SMH chief photographer Kate Geraghty shares her first-hand account of devastation caused by Russian ‘blood oil’

Whenever I hear about a new Russian attack on Ukraine, I always think of my friend and colleague Fedir and his wife, who live in Kiev.

Are they good? Was the drone strike near them? How many people died or were injured? Which parts of the city were destroyed?

Before coming to work as an officer reporterI’m the chief photographer of , and since I know Fedir won’t sleep, I send him a message and check if he’s okay.

This imprint’s Blood Oil series has highlighted the large quantities of Russian oil entering Australia since the start of the war in Ukraine and called for policy change To ensure Australians do not help finance Vladimir Putin’s war machine against Ukraine.

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But the Australian-Ukrainian community is still calling on the government to close any loopholes that allow this “blood oil” to flow into Australia and join the European Union and Britain in pledging to stop any Russian energy products from entering through intermediaries.

As a photojournalist, for over 23 years I have been deployed to cover wars (Iraq, Syria, Afghanistan, Congo, Lebanon, Palestine’s West Bank and Ukraine) and document some of the most harrowing situations, from the Bali Bombings to the Christmas Tsunami.

I have seen firsthand the devastation of war, witnessed the human toll and destruction of communities, towns and cities. That’s why it’s so heartbreaking to know that Australia, as a country, was complicit in helping fund Russia’s war effort. Australia has a long history of supporting its allies. Now is the time to step up and close these “blood oil” gaps.

I have been on assignment in Ukraine several times: in 2014 to cover the referendum, the downing of Flight MH17, and the Russian invasion. I returned in 2022 as Russia launched its all-out war. Although I have not been back for several years, I know that every Russian attack, whether by air or by land, brings great devastation and destruction. Since the impact of war permeates every fabric of society, civilians always suffer.

on the ground

This is what happens during a missile attack. If you’re in a city, air raid sirens pierce the night and the Weather Alert app lights up your phone. You get your bag containing all your essentials. You start sleeping fully clothed, so you put on your shoes and run to the basement or a nearby station. You wait, surrounded by neighbors, sheltered in shelter, watching news sites and scanning maps, hoping a missile doesn’t hit you. If an impact happens near you, you may feel the ground shake or hear the explosion, knowing the destruction it will cause. You wait for the warning that the attack is over, or at least that this wave is over. This may happen several times during the day or night.

Following the attack, emergency services search for the dead and injured, fires are extinguished, and residents begin to clear debris and board up windows. The others stand in shock. Clothes and personal belongings will be strewn everywhere, covered in mud, scattered on trees or hanging from exposed balconies.

There is no way to calculate the enormous mental and emotional toll on the civilian population. These are some of the people I met and photographed during my last visit to Ukraine in 2022.

Zoya Shaposhnik’s husband, 67, is too ill to evacuate. He needs to repair his house, which was damaged in the missile attack in Krasnohorivka.

Olekdsndr Fayizov, a civilian computer technician, shows me where Russian soldiers hit his head against the wall of a basement room at the Trostyanets train station. He is still trying to come to terms with the trauma of what happened to him and cope with the pain of the people he lost.

Seven-year-old Volodymyr Baklanov lies unconscious with a gunshot wound in the intensive care unit of a Kharkiv hospital, unaware that his mother was shot and killed next to him when Russian soldiers opened fire on their car. His younger brother sleeps in the basement of the hospital to protect himself from daily attacks.

Yekaterina Volkova was taken out by emergency services from a burning nine-storey apartment building in Kiev. He has a long and painful road ahead of him as he recovers from his injuries.

Liudmyla Rudska, 64, wipes tears from her face as artillery fire is heard outside the apartment building in the frontline town of Avdiyivka, which was first bombed in 2016. He lived through the past eight years of war and never thought that war would tear his country apart. He fears for the children of the nation growing up in the midst of war.

According to the United Nations Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights (OHCHR), since Russia launched its large-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, 14,534 Ukrainian civilians have been killed, including 745 children.

For now, I continue to meet with my friends who live in the middle of the war. Knowing that Fedir is safe for now, I end our conversation as I always do: “I hope your sky is quiet tonight.”

Kate Geraghty is a Gold Walkley Award-winning journalist and the Herald’s chief photographer.