My Journey To Justice

Hasan & Nasiha Nuhanovic

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 Febe Meijnen | 2025

In July 1995, during the fall of Srebrenica, Hasan Nuhanović lost his parents and brother after Dutch peacekeepers forced them out of the UN compound where he worked as an interpreter. He survived, but his life became a constant struggle between survival and accountability. Fighting for justice, both inside and outside the courtroom, has defined the years since, leading to landmark legal cases and the creation of The Nuhanovic Foundation, established to honour Hasan’s resilience and the family he lost.

Hasan’s daughter Nasiha has grown up with this legacy. Now a lawyer, she speaks of carrying “pride and responsibility,” determined to turn remembrance into action and to build communities that can heal without forgetting.

Their full story of loss, justice, and the next generation’s commitment will be published in October as part of our campaign “Justice: From War to Democracy and Freedom.”

About The Photographer

Febe Meijnen is a Dutch portrait and documentary photographer based in Leerdam and Amsterdam. She graduated from the Amsterdam Photo Academy in 2022 and combines her social work background with visual storytelling, portraiture, and reportage. Her practice focuses on underexposed stories, often highlighting people living through conflict, social upheaval, or challenging circumstances. Preferring black and white photography, she emphasizes contrast, form, and emotion, creating intimate, raw, and layered images.

Her projects include See Me Hear Me, which explores the lives of survivors of sexual violence in war, as well as Faces of Freedom, Along the River De Linge, and Pretty Powerful. Her work has been published and exhibited nationally and internationally.

“The story of Hasan and Nasiha touched me deeply: in their courage, perseverance, and resilience, I saw the indestructible strength of the human spirit. Through my photography, I aim to make this visible and support the mission of the Nuhanovic Foundation — giving survivors justice and a voice.”
– Febe Meijnen

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.

Fawziya Zandinan

When ISIS attacked Fawziya’s home town of Shingal in 2014, she was nine years old. She was abducted, separated from her parents, and sold several times over four years before being freed. Now living in The Netherlands, Fawziya dreams of becoming a lawyer and working with young people.

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.

Hasan & Nasiha Nuhanovic

Alaa Abdel Qader

Fawziya Zandinan

Hanna Vorosheva

Contact Us

Follow Us

Newsletter