these circumstances. As the ancient Stoics observed, it is in cooperation with fate that the external freedom of man lies.

 

Ivan Gnatchenko, the vicinity of Zolochiv

 

Despite his age, Ivan Gnatchenko, one of the modern Ukrainian Stoics, moves across his estate quickly. His bright blue eyes scan the farm intensely. As he begins the story, he shifts focus to another apple tree, pear, or funnel from the shell fragments and rushes headlong to show them.

 

Ivan’s farm is just 15 kilometers away from Russia’s border. His land has sprawling fields, four fish-filled ponds, and a fleet of tractors in various states of repair. A large hangar houses the farm’s grain processing and storage operations. The modest house is a place for his son occasionally staying late to tend to the farm. The bedroom walls are adorned with a patchwork of calendars, postcards, and religious icons. Behind the house, concealed beneath a camouflage net, lies a cellar, buried ten meters deep.

 

 

Agricultural fields are separated from the rest of the land by a dam running between two ponds for growing fish. Once, it used to be a road used for tractors and a combine harvester. During the Kharkiv counteroffensive, Ukrainian troops wiped out this road for a few-meter funnel, and anti-tank mines to counter Russian tanks, if they happen to roll in. 

 

To this day, a funnel still deepens, which one can only pass on foot. 

 

“Why dig it up! I’ll pass this on foot, but now I have to use the car right through the forest,” Ivan says. 

 

The sun casts long shadows across the landscape. Thick grass, rampant along the pond banks, is punctuated by parallel tracks scorched into the earth by tractors and a combine. Lost in the verdant expanse, Ivan becomes engrossed in recounting the history of his ponds.

 

“He’s a ghoul fish, you see? Carp. Here are silver carp, too.”

 

Within just a few meters away, the farmer points at the tall weed, with several anti-tank mines peeking out.

 

“Follow me,” he says simply and points to at least five mines hidden in the thick grass.

 

“I’ll just settle somewhere with a machine gun and hunt them down”

 

The distant rumble of explosions echoes across the fields. “It’s hitting again,” Ivan reminds of the constant threat of artillery fire from the nearby border towns of Cossacha Lopan and Lyptsi. While these attacks are less frequent now, the Zolochiv community has faced the front line for the first time in over a year and a half. The intense fighting around Strelecha and Lyptsi, just 20 kilometers away, has brought the war dangerously close. Despite the looming threat of occupation, Ivan remains steadfast, determined to stay and protect his farm.

 

“Let the youngsters leave, I won’t follow them. I’m an old guy, they won’t get much from me,” the man shrugs.

 

Despite his age, Ivan still wishes to join the army as a volunteer. 77-year-old farmer went to Kyiv during the Revolution of Dignity in 2013 and later joined in the 2014 war in eastern Ukraine.

 

“I won’t run around like an assault trooper. I’ll just settle somewhere with a machine gun and hunt them down. I wouldn’t handle running, as my legs always feel sore. I use a stick to walk around.” 

Ivan is frustrated by the age restrictions preventing him from serving in the military.

 

Speculators

 

Meanwhile, “speculators”, or grain traders, are the main threat to the farmer.

 

“They buy it for a penny, load it onto ships in Odesa, and sell it for nearly $500 per ton instead of $300,” Ivan says. 

 

To sell his products to supermarkets, Ivan has to deal with a bunch of papers, so he’s forced to make a deal with the speculators. Soy from his fields will be sold to traders, too.

 

Ivan rises with the dawn, but even six o’clock feels too late for him. Now, when he has nothing to do in the field, he is fishing: soaking corn for it, feeding and selling in his own store in Zolochiv.

 

Artem Orach, Derhachiv vicinity

 

Located approximately seven kilometers northwest of Kharkiv, Derkachi remembers the traces of Russian aggression. Though never occupied, the town suffered significant damage from missile strikes, anti-aircraft fire, and artillery bombardment. There used to be 27 agricultural enterprises, but now only three remain functional.  Despite these challenges, Derkachi is undergoing reconstruction, and displaced residents are gradually returning to their repaired homes.

 

“That’s good,” says 28-year-old farmer Artem Orach, relieved that he’ll be able to pay taxes this year. Possessing 800 hectares of landfarm, he paid $24,000 in taxes last year and pledges to pay even more this year.

 

“Though I’m on the low now, it’s impossible not to raise taxes now. War is an expensive… “pleasure”, let’s say. We have more than a million soldiers to feed and provide for. 

 

Before the all-out war, Artem invested in new farming equipment. In 2022, he couldn’t harvest any crops because Russian forces had mined the fields. Artem has accumulated over $420,000 in debt. The primary challenge, however, isn’t the debt itself but the inability to secure new loans due to his farm’s location in a high-risk “red zone.”

 

Farmers sign the devil’s deal

 

Artem approaches the site of fierce early battles. His corn fields, riddled with dragon’s teeth and barbed wire are seen on the left, as the new dugouts are peeking further. A rusted missile fragment lies nearby. The farmer says that 210 anti-tank mines have been removed from one of these fields alone. The demining process, initiated and largely completed by local efforts, only concluded this year.

 

By “demining,” Artem means triggering a single mine, which is exactly what the combine harvester used for this task was capable of. The farmer shows a photo of his workers sitting in the tractor bucket to get a better view, remotely bringing the vehicle to the mine. The explosion crumpled the machine’s wheel, so now the machine needs to be replaced.

 

“So, our cleanup was over,” the farmer says. 

 

Farming is like gambling, impossible to predict and the harvest volumes. Anything can go wrong at this time. Clouds are massing over his fields, offering a glimmer of hope after a prolonged drought. Yet, his optimism is easily sweeped. While he yearns for rain, he also dreads the possibility of extreme weather, such as storms or hail, which could devastate his hard-won progress.

