In wartime, when everyday life breaks down, we are left to fend for ourselves. We depend on mutual assistance and access to information that ensures our survival. For example, where can we find water? What are the safe routes? Where are the shelters? Who can help us flee? By exploring besieged Mariupol, Olena Pavlova demonstrates the importance of interpersonal media communication in this context and the emergence of grassroots democracy.
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Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began on February 24, 2022. Mariupol was located less than 70 kilometers from the Russian border. The day after the war began, Russian forces started fighting for the city. However, as the troops advanced, the main front moved forward, leaving the city deep behind the lines by March 2. The siege of Mariupol began. The city itself was too large to be captured at once. With a pre-war population of around 450,000, it was Ukraine’s seventh largest city. Mariupol was a major industrial center, primarily metallurgical and machine building, as well as a major port, handling 17 million tons of cargo per year until 2020. The encirclement, siege, and near-complete destruction were the first in a series of tragic episodes in this war.
The latter is unique in that it is the only war since World War II fought on huge continental fronts by regular armies across large territories. Currently, the front lines span over 1,000 kilometers, depending on the measurement method. What sets this war apart from all previous ones is that it is being waged under the constant surveillance of enemy satellites and drones. This difference is fundamental and is gradually establishing new rules of warfare. Huge breakthroughs by mobile columns of heavy armor, which defined World War II and its aftermath, have become impossible. Surveillance systems detect the accumulation of armor many kilometