Living in the occupation: the story of a Romani activist who lived in the occupied Kakhovka for seve

Janusz Panchenko is a researcher of Romani culture and language, a civil activist, an ethnographer, and a historian. He is a Romani by origin. Janusz was born in Kakhovka, in Kherson Province. He was one of those who survived the Russian occupation in his hometown. He saw the Russian military invade the city, smashing people’s doors in, robbing people of their property, breaking, entering, and destroying everything. They also occupied the building of Romano Tkhan Roma Centre in Kakhovka which Janusz and his fellow activists had only founded a year before.

But the Romani activists managed to get out of there, out of the occupation. Today, he is telling the story of Russian military occupation in his own city. He continues researching the Romani culture. And he dreams to be able to come back home one day.

February. The war did in fact start

For Janusz, the morning of February 24th, 2022, began in a different way than any other day—same as for all us Ukrainians.  The boy woke up hearing the explosions at dawn. The walls of his house were trembling and the rockets kept humming in the air. He opened the news but could not find any information on what was going on in his hometown. So he just googled “Kakhovka explosions”—again to no avail. Failing to understand what to do next, he opened his school chat which was rife with messages from his pupils telling him that the war did actually begin. It was then that he understood that the situation was becoming more and more serious. The first thing Janusz decided to do was to go and get his brother who then lived in Nova Kakhovka, as it was there that most explosions were heard and it was there that the air was filled with the exhaust of enemy missiles.  

— My brother told me that his neighbour came and told me that the war had begun. This was exactly what she told him: “Let us get into a bomb shelter”.

The enemy tanks have entered the city

Until the very end, the 30-year old Janusz and his family could not believe that it was war knocking on the door of his home. They initially planned to move to Lviv and stay there for some time. They rang up their relatives in Western Ukraine but the relatives convinced them that it was all fine and that there was no need to go anywhere, that it would all be over soon. 

— Two or three days and it will all be over, — so said their relatives. And hence they just delayed the idea of moving to another, safer city.

As days went by, Janusz was increasingly worried and concerned about the further chain of events. He kept thinking about his brother—who was in Nova Kakhovka, on the other end of the city. Finally, he decided to go and take his brother back to his home—so that no one would worry. The road was covered with anxiety and military machinery. Armoured vehicles and military cars were passing him on and on and on and on. The morning was full of alarm. He had to traverse several long kilometres to see his brother and get him to a safer place. Initially, it seemed to Janusz that these were Ukrainian militarymen who entered the city to patrol and protect people and property. He just could not fathom enemy tanks being able to just roll into his city so quickly and just roam the streets. It was back when he and his brother were going back to Kakhovka that they saw dozens of destroyed and burnt down cars along the road. It was then that it became clear to them that the city was invaded by the enemy.

—The invaders apparently thought that Kakhovka and Nova Kakhovka are the same city. Hence, they were mostly shooting on the outskirts of Nova Kakhovka, —  recalls Janusz.

The Russian military was always deployed in Nova Kakhovka, so it was calmer and safer on the other side: in Kakhovka proper.

Living under a quiet occupation

For the first couple of months, Janusz Panchenko’s family teamed up with other Romani families. They mostly stayed at home during daytime; in the evening, they were listening to the humming of military planes that were flying above their roofs. As time passed, people began to get accustomed to all that, as they started exiting their houses, going outside. Janusz decided to not be a lazybones but to do something useful. Firstly, he rang up the city council where he had a couple of acquaintances and offered them his help as a volunteer. Right away, they decided that the boy would be able to supply the poorest Romani families with food and other necessary items. And so, the Romani activist and some employees of Kakhovka city council had been working for some time. Next, he established contacts with overseas volunteers and they sent some funds into the charity account he had opened. Janusz used the funds to buy foodstuffs and help others. They product they lacked most was milk. It was next to impossible to get any milk then. So he only put what was available in the humanitarian aid packages.

There it was: the Ukrainian flag on top of the city council

Residents became increasingly accustomed to the sounds of gunfire in the evening and at night whereas in daytime, they proceeded with their mundane business. Someone put up the Russian flag atop the city council building; several days later, it was replaced with the Ukrainian blue-and-yellow. Ever since, the life was slowly going on. One day, though, Janusz noticed that his mobile connection is getting ever worse and worse.  Initially, it was for a couple of days but then there were ever longer periods of ‘network unavailable’. His communication with overseas volunteers broke down. Next, any delivery of humanitarian shipments downright ceased.

