Who Plagued the Hearts of Donetsk Miners With Fear?

Anatolii was Russian. As a teenager, he left Omsk to seek better opportunities but ended up in the middle of nowhere the northern city of Vorkuta, 170 kilometers from the Arctic Ocean. For nearly a year, the landscape was perpetually covered in snow with the victims of the Vorkuta labor camp resting underneath. After the death of Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin, miners ventured into the cold regions to make money. Anatolii was no exception.

He had been a miner since his youth, and often squandered his earnings. However, one day, he spotted a miniature girl with a button nose , Halochka, who melted his heart. Suddenly, Anatolii started dressing up in jackets to distract from the telltale soot in his eyes, but this didn’t change Anatolii’s financial security. Desperate for a better life, he and Halochka embarked on a journey towards an uncertain future.

Young travelers ended up in Anzhero-Sudzhensk, a town deep within southwest Siberia, ten hours away from the borders of Kazakhstan, China, and Mongolia. Their “home” was a cramped room with two separate beds and a makeshift table balanced on suitcases. The leaky ceiling provided a constant reminder of their precarious situation .

The birth of their daughter, Svitlana, made their cramped living conditions untenable. That’s when an opportunity to move to the Donetsk region presented itself.

Halyna’s sister, Nina, had recently found an apartment in the village of Komunar. While working at the mine’s cafeteria, she had eyes for her site’s manager, but it wouldn’t be their relationship that gave her the key to a better life. The Soviet government provided housing to mine workers, so Nina’s connections offered Halyna and Anatolii a lifeline, a chance to escape their meager existence and build a new life in the Donetsk region.

Anatolii’s sister, Lida, fled Russia and married a Ukrainian from Poltava, while his brother Mykola moved to Crimea. Driven by a desire to maintain family ties, Anatolii relocated to be closer to them, finding himself and his family unexpectedly living as strangers in a new land.

Anatolii worked at Mine No. 21, situated on the outskirts of Makiivka’s Sovetsky district. Dubbed “Twenty-first” by the locals, this industrial enclave attracted a diverse workforce: Georgians, Lithuanians, Moldovans, Russians, and Ukrainians. Among them was a man nicknamed “Okhtyrka,” hailing from the Sumy region. Some workers even traced their ancestry back to western Ukraine. Anatolii, despite his limited understanding of Ukrainian, could recite the first two lines of Taras Shevchenko’s poignant ballad, “Prychynna,” likely learned from his friend Okhtyrka, “The wide Dnipro roars and groans, the angry wind howls “

Anatoliy never considered himself Russian. Surrounded by friends and neighbors who spoke the same language, he didn’t feel a strong sense of belonging. At the age of 30, with the birth of his second daughter, Iryna, the weight of responsibility intensified. He knew he needed to work harder to provide for his growing family. It was the summer of 1971.

Youth Among the Coal Mine Pits

Fifteen years had passed, and it was 1986. Iryna, then an eighth-grader, remained incorrigibly mischievous, indulging in childish pranks like ringing doorbells and fleeing the scene. Afterward, she and her friends, thirsty from running away from the irritated residents of Mine No. 21, headed to the only place where they could drink unlimited soda from a machine installed by the miners. It was also the only spot that tolerated the kids’ presence. Rehydrated, the youngsters dashed off in different directions, but Iryna and her closest friends lingered to watch the miners emerge from the pits at the end of their shifts.

They came, as always. As the workday ended, the grimy miners’ faces, smudged with soot, emerged like a uniform mass. Their daughters competed to spot their fathers first. At the end of the tunnel, helmet lights flickered in the growing dusk. The men saw the girls and immediately ran to them, their smiles breaking through the grime, their white teeth the only clean spots on their bodies. The daughters giggled as they rushed forward. Even after countless days of repeating this ritual, the sight of their daughters waiting for them never failed to fill the miners with a sense of childlike wonder.

Iryna approached her father, her eyes filled with uncertainty. “Should I wait for you, or should I go home?” she asked softly. That day was “butylok” day, a long-standing tradition among the miners. Those heading off on vacation brought a three-liter jar of moonshine to share at a communal feast. The men gathered in someone’s backyard, sitting on the grass as they drank late into the evening.

Halyna, accustomed to her husband’s occasional drunken returns from these gatherings, rarely objected. He often brought home a small treat for their daughters, softening her frustration. Yet her thoughts drifted to Lenka, whose father drank heavily for no particular reason—a habit that cast a long shadow over their lives.

