I: What meaning do flags have at the frontline? What do soldiers say if they have a flag? How do they feel if they don’t have one? Does it carry a specific meaning, or are there traditions tied to them?
Maksym: I’m not sure I follow the question.
I: I put a lot into that one. I just mean, what does a flag represent to the soldiers at the frontline? Is it a symbol of bravery, or something precious to them? What’s it all about?
Maksym: This might surprise you, but you won’t see many flags on the front lines. Any spot you mark as “yours” is just an invitation for a bomb or a drone to hit you. War is different now; people try not to show where they are or who they are – they hide. But in the bunkers, deep underground, you’ll usually find flags. The Ukrainian flag is a reminder of what we’re fighting for. That’s all. It’s about our identity.
I: But if the guys don’t have that flag, do they tell you it affects their operations or their missions? Does having a flag on hand help them when they go into battle?
Maksym: I don’t have an answer for that. I can’t say for sure. But as a motivational tool, the flag is huge. Ideology, motivation – those have always been important. You’re asking a lot of questions in one go.
I: That’s true.
Maksym: I don’t know which way to approach a question like that. I can’t give you one single answer; I just don’t know what to say.
I: Just tell me what you feel, what comes to mind.
Maksym: I’ll put it this way: I’m a military volunteer. I’m not a soldier, but I’m not exactly a civilian either. I’m somewhere in between. For me, it’s important. Yes.
I: What does it mean to you?
Maksym: Look at what I’ve got here. [shows a tattoo on his left shoulder]
I: [reads] “I live on my God-given land.”
Maksym: Is that answer enough for you?
I: Yes, it’s our land, we have to–
Maksym: That’s all there is to it. That’s what matters to me. I think if you use your imagination a bit, you’ll find the answer to your question. It’s important to me. The flag is important. It’s important out there too, but like I said, they don’t put them up where the actual fighting is happening. It’s too dangerous; it gives you away. It’s a personal thing for everyone. Everyone has their own understanding of why they’re fighting. One fights for the state, another for his home, a third for a brother who was killed. Me – I have my own war. I can tell you for a fact that I am fighting. I’m fighting for what was taken from me. They took my whole life in Luhansk. They took my house, my business, my parents’ graves – I don’t know when I’ll ever see them again because they’re over there. That’s what I’m fighting for. And don’t anyone tell me I’m doing something wrong. The last time I was at my parents’ graves was in 2014. Since 2016, I’ve been on the FSB lists as an enemy of the people. A “fascist,” basically. So, that’s how it is.
I: When you talk to the soldiers, do they tell you stories? Do they share any traditions or rituals that help them get through the day, or keep them from losing their minds?
Maksym: It’s different for everyone. There’s no general rule. Some units have their own rituals. Azov has a specific one – motivating the guys before they head out, checking every man personally to see if he’s ready. That’s personal. Otherwise, everyone prepares in their own way.
I: Some soldiers told us they have a tradition of going for a coffee before a mission.
Maksym: Some won’t shave, some do other things. Everyone has their thing.
I: Can you tell us about a few? Someone said you can’t wash before a fight.
Maksym: I don’t know about not washing – you don’t get many chances to wash out there anyway. When I used to go out, every morning, I had my own tradition as a volunteer. I’d wake up, go down to the basement where a calendar was hanging, tear off the page, and drink a coffee. There used to be a coffee machine there; I’d sit for a little while, then head out to Donbas. I did that every single time. After I was wounded, I got rid of the coffee machine because I couldn’t go down there to drink coffee anymore. But honestly, they tell me more interesting things about the actual combat, about the prisoners… but I can’t tell you those things. Most of my conversations with them are about that. Everyone I know is in combat units – not the rear, not logistics, but the guys right in the fight. They feel terrible when they lose friends. Really, that’s a different story. It’s very hard. They used to come to see me. The war is right here. Back in ’23, when the russians pushed again, a whole [Ukrainian] group was killed, and the survivors came to me. I sat with them all night because they were in a very bad psychological state. These were guys I’d known for a long time.