May.  (Do not) prepare a dinner for the occupiers

On the 9th of May, Janusz woke up at 9am, thinking about Romano Tkhan, the Romani Centre in Kakhovka. He was informed that the door of the centre has been smashed in by the Russian military—and then they blatantly occupied the building, letting no one in. For the Romani activist, this became the first signal telling him to make a decision to get out of the city. Every day, activists and journalists from Kakhovka were being kidnapped. When it was Janusz’s immediate acquaintances that started to vanish, the boy realised that that was something that could happen to him, too. Russian military machinery was freely roaming the city and there was more and more invaders in the city every day.

Residents were suffering from a humanitarian crisis: there was almost no medication, no foodstuffs, no other necessary items. The adjacent villages of Kherson Province—Oleksandrivka, Bilozerka, Vysokopillia—became targets for the enemy and a place where the residents found it ever harder to breathe. At any given moment, the Russian military could just enter someone’s home and order the owners to cook dinner for them. They took equipment and other valuables. Those who tried to protest or refuse to obey orders were beaten and degraded. Residents exited their own houses in the dark of the night as they abandoned their homes. They were looking for shelter where it was just safer. Every day, more and more people left Kakhovka. The city was becoming an orphan.

— You are sitting at home and he is coming over, with an AK-47, he just goes and takes a bath, and grabs whatever he wants. If you just go along with that, he will leave. If you start protesting, he will beat you up — recalls Janusz.

Out of his friends and relatives, there was almost no one left in the city. Everyone has just left. They just abandoned everything. The only thing that was holding the lad back was his home. The neighbouring houses were becoming empty every day. There were almost no lights seen in the windows. Kakhovka was swiftly turning into a ghost city.

— As you are sitting in the basement, you fail to understand why are you sitting there, in order to do what? We believed that we would be able to get back to normal life. But it was very soon that we understood that it was something that was never going to happen.

A drunken soldier with weapon in his hands is an invader

Roadblocks prevented people from leaving for days, sometimes weeks. Sometimes, people were just exhausted and hopeless as they turned around and went back to their occupied settlements, cities, and homes. The road was constantly shelled by Russian artillery. Some people got wounded by splinters, others were dying right in front of their relatives’ eyes. Janusz was waiting for the day when the situation would stabilise—but that day never arrived. He decided to get out via Crimea—although he was aware of the fact that that would be more dangerous. It took him seventy long kilometres to get from Kakhovka to the firstmost roadblock towards occupied Crimea. Next to Chonhar, he was stopped by the first bunch of Russian soldiers. Drunken, holding an AK-47, they started to talk to Janusz in a rude manner, claiming something unclear.

A drunken soldier, with weapon in his hands, an invader, stops me and starts yelling at me. I would lie if I said I was fine with that, — Janusz says as he recalls the perilous road through Crimea. There were aeroplanes humming everywhere and there was military equipment all around. Destroyed machinery was going into Crimea and fresh machines were going back to Ukraine.

Filtration camp at the border

Next was another roadblock. Here, Janusz was interrogated for several hours. A special ‘interview’ was arranged. They took away his phone and were looking through all of his notes and correspondence. For several long hours, the lad was waiting for their decision as he was considering a number of options in his head. He was constantly thinking about his Instagram where there were many posts about Romani resistance against the Russian invaders. After several long hours of interrogation, he was granted the permission to enter—and headed towards the Latvian border. There, he waited for another 37 hours. The Russian border control officers were deliberately delaying all cars with Ukrainian number plates. They were taking your documents; they were forcing you to go back to the end of the line, over and over again. At 2am on the next day, Janusz and his family managed to cross the Russian-Latvian border.

Latvia supports Ukraine!

Once he was on the Latvian side, it took the Latvian border control officer 20 minutes to verify Janusz’s documents and allow him in.

— I just could not believe that I finally managed to do that. I asked the border control officer: “What now? And he’s like: “Nothing. Get going. Safe travels!”

There was a huge billboard in front of me which said: “Welcome to Latvia. Latvia supports Ukraine in its war against the Russian aggressor. We are going to do everything to make sure Ukrainians feel safe”  — I just felt so good as I was reading that. Like never before.

Today, Janusz lives in Berlin, in a camp for Ukrainian and Roma refugees. He has re-established his contacts with overseas volunteers and is now trying to help Ukrainian Romanis who were forced to leave their homes in Ukraine due to the Russian aggression. He also plans to proceed with his research work—this time focusing on how this war is going to impact the new generation of Romanis in Ukraine.

Another thing Janusz dreams of is being able to reopen the Romani centre in Kakhovka. And to be able to open the door of his home again.