In the evenings, the children all headed home, except for Lenka. That was when electricity and water were restored, and everyone hurried to wash up and finish their homework. Public utilities were only available twice a day: once in the morning and again in the evening.

Iryna lingered with Lenka and suggested they head to the railroad tracks to wave at passing train drivers. She cherished those final days with her best friend. After graduation, Iryna planned to move to the city to continue her studies, leaving behind the simplicity of their small-town routine.

Petite New Red Shoes

The admission campaign began in the summer. Iryna set her sights on a pedagogical college in Kremenchuk—the only one offering teacher training after the eighth grade. Accompanied by her father, Anatolii, she traveled to the Poltava region, only to be warned by the admissions commission that nonresidents would have to study in Ukrainian. Although Iryna had learned some Ukrainian at the Twenty-First School, she still struggled with words like “palyanytsia.” Weighing their options, father and daughter began to reconsider. Ultimately, they chose Poltava instead, where Anatolii had connections at an electrical engineering college that could guarantee her admission. The decision felt practical, and the city itself was familiar to Iryna. Every summer, she visited her aunt Lida, who had lived in Poltava for years. After their journey, Anatolii and Iryna returned to the Donetsk region. With just a month left before Iryna would leave home, preparations began early for this new chapter in her life.

Anatolii decided it was time to buy Iryna a new pair of shoes. He couldn’t let his daughter step into this new chapter of her life unprepared. Taking money from the drawer, he discreetly handed his wife a little extra, more than they had agreed upon during the family meeting. He knew Svitlana or Halyna might also want something at the market—or, at the very least, they could indulge in their favorite dessert sold there. A few moments later, they boarded the bus and left their familiar neighborhood behind, heading toward the bustling market, anticipation in the air.

Visitors to the market are met by Roma traders displaying Persian carpets. However, these goods can only be fully viewed in their nearby camp, just a few meters away. Irynka and Svitlana clutched their bags tightly as they followed their father through the bustling stalls. Anatolii, however, walked with confidence, unbothered by the lively chaos around them. Fear was unfamiliar to him; if anything, it was others who felt intimidated. His massive, calloused, and strong miner’s hands spoke of a life of hard work and left no doubt about his ability to protect his family.

The market stalls were brimming with treasures: shoes, scarves, skirts in every color and style. Amid the bustle, Iryna’s eyes caught sight of a pair of red shoes that seemed almost magical. They were elegant “boats” with small heels and a delicate silver clasp, glistening as if they’d descended from the heavens. Excited, she asked for her size and stepped onto a piece of cardboard in front of the mirror. She spun, admiring her reflection, the shoes fitting as though they were made for her. Anatolii and Halyna exchanged a knowing glance—a silent, unanimous decision. “Yes,” they said, smiling. The saleswoman carefully packed the shoes into a box while Anatolii counted the bills, a grin spreading across his face. Perhaps it was the sight of his daughter’s joy, her smile lighting up the moment. There was even money left over—enough to make this special purchase worth a little celebration.

Around the corner, they found dessert sold in cups—baked ryazhenka with a golden crust. The elderly woman behind the counter handed out spoons with care. Anatolii finished his treat first, savoring it quickly, while the girls stretched out their enjoyment, spoonful by spoonful. But time was not on their side—the buses didn’t run late, and the last one was set to leave around seven in the evening. The outing was drawing to a close, but at home, an exciting fashion show awaited Iryna.

Back in the living room, the family took their seats. Halyna settled into one armchair, Svitlana into another, while Anatolii claimed the VIP spot on the couch. Iryna began her runway walk, stepping out from the kitchen to the hall, proudly showing off her new red shoes. As she paraded back and forth, she imagined herself strolling confidently around Poltava after classes, her new shoes clicking against the pavement.

Suddenly, a rumbling noise from the bathroom interrupted the moment—the water had been turned on. The show came to an abrupt end . Iryna had two precious hours to fill the pots and bowls, bathe, and wash her clothes. With a sigh, she carefully, almost reverently, returned the shoes to their box, tucking them away as if they were a promise for the future.

When Peace Started Crumbling

A few hours remained before the train’s departure. Anatolii busied himself packing Iryna’s bags for Poltava, but he wasn’t packing clothes. Instead, he carefully stacked loaves of boiled sausage, each weighing about two kilograms. They weren’t for Iryna—she couldn’t possibly eat that much—but for Anatolii’s sister. In Poltava, food was scarce, and store shelves were often bare.