I: We had a situation like that too. In ’22, we spent a long time gathering humanitarian aid for a brigade. They were near Bakhmut… I can’t remember exactly where now, somewhere in the Kharkiv or Donetsk region. We collected so much stuff. The van left at night, and in the morning, the wife of the commander or one of the soldiers texted me. She said the whole unit that was at that position – they were all gone. Not a single survivor. It was so hard to process that.
Maksym: That happened to me twice as well – I’d be on my way to them, and by the time I got there, they were all gone. It happens. It’s tough. Therapists worked with us and said, “You shouldn’t get too attached to everyone, this is war.” But how the hell are you supposed to not get attached? You know, I’ve lost close friends, more than one. It’s hard. Getting over it is hard too. Everyone handles it differently. I shut myself away for a few days. Usually, I’m a very open person, I talk a lot, but when I lost friends, I just locked myself in. I couldn’t talk to anyone. I’d just sit at home. I didn’t want to do anything. It happens.
I: A lot of people give themselves three days of not talking to anyone, and on the fourth day, they come out and act like nothing happened. It’s easier for them that way. Do you have a specific timeframe for that?
Maksym: Yeah, about the same, a few days. It’s a bit easier for me mentally now because I don’t go out there anymore. You see, there’s this dissonance between being out there and being here. I leave Kharkiv, and everything is fine. I get to Donbas, and everything is different. Then literally the next day I’m back, and life is “normal” again. It’s very hard for the brain to switch like that. It usually took me 2-3 days to settle back in. On the first day back, I’d go to a hookah lounge and just smoke. Alone, by myself. Just to relax a bit and try to get things back on track. We have those “manly” words for when you’re feeling really low; you stand up and say, “Come on! Pull yourself together, you piece of trash!”
I: Honestly, some women do the exact same thing.
Maksym: But you have to do it, because if I don’t, who will? I’ll be honest, no one is going to take my place.
I: Why do you think that?
Maksym: I just know it. Four years into this war, everyone has already chosen what they’re going to do. Even after being wounded, when I lost my arm, I never even thought about quitting or leaving… because they’re out there. And I know there aren’t that many of us volunteers who can really help the army. It’s not that we’re so great. We’re just ordinary people, like you. But like I said, we’re the bridge between the population and the soldiers. There are so many people who want to help but don’t know how. They don’t trust this person or that person. You understand? Every volunteer has their own people – people they don’t even know personally – who trust them with their money. The things people have handed over to me: Starlinks, power stations, you name it. “Here, give this to the boys.” One old lady came up to me with a kilogram of candy; she said, “I bought this with my pension money, please give it to the boys.”
There are so many cases like that, and it’s our mission – we have to do it. Because if you ask any soldier, they’ll tell you: if it weren’t for the Ukrainian volunteers, there wouldn’t be a Ukraine anymore. That’s not my achievement; it’s the achievement of the Ukrainian people who helped the army. I am 100% sure that if you ask any real combat soldier, they’ll tell you the same. Ukrainian volunteering is a unique phenomenon in the world. Nothing like this has ever happened before.
I: Yeah, when our guys went into Kursk, that didn’t happen there.
Maksym: It didn’t happen, exactly. That’s the difference. People say “what’s the difference?” but there’s a huge difference. And we have to keep doing it. I had literally just been discharged from the ICU, and I was already on the phone giving orders on what to do and when. Oh, God! You should have seen the hospital! When my soldiers started coming to see me. They’re all grimy and dirty, they show up, and the doctor stands there saying, “I won’t let you in! I won’t let you in!” Man, it was something else. And actually, it was only after I was badly wounded that I realized I was doing something important. Because the number of people, actual soldiers, who came to see me was just… they told me at the hospital they’d never seen anything like it. They came in columns!
I: They came in columns?
Maksym: Yeah! In columns! They kept coming, and I’m like, “Guys, I need to get an injection, give me a minute.” I felt so awkward, but it was a sign of respect for what I’d done. Honestly, that’s what pulled me out of that mental trap. Not even a trap – a pit hole. By the way, this is an underground school, just so you know. There’s a school right here under the ground.
I: [in English] This is an underground school. [in Ukrainian] Did they build it after the invasion?
Maksym: Yeah, they built it last year.
I: [in English] It was built last year.
Maksym: [in Ukrainian] I could say a lot more about volunteering. It turned out I didn’t go to fight, but I believe I’ve done everything I could for my country.
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