As British cities did during their darkest hours, a ruthless aerial bombardment campaign led by Hitler sought to subdue the United Kingdom in the Second World War. Now, in a stark echo of that past, Ukrainian cities face a nightscape where lights go out and streets fall silent. When darkness falls, street lighting is deliberately withheld. The streets empty, and pedestrians move through the shadows while a few cars drift by and traffic lights flash. The authorities acknowledge that hiding nothing would reveal the scale of the incident, yet the reality remains: Russian airpower is a heavy toll in a campaign already marked by energy strain as winter approaches. Yet there is one city that never sleeps, resistant to the numbness of fear and insomnia alike, where the night does not necessarily mean death or destruction.
Zaporizhzhia, in Ukrainian mythology, is the homeland of the Cossacks. A seed of independence and Slavic warriors, the city is now fighting to protect the country that once empowered it. For two weeks, Russian missiles and anti-ship drones of Iranian origin have rained on the city, which is under Ukrainian control in the southern region. A metropolis with a population around 720,000, it resembles a giant dynamo in peacetime but a battleground in war.
Not only is Zaporizhzhia home to Europe’s largest nuclear power plant, it also sits above one of the continent’s most significant hydroelectric facilities on the Dnieper River. The site holds not only strategic value but also the risk of catastrophe. A direct hit could compromise reinforced concrete structures, flood the city, and plunge the plains to the south into danger. The plant has become a recurrent reminder of past crises, evoking memories of Chernobyl and Fukushima, refracted through the lens of today’s conflict. The gravity of potential disaster underscores why residents remain alert, even as concern is often overshadowed by immediate personal worries. A 26-year-old anesthesiologist, Serafina Reikova, explains how sleep has become elusive under the strain of nightly sirens and fear: “I’ve started taking medication to sleep, but it doesn’t help. I get tachycardia, I sweat, and panic attacks come and go. A week ago, a Russian missile destroyed her apartment building, a fireball sweeping through hallways and wiping out a whole wing. Fifteen lives were lost.” [Attribution: On-the-ground reporting and witness accounts]
Military uncertainty after annexation pressures
For residents in a lower-middle-class neighborhood, the questions keep piling up. The scene is fragmented: no essential infrastructure, little sense of purpose behind the assaults, and a stark reminder that Russians may be acting with a detachment that borders on inhuman. Reikova describes salvaging items from burnt spaces and loading them into a van, amid the rubble of what was once a functioning home. The city’s experience contrasts with the fate of other urban centers. Zaporizhzhia, Grozny, Mariupol, and even Beirut have all faced different theaters of pressure. The city remains largely intact after almost eight months of conflict, yet the looming threat persists. Since the onset of the occupation, a referendum atmospherically signals annexation in the thoughts of the Kremlin, with missiles continuing to rain on various districts. Local emergency services report casualty figures—seventy-nine dead and around two hundred injured—amid ongoing military activity. [Attribution: Local emergency services and field reports]
On the southern flank, despite encroaching threats, the Ukrainian side continues to hold and defend. A physician named Taras Tyshchenko, a member of the Zaporyia Emergency Council, notes that the city’s resistance is part of a broader strategy to prevent encroachment. He observes that pro-Russian sentiment exists, but the populace remains determined to push back against occupation to protect Ukrainian sovereignty. “The next step of annexation follows a Russian logic,” Tyshchenko comments. “Those who remain are prepared to fight to the end.” [Attribution: Local interviews and council statements]
Resistance but not fear of conquest
Zaporizhzhia’s planning and resilience resemble other Ukrainian cities under strain. The city continues to function, at least in the short term, despite road checkpoints and fortifications designed to deter invasion. The initiative rests with Ukrainian authorities and civilians alike. While bombardments target infrastructure and strategic points, casualties and damage remind everyone of the human cost. Some missiles hit close to centers of authority or military facilities, underscoring the precarious balance between defense and disruption. The consequences ripple through daily life and the economy, shaping a tense urban rhythm marked by vigilance rather than surrender. A strike in early October killed several people in a central apartment complex and wounded others; another blow hit a market near important security installations. [Attribution: Independent incident briefings]
Second wave of migration and the human toll
For residents who have already faced upheaval, migration becomes an option weighed against the danger of staying. Those who depart describe the daily terror that has accompanied the war since its outset. Lourdes Harchenko, a young resident with a background in swimming and medicine, reflects on the strain: “We had everything here: two houses, two cars, but we have only one life and fear makes it hard to stay. I’m leaving for Germany.” She recounts how a direct attack left her deaf for a time and shaped a new reality: the soundscape of the city is filled with sirens, tremors, and the dread of the next night. Sleep remains elusive; anxiolytics and sleep aids offer little relief, and many turn to other coping mechanisms as they contemplate emigration in search of safety. The night in Zaporizhzhia arrives with air-raid sirens, and the imperative to leave grows louder for some residents. [Attribution: Personal testimonies and witness accounts]