After a simple send-off with glasses of lemonade, Anatolii accompanied Iryna to the train station. Together, they carried her bags into the second-class carriage. With little time for sentiment, they exchanged a quick hug before the train began to move. Standing on the platform, Anatolii waved to his daughter with his massive hand, his silhouette shrinking as the train picked up speed. It was likely at that moment that the bond between them began to fray. Iryna was stepping into a new, unpredictable life full of excitement and opportunity while Anatolii’s world was beginning to crumble. The economic crisis had hit the Donetsk region hard, bringing the miners’ struggles to the forefront. Even during difficult times, the stores had at least some sausage on the shelves. Now, there was nothing.

By the late 1980s, coal mines were either shutting down or drastically reducing their production rates—a trend not limited to this region but affecting the entire global industry. In Europe, for instance, companies had been closing mines and laying off workers for over a decade. Coal production was steadily declining, and wages followed suit, often delayed by months.

The economic crisis that had plagued the Soviet Union for years had finally reached the Donetsk region, compounding the hardships. At times, Anatolii would bring home sausage from the mine’s cafeteria because it had all but disappeared from store shelves. Despite the shortages, the family managed to scrape by. Their financial stability, modest as it was, even allowed Iryna to go on an excursion to the Baltic countries. This was largely thanks to Halyna, whose careful management of the family budget made it possible. Yet, like all savings, their reserves eventually dwindled.

Anatolii was exhausted from years of relentless overwork. The six-hour workday promised to miners didn’t include the grueling commute, signing of logs, issuance of equipment, or time spent changing clothes. Every day stretched far beyond six hours. At 49 years old, his once-unyielding strength was fading. Still, he climbed into the coal face on his knees, inhaling choking dust as he worked. Retirement lingered on his mind, but he kept postponing it, unwilling to leave behind the only life he’d ever known.

“I’ll finish getting Iryna through her studies, marry her off, and then I’ll finally be free,” he often said, half-joking, though the weight of his words hinted at the weariness he carried.

Anatolii felt no particular urgency—he had a roof over his head and enough money to get by. However, not everyone was as fortunate.

The miners were growing increasingly frustrated. Promised apartments and cars had yet to materialize, and even basic necessities-like soap for the showers at the mines-were in short supply. For the first time, the Donetsk Oblast faced a severe food shortage, pushing the miners to their breaking point. In July 1989, they took to the streets in protest, becoming the first to openly demand a better quality of life. When their calls were ignored, their demands shifted, culminating in a powerful message: “Down with the Communist Party.” The protests quickly spread across the country. Anatolii was one of the many who joined the rallies. That summer, Iryna returned home for the holidays and accompanied her father to the “white house,” as the local administration building in the village of Khanzhonkove was known. There, she stood among the sweaty, determined miners,their helmets clanging in unison, their voices reverberating with anger and hope for change.

The miners approached the administration building as if it were just another shift at the mine—strictly on schedule, both day and night. Iryna didn’t delve into the reasons behind it, but a quiet sense of pride swelled within her as she watched their unwavering determination.

“They have a voice,” I thought as I looked at their faces.

Some miners rested on cots whileothers shared their food with Iryna, creating a sense of camaraderie among them. They all stood firm in what they believed in. A few days later, their demands were partially addressed—the Verkhovna Rada of the Ukrainian SSR passed a law granting economic independence to the mines, allowing them to export surplus production abroad. This measure was intended to increase wages, but in reality, little changed. Back in Poltava, Iryna shared stories of the miners’ protests with her friends.

They listened intently, captivated by tales of open defiance against the government—a stark contrast to the life they knew. To them, it offered a glimpse into a different, bolder reality.

In 1990, Irynka settled into the Poltava plains when she married Volodymyr.

He patiently helped her master the pronunciation of Ukrainian words, though “palianytsia” remained a challenge. With her marriage, Anatolii finally exhaled a deep sigh of relief—he had fulfilled his fatherly duty at last.

Anatolii retired in 1991, the same year as Ukraine’s referendum on independence. Like the majority of miners, he supported the Act. However, his decision wasn’t driven by patriotism—after all, he identified as Russian—but by a practical desire to escape the “red plague” that had tormented their lives. At the time, it seemed the only viable option for a better future. Two years later, Anatolii returned to work, but not in the mines. Instead, he took a job as a loader at a sawmill. The coal industry was no longer profitable, and the promise of salvation had proven hollow. The struggle for stability persisted , with no clear end in sight.

“Dad, I’m your daughter, not a ‘Banderite.’”

Life was tough for many in the early years of independence. Iryna made do with onion cutlets while the meat was reserved for special occasions. Although the era of shortages began to fade, prices for basic goods skyrocketed, and money lost its value almost overnight. Economists called it hyperinflation, but ordinary people summed it up simply: “We are living in poverty.” At times, wages were paid in goods produced by the employers—anything from flour to household items.

