My Journey To Justice

Fawziya Zandinan

Photography by Hanna Hrabarska
2025

Hanna Vorosheva

49 years old

Resident of Mariupol, Ukraine

Decorator, florist, and founder of an event decoration company

On February 24, 2022, a full-scale war broke into the lives of Ukrainians. And the residents of Mariupol found themselves blocked in a city that in the first days was without electricity. Without communication, without water, without heat, and 500,000 residents were left alone with cold, hunger and bombing.

Before the war, Hanna Vorosheva lived in Mariupol. She describes herself as a businesswoman, running a flower shop and an event decoration company. She had raised her daughter through university, loved to travel, had hobbies and friends, and felt that her life was on track. “I was an adult woman who had her life planned out… I lived a happy, fulfilling life. Overall, I was someone who worked hard and had a clear vision for the future.”

That life was upended by the Russian invasion. During these terrible days, Hanna joined the self-organised volunteer centre “Halabuda”, where she was in charge of the medical supply warehouse. On March 16, 2022, Hanna managed to leave Mariupol and evacuate seven people. With her own funds and donations from supporters, she purchased minibuses and food, and gathered medicines and other essentials. She then undertook the dangerous task of organizing and delivering everything to the besieged city.

During one of these missions, she was detained by Russian forces and accused of terrorism. They placed her in the Yelenov colony. That’s how she became a prisoner of war. 100 days without hope for freedom, 100 days in a cold prison cell, in the dirt. Disenfranchised, cut off from the world and her family, 100 days of captivity. She speaks of that period as a test of survival. “I am someone who saved my own life and the lives of many others. I spent my own money to do the work that my country, which had promised to protect me as a citizen, should have done.”

During captivity, communication was scarce and dangerous. Hanna recalls how prisoners tried to pass messages to loved ones outside. “We would write things like, ‘If it’s possible, we will send a note,’ or ‘Could someone please send cigarettes.’ The price of writing one of those notes in captivity was high.” Scraps of paper were torn from old books, writing tools had to be found, and someone had to be brave enough to carry the message past the guards.

These small notes carried immense weight. “Sometimes they were requests, sometimes words of thanks. We also wrote down phone numbers and kept secret lists. If someone was lucky enough to be released, they could call those numbers and tell families that their loved ones – a child, a husband, a relative – were still alive. Those were very fragile, very sensitive moments.”

For Hanna, the idea of justice feels abstract. She reflects on it as something often used by governments as a concept rather than a practice. “Justice feels like a philosophical and manipulative concept, something the government uses to create an illusion of safety for society. In reality, our lives are in our own hands, yet we are not all-powerful and depend on many factors.”

She explains that during her work no organisation helped her. Instead, it was individuals who made a difference. “No organisations helped me. The only support came from a media platform and journalists. Ordinary citizens donated directly from their own bank accounts. It was people who opened their hearts, who cared about the fate of others – they were the ones who truly helped.”

Her reflections on justice are shaped by lived experience. She describes how even in countries that call themselves democratic, vital information is hidden or inaccessible. She gives the example of benefits for mothers, children, or the elderly – rights that exist but that citizens must actively discover for themselves. “Somewhere along that path, you realise you’ve already paid for those rights, but you still cannot access them.”

But her search for justice is not over yet. “My journey towards justice is not finished, I am still searching for it. I believe justice and accountability will only begin when the government, as the guarantor of order in the country, takes responsibility and provides citizens with clear information about the organisations, services, and forms of support it has created for us as citizens and taxpayers. Only then will it feel like true justice – for me, for elderly people, for children growing up here, and for every other part of the population. That would be a good start. Without this transparency, I feel as though I am at the bottom of the mountain, unable to see what is really happening at the top.”

Looking to the future, Hanna speaks of hope and responsibility. “Atrocities have happened, are happening, and, unfortunately, will continue to happen. Once again, it comes down to accountability. It requires open minds, open eyes, and open hearts. We cannot close our eyes to what is happening, and we cannot ignore it – it will not disappear on its own.”

Hanna also reflects on what she hopes to see in the Netherlands and across Europe. “I have a deep hope that Dutch society will accept that we are a worthy part of the community, and that they will begin to trust us more. Every society, every country, and every group of people exists under the basic laws of humanity. If we want society to have hope, we must give hope.”

For Hanna, survival is only the beginning. She wants understanding, accountability, and recognition. “I often hear the words, ‘But you stayed alive.’ Yet just being alive is not enough. I hope the Dutch people will understand why Ukrainians don’t smile as often, and I hope that one day we will be able to again. We just need more time, and in time, we will learn how to smile once more.”

About The Photographer

Hanna Hrabarska is an independent Ukrainian photographer, artist, and educator, now based in Amsterdam. She holds a Master’s in Journalism from the National University Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. She has worked across personal projects, editorial photography, advertising, and portraiture, as well as teaching photography through the online school SKVOT. Hanna’s work addresses the impact of war on civilians, displacement, and memory. Her ongoing project My Mom Wants to Go Back Home documents the displacement of her family following the 2022 invasion of Ukraine. Her work has been published in Die Zeit, Vogue, Forbes, Cicero, and NRC, and exhibited in Europe and the United States.

Justice
From War to Democracy and Freedom

Our latest initiative, a storytelling campaign titled Justice: From War to Democracy & Freedom, showcases the real-life experiences of survivors and victims of international crimes and grave human rights violations. At the heart of this campaign are the survivors themselves, the faces, voices, and stories behind these precedent-setting legal battles, which will be brought to life through a series of survivor portraits captured by acclaimed photographers. Through these portraits, our goal is to make the resilience, courage, and pursuit of justice of these individuals tangible, urgent, and deeply relatable.

Photography by Mona van den Berg | 2025

Fawziya was born in 2005 in Shingal, in northern Iraq, into the Yazidi community. In 2014, when ISIS attacked Shingal, she was nine years old. She was abducted, separated from her parents, and over four years sold several times before being freed. Her parents and oldest brother remain missing to this day.

In 2024 she travelled to the Netherlands for a conference marking ten years since the Yazidi genocide and has since applied for asylum. Now learning Dutch and dreaming of a future in law, she hopes to combine legal work with helping children. Her story, supported by the Yazidi Legal Network and the Nuhanovic Foundation, speaks to both the crimes committed against the Yazidi people and the determination of survivors to rebuild their lives and pursue justice.

Her full story of survival and the fight for justice will be released in November as part of our campaign Justice: From War to Democracy and Freedom.

About The Photographer

Mona van den Berg is a Dutch photographer who has worked internationally for more than 25 years, often focusing on the lives of women in conflict and post-conflict settings. A central theme in her work is conflict-related sexual violence. She has spent years working with survivors in Bosnia and Kosovo, later expanding her projects to include women in Congo, Liberia, and Colombia. Her approach combines careful listening with long-term engagement, ensuring that survivors’ perspectives are reflected on their own terms.Her photographs have been exhibited in the Netherlands and abroad, and her work has appeared in international publications and collaborations with NGOs. By documenting both the violence endured and the ways women rebuild their lives, Mona’s photography contributes to broader conversations on justice, accountability, and the recognition of survivors of sexual violence in war.

Justice
From War to Democracy and Freedom

Alaa Abdel Qader

In 2014, Dutch F-16 fighter jets bombed what was believed to be an ISIS munitions factory in the Iraqi city of Hawija, causing a massive secondary explosion that killed more than 70 civilians and left hundreds without homes. Among those affected was Alaa Qader.

Hasan & Nasiha Nuhanovic

Hasan Nuhanovic, a survivor of the Srebrenica genocide and inspiration behind The Nuhanovic Foundation, reflects on his pursuit of justice and accountability with his daughter, Nasiha.

Hanna Vorosheva

Before the war, Hanna Vorosheva lived in Mariupol, running a party supplies store and a wedding organising company. A survivor of detention by Russian forces for 100 days, she reflects on the idea of justice, accountability and responsibility.

Fawziya Zandinan

Alaa Abdel Qader

Hasan & Nasiha Nuhanovic

Hanna Vorosheva

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