 

“I won’t make any predictions, the harvest being worthwhile still needs to be harvested. It’s a lottery,” says the farmer. If all goes well, it will take a little over a month to harvest the crop.

“I won’t make any predictions about the harvest,” Ivan cautions, his voice laced with uncertainty. “We still have to get it in the barn. It’s a gamble at this point.” Assuming favorable conditions, he estimates that the harvest will take slightly over a month to complete.

 

“Hurting farmers is one of Russia’s goals”

 

The dynamic changes on the front also affect the harvest. Artem says that Russian forces are refining their tactics, using new drones that he spots on the farm. Though these UAVs pose no threat, Russians shouldn’t be underestimated.

 

“If a drone spots us, it won’t differentiate a farmer driving a car from a soldier. Besides, hurting farmers is one of Russia’s goals. They will see a combine harvester, and they hit it.” says Artem.

 

Like in gambling, farming has many “if” issues, too. Enlistment is one of them. According to Ukrainian law, a farmer who employs five workers grants them permission to not enlist in the army, as his land is considered strategic. Yet, Artem is determined to defend his land if Russian troops invade again.

 

“I’ve got everything here. Where should I go? You won’t roll around much. At the beginning of the war, I left all this for two months, and I almost went crazy,” the farmer says.

 

Hryhorii and Garik Petrosyan, Zamirtsi village 

 

A dismantled car sits in the driveway of the Petrosian farm. It was taken apart for spare parts to support the Ukrainian military by 60-year-old Hraer (Garik) Petrosyan. At the beginning of the full-scale war, fighting occurred 300 meters from his farm.

 

“I used to carry milk to the soldiers. I remember one of them was so short, that I suggested him to drink more,” Garik laughs.

 

The man is from Armenia’s Yerevan. Following the outbreak of the Nagorno-Karabakh war, he emigrated to Ukraine and found new home in Kharkiv. He engaged in small-scale trade, had several shops, but found the interactions with people, particularly corrupt police officers, to be increasingly frustrating.

 

“Everyone has their own life choices. Animals appreciate kindness if you show it. But as for people, they will still be offended,no matter how many good things you do” says Garik.

 

Growing up as an urban child, Garik had no experience with animal husbandry. The Petrosians’ relatives couldn’t believe that he had started a farm. Now, he and his son raise chickens, pigs, and cows. 

 

“Now we have 14 cows, 10 bulls, and 12 calves. But, to be fair, we don’t count them anymore. We known each of the animals and give them names. Every year, we favourite bull Andriusha (diminutive for Andrii – ed.)” says 28-year-old Heorhii.

 

$1.5 dollars per Putin’s kilo

 

Garik returns with two buckets of porridge. Lunch is about to start.

 

“Natalkas!” the farmer calls out to his cows, which all immediately run to Garik.

 

The Petrosians are very tender with their animals and have a hard time accepting the moment of farewell. When that moment does come, Andriusha becomes one of Russia’s top officials: Gerasimov, Patrushev, or Putin. This swift change helps the farmers to slaughter the animals.

 

The pigs eagerly await their lunch. Among them, a blind pig stands out. Garik gently lifts it and guides it to the milk trough.

 

“It can’t find milk on its own, except by smell. That’s why I always put it closer,” the farmer says.

 

The barn is lined with bales of hay, which the Petrosians mow and harvest themselves. While they occasionally hire extra hands, this can be too pricey. Government subsidies could offer relief, but Hryhorii reassures this isn’t a long-term solution.

 

“We don’t need the state’s support, we need a way to earn money. But to earn it, we have to sell our products somewhere. The challenge lies in finding buyers willing to pay a fair price.” the farmer says.

 

Resellers exploit farmers by offering a mere $1.5 per kilogram of meat, while consumers pay exorbitant prices of over $5 in stores. Moreover, large dairy producers hold significant sway over pricing, making it challenging for local farmers to compete with cheaper, inferior products made from low-quality milk or milk substitutes.

 

“Consumers want to save up money. They crave for this poor quality and will deal with these products. Organic food is more expensive. Even if we try to adapt to traders and reduce our price, we’ll earn less,” Hryhorii says.

 

Garik gets up around 5 a.m., drinks coffee, and goes to feed the cattle. After feeding the animals again in the afternoon, the farmer remembers he hasn’t eaten yet.

“When you get back home late in the evening and think of what to eat, I just use my garden to grab some tomatoes, fry eggs at home and go to bed. Then another day begins.”

 

The holy land

 

In Ukrainian literature and folklore, the land is personified as a living being and a nurturing mother. The soil has sacred significance for Ukrainians, and the peasantry, deeply rooted in this connection, forms the cornerstone of the nation’s cultural identity. For a nation of farmers, Ukrainians value land as the main source of life and well-being. 

 

Due to the profound cultural significance of agriculture to Ukrainians, Russia’s imperial policies have historically targeted the enslavement and destruction of the Ukrainian peasantry. From the imposition of serfdom by Catherine the Great in the 18th century to the forced collectivization of the early 20th century, Moscow’s actions culminated in the genocidal Holodomor of 1932-1933. This horrific famine, engineered to quell Ukrainian resistance and aspirations for independence, mirrors the calculated aggression of today’s Russia. Moscow’s current actions are a continuation of this historical pattern, aimed at subjugating the Ukrainian people.

 

Expert Marchuk notes the profound connection landowners develop with their land through the challenges they face. In his opinion, Ukrainians should preserve and increase the fertility of the land in order to pass it on to future generations.

Text: Viktoriia Kalimbet; Photo: Nadia Karpova