Over time, the economy began to recover, and the introduction of the hryvnia restored a semblance of stability. With the new currency, people could once again afford to buy things. During this period, Volodymyr took on a second job at Vodokanal. His efforts paid off when he surprised Iryna with a fur coat—a symbol of brighter days ahead.

In the Donetsk region, little had changed. Water was still rationed, provided twice a day, but it was so filthy it couldn’t even be used to make tea. Miners were still angry over months of unpaid wages, and strikes became a regular occurrence. In 1995, the government eliminated subsidies for miners, only to reinstate them later—yet the workers still weren’t paid. Layoffs swept through the industry, and Anatolii wasn’t spared.

By the early 2000s, Iryna gave birth to a son, and Anatolii and Halyna traveled to Poltava to visit. They delighted in playing with their grandson and marveled at the conveniences of his world: clean, uninterrupted water, reliable electricity, and well-maintained roads—a stark contrast to life in the Twenty-First District. This place felt like a different reality.

When it came time for Anatolii and Halyna to leave, Iryna packed parcels for them to take back to Donetsk. She included fragrant slices of underbelly bacon, knowing it was hard to find anything so tasty in their region—or if did exist, it was sold in places far out of reach.

But as the years passed, these journeys became too much for Anatolii and Halyna. Age took its toll. Anatolii’s once-strong hands grew wrinkled and frail, and Halyna, always petite, seemed to shrink even more. Their strength, like the coal dust that had defined so much of their lives, was fading away.

After visiting Poltava, they returned to the Twenty-First, a place where time seemed frozen . The same old nalyvaika (“tavern”) remained, nestled within its dated Soviet interiors, and the street corner perpetually reeked of uncollected garbage, a stubborn reminder of the stagnation that defined their home.

The Stranger

Halyna passed away from cardiac arrest in the hospital. The medication couldn’t save her. For the first time, Iryna saw Anatolii cry. In that moment, she realized something she had always overlooked—miners, with their hardened exteriors, were just ordinary people with deep emotions.

After some time, Iryna gently suggested that her father try going on a date . “Maybe you’ll find someone,” she said, trying to lift his spirits. He reluctantly agreed, but when he returned, he sat heavily on the couch and said simply, “She’s not our mom.” From that point on, Anatolii’s loneliness deepened.

With little to occupy his days, his routine became simple: sitting on the bench outside, having a beer at the Pitman bar, and watching television. TV became his closest  companion. He rarely missed “Wait for Me” on Inter and often stayed tuned for political programs afterward. He also watched Russian channels like TNT or Russia 24, filling his evenings with their endless stream of content.

Every day followed the same rhythm. But the more he watched, the more something simmered within him. The TV often stirred anger in him, mostly for reasons he couldn’t articulate. One evening, while his frustration was bubbling over, his daughter called. It was the wrong time.

Iryna congratulated his father on February 23, celebrating Russia-established “Defender’s Day”, as was the custom. He suddenly responded with aggression: 

 “You’re a Banderite, and your family is Bandera followers,” he said into the phone.

 Iryna burst into tears. He had never spoken to her like this before. 

The line went dead, severing their connection. The memory of the red shoes they’d bought together receded into the background.

When Iryna took him to Poltava, there was no turning back-Makiivka was occupied. He couldn’t leave his daughter to care for him, frail and dependent on a single meal a day. His health was failing Every argument with her drew him back to the idea of returning to Donetsk. Tension was constant, fueled by his volatile mood. One night, he blurted out a pro-Russian sentiment at the dinner table, pushing his son-in-law to his limit.

“If you say that again in my house, you’ll be out,” Volodymyr warned him.

Anatolii felt isolated and misunderstood until his final breath. His daughter Svetlana, too, had fled to Poltava, but she risked her life to return to the occupied territory to gather their belongings. She spoke of explosions and Russian flags, but he dismissed her. “Are you crazy?” he scoffed. He clung to the narrative that Ukrainians were the aggressors, victims of a smear campaign. Fear consumed him-a fear of judgment and reprisal.

For five long years, they lived together infragile peace that masked deep divisions. Cirrhosis eventually claimed his life, a silent testament to the toll of anger and resentment. He never lived to witness the full-scale waror the horrors that would unfold in the land he once called home.

 

Author: Danylo Bumatsenko

Photo: Valerii Miloserdov from the project “Abandoned People”; private archive of Danylo Bumatsenko