NO MORE DEEP STORIES
Truth in Photography: How have you both been since the last time we spoke?
Maxim Dondyuk: Everything seems fine, but at the same time, things have changed since our last conversation, and unfortunately, not for the better. It has become increasingly difficult for me to continue my work in Ukraine due to mounting restrictions. The government seems averse to independent or free media and is striving to control everything and everyone. They aim to produce only propaganda, favoring press tours for daily media like The New York Times, The Washington Post, or CNN, creating a kind of orchestrated performance within a couple of hours. While this might be normal for daily news, it's far from satisfactory for me. I require at least a week to delve deeply into the subject matter, which is not feasible under these circumstances.
TiP: You're not able to make photographs?
Maxim: I'm unable to work on in-depth, serious stories, like the ones I worked on with The New Yorker, GEO, or when I photographed medics. The government prohibits staying in one place for a week or more and tries to control everything I need to capture. This isn't just about me; it affects many other documentary photographers and filmmakers. The government seeks to regulate every step and every word, and frankly, it feels like military censorship. I understand their reasons, but I had been documenting this war long before Zelensky became president. Now, it's incredibly challenging for me and others like me to access the real situation or to document how our soldiers fight, portraying the true face of war without rose-colored glasses.
Irina Dondyuk: And it doesn't just apply to working with the military at the frontline, it also now applies to the frontline areas and civilians. Even if you want to photograph civilians, you need special permission. Previously you could make photos of civilians, work on long deep stories, but now, no, you need to get special permission, and, of course, you might not even get it, or you can wait for it several weeks or months. Without it you will be arrested or put on the blacklist or your accreditation will be taken.
TiP: Do you want to publish this? Do you want this to be known?
Maxim: Yes, and I already talked about this during an interview with a Ukrainian media, Zaborona, it was also translated into English. I also told there about my experience when the military called me and said to keep my mouth shut if I don’t want to end up in jail as a traitor. What is important, neither soldiers nor foreigners nor many Ukrainians perceived my work as a bad one, in contrary soldiers want to be heard, maybe for the last time before they die, foreigners start screaming that they need to send more support to Ukraine, and Ukrainians also understand the difficulty of the situation.
And if I’m not allowed to work as a documentary photographer here, then I need to decide, if I stay here, or simply go to another country. I won’t fight and will never take a weapon, but I also don’t want just to sit at home. If I can’t continue my work which I’ve been doing for 10 years, then what am I even doing here?
TiP: You were telling me the last time we talked that some people were not wanting to believe your photographs were real and that even people you knew questioned whether or not they were real and factual. And your photographs are so powerful. I've noticed that there are less photographs in American newspapers now of what's going on in Ukraine. And it just seems to me that if we can't see these photographs, then how do we know what's really happening?
Maxim: If you knew what really happened, you would be surprised.
TiP: That's difficult because I know how much you are in support of Ukraine fighting against the Russians. Are you making any photographs? Are there any new images that you're making, not of war, about what's going on?
Maxim: I cannot. Military command outlines the green, yellow, and red working zones for journalists. Accredited media representatives are allowed to work in the "green zone" unaccompanied by a public relations officer or other official designated by the commander. But these are cities where nothing happens. In the "yellow zone", you are allowed to work if escorted by a public relations officer or another official designated by the commander. And again, it's not even close to the front line. And in the "red zone” - it is prohibited to work there. And the red zone has everything that we need to work.
Frankly, I don't understand why it's happening. It looks like a huge propaganda machine. And it's happening with all free media. Sometimes, even when The New York Times or The Washington Post publishes some materials our government disagrees with or wants to suppress, they're just being stripped of their accreditation as punishment. Of course, they usually reinstate the accreditations a few weeks later, understanding the necessity of an international media presence here. But the Ukrainian government doesn’t understand why it is important to focus on larger projects too. I know a few documentary filmmakers who want to come to Ukraine and work on a good documentary movie about the frontline, but they spent four to six months and still haven’t received any permission. I also spoke with many press officers who do not understand why I require more than 2 hours in one location, because the AP can make pictures during these two hours and so can BBC and CNN. The emphasis remains solely on daily news, and there's a lack of appreciation for the depth and nuance that longer projects can offer.
TiP: What is life like for you now in Lviv? What is your day-to-day life like?
Maxim: It's like New York or Paris or London - everybody drinks wine, strolls around the city, and enjoys themselves as if there were no war. It's a very disorienting feeling when you return here after being at the front. While at home, I'm primarily working on my upcoming photo book, set to be published next year by the German publisher Buchkunst Berlin. And also work on a documentary movie Crimea Sich, which I filmed a couple months before the Ukrainian Revolution 2013/14. It's a unique story about a military training camp for children aged from 7 to 16 in the Crimea Mountains, under the watchful guidance of the Ukrainian and Russian Cossacks, with the real life war experience. It’s a blend of childhood innocence and savage training. The documentary raises a lot of questions. Why would adults, former military officers, want to teach armed combat to children? At such young age, do children realise what they are being taught and why? Religion played a vital role in this training, but what was its true purpose? Is this type of ideological indoctrination healthy or even ethical for the young impressionable minds? And how might this influence these children, who consider they come from brotherly nations, to take different sides in a conflict? This year it has been exactly ten years since I finished filming this documentary. In that time, we have seen revolution, the annexation of Crimea, the occupation of Donbas, and Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. For me, this project proved to be a kind of prediction of the events that followed. On the example of a small camp that gathered Cossack children from different countries, we can see and understand how the education of the younger generation affected the future decade. The priests at the camp were former members of the KGB who blessed them to die for the motherland. Officers taught the children to hate western culture and to solve almost all issues by force. I have tried to finish the film four times, but always I have been frustrated by a lack of financial support. My brother and I are trying again now, because this film raises issues that remain highly relevant today. But whether it will be finished or not, again depends on funding.
But I think next month I will go back to shooting, the weather and light becomes much better for taking pictures, it's more visual. And I will try to work the whole winter up until spring. But as I said it's harder and harder these days.
TiP: With this interview, what photographs of yours would you like to publish for Truth in Photography?
Maxim: I think more pictures from the Bakhmut area, where we lived alongside soldiers, attempting to emulate their experiences. We spent two weeks without access to showers, sleeping in dugouts and trenches, constantly under shelling. Our aim was to truly grasp the harsh realities they face. When we joined this battalion, we hadn't anticipated any specific outcome, whether positive or negative. However, after spending two weeks and witnessing so much, we wanted to share this truth. The soldiers opened up to us and shared their stories, which turned out to be incredibly challenging. Regrettably, some soldiers lost their lives after our departure. It echoes what they often express: 'We don't return home. We live and die here because we're conscripted without a demobilization date. We'll remain until we lose our legs or until our last breath.”
TiP: That sounds very grim. Can you send some of your photographs from Bakhmut and maybe something that was published that you really think is this kind of visual propaganda that you're talking about?
Maxim: Mostly they share all propaganda through Telegram, YouTube, and Instagram.
TiP: It would be good to see some of that, to make that comparison, or anything that was published in a newspaper, we could show the newspaper.
Maxim: I must say, there are no magazines or newspapers here like those in the US or Europe who work with photographers. We only have some inexpensive newspapers that lack any photographic content. Before the war, there were a few magazines, but they were controlled by oligarchs aiming to manipulate public opinion. People support the government's control over information out of fear that Russia might exploit it or that sharing unfavorable news could be detrimental. However, for me, documentary photography is vital. I don't seek to highlight either good or bad aspects; I simply question why I'm denied the opportunity to spend a week with soldiers. Their reasoning is that it's too dangerous.
Let me clarify, I've been involved in documentary photography for ten years. I've been wounded twice, and in 2014, I was encircled with Ukrainian military forces in the city of Ilovaisk, Donetsk region, by Russian Army. So, when they talk about danger, I wonder what truly constitutes risk. They want to mobilize me, send me to the frontlines with a rifle, where my life could be in jeopardy within 15 minutes, and in this case they seem indifferent to my safety. This contradiction perplexes me. I cannot risk my life as a documentary photographer, yet I've been repeatedly urged to join the army, fight against Russia, and face potential peril the very next day.
TiP: We read so little now about the numbers of people that are dying. How many Ukrainians have died?
Irina: This is a very complicated question, one that you'll never encounter in Ukrainian media. Occasionally, such information can be found in international media. However, some Ukrainians also ponder this question, yet no one knows the exact number because it's kept hidden. The government justifies this secrecy by claiming that if people were aware of the actual figures, they would be disheartened and fearful, potentially leading to reluctance in joining the army—something the government aims to prevent.
Maxim: Yeah, but the primary reason they give is that Russia might discern the extent of our losses. It's a valid question. Initially, we're unaware of the number of soldiers we've lost. Secondly, there's uncertainty about how many soldiers we must deploy, potentially leading to their deaths, in order to liberate an area.
TiP: Could you talk a little bit about how your process works when you have a week to go to a war zone? What do you do? How do you interact?
Maxim: Before the war, I also worked on some long-term projects, such as “Tuberculosis Epidemic in Ukraine” (2010-2012), where I documented tuberculosis hospitals all over the country. I lived more than one year in those hospital, sometimes two-to-three weeks non-stop.
Arriving at a new place, I aim to engage with the people and capture their lives through photography. Initially, they pose for me, intrigued by the arrival of a photographer. Over the next few days, we communicate, and they gradually open up, sharing their stories and experiences, akin to a tourist arriving and engaging with locals, capturing portraits and learning about the area. I slowly integrate into the community or specific groups, whether soldiers, civilians, or hospital staff. They start to ignore me, almost forgetting my presence, allowing me to take pictures. In this manner, I become a part of their world, aiding them sometimes – even assisting in carrying deceased bodies with the Cargo 200. My approach differs from typical journalism; I become part of the community, immersing myself in their lives to capture the depth of their emotions.
This method is important to me because I find it challenging to depict profound emotions in a brief encounter. A mere two-hour visit, introducing myself as “Maxim from a magazine” or “an independent photographer,” taking a few pictures, and then disappearing doesn’t allow for a deeper connection. My approach requires a minimum of a week, spending at least five days and nights with the community. Being present at night holds significance; although I might not take pictures, the conversations over tea and the shared experiences deepen my understanding. These interactions allow me to channel all the emotions I experience into my photography.
When I attend a press tour to an artillery or mortar site, located ten or five kilometers from the frontline, these tours are conducted daily for various media outlets. However, upon arrival, I realize it's more of a staged performance. While the soldiers and weapons are real, I understand that such press tours are a routine for many photographers. At times, shots are fired not because of an actual target but because we, the photographers, have arrived. It's a bizarre situation, and it's not something I wish to participate in. I'm not seeking just any picture; I'm in pursuit of capturing emotions. I yearn to genuinely experience and share the emotions of these situations with the people who view my photographs. For me, photography is not merely a visual record but also an emotional diary. It's difficult for me to capture any authentic emotions when I arrive like a passing tourist for a short duration. How can one truly feel the essence of Paris in just 40 minutes? For me, this is an ethical dilemma.
TiP: It’s the deeper ethical question that is so concerning, in terms of how are we able to know what's really happening if they're not telling us how many people are really being killed or hurt and then they're not allowing this deeper level of photography?
Maxim: It's disheartening to hear certain officers tell me, “What you're doing isn't important, if you want to take pictures go to the army.” Of course, I understand their need to exercise control. However, some people fail to grasp the impact of my work, or that of another photographer, filmmaker, or writer, on influencing minds in other countries.
I want to stay, and I don't want to merely remain silent. I'm not criticizing the government's efforts towards liberation, as our army genuinely does commendable work. However, I'm not an enemy, I'm not a spy. They think that all photographers with a camera are spies. And I cannot understand this situation.
This interview with Maxim Dondyuk and his wife Irina Dondyukwas conducted via Zoom on October 5, 2023.