Photography by Hanna Hrabarska | 2025
Hanna Vorosheva
49 years old
Born and lived in Mariupol, Ukraine
Decorator, florist, founder of a wedding organising company and owner of a party supplies shop.
On February 24, 2022, Russia launched a large-scale military invasion across multiple regions of Ukraine, targeting major cities with missile strikes and advancing with ground troops. In just a few hours, the conflict escalated into one of the most destructive wars in Europe in decades. The invasion caused massive displacement, the breakdown of critical infrastructure, and placed millions of civilians in immediate danger.
In Mariupol, a major industrial and port city on the Sea of Azov, the consequences were immediate. The city was quickly encircled, leaving its residents without electricity, communication, water, or heating. With supply routes cut off, approximately 500,000 civilians faced severe shortages of food and medicine.
Hanna Vorosheva lived in Mariupol. Before the war, she was preparing to open a flower shop in Mariupol. 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 and work were destroyed by the Russian invasion in a matter of days. 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 Olenivka prison. 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 military prisoners tried to send messages to their loved ones through civilian detainees, who stood a better chance of eventually being released. “We would write things like ‘call my family on this number if you are suddenly released, tell them I’m alive and I’m in the Olenivka prison’. But the price of writing such a note in captivity was high.” Scraps of paper were torn from old books, makeshift pens had to be found, and someone had to summon the courage to smuggle 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.”
The Ukraine Legal Network (ULN) was founded in 2023 by The Nuhanovic Foundation to support Ukrainian survivors of international crimes and grave human rights violations in their pursuit of justice, accountability, and reparations. Based in the Netherlands, ULN aims to connect survivors with Dutch national and international justice mechanisms and to provide free legal consultations on the Register of Damage for Ukraine, while also engaging in litigation support, advocacy, training, and research. Through this work, ULN seeks to ensure that survivors like Hanna can share their stories and claim their rights as part of the broader struggle for justice.
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.
“What struck me the most about Hanna is the strength she somehow found within herself while being in Russian captivity. To live through the inhumane conditions, to help dozens of people and to keep living and being unapologetically herself — kind, unbroken and hopeful. War has an ugly face. But sometimes it highlights the beauty of survivors. This is how I saw Hanna and tried to show it in my photographs.”
– Hanna Hrabarska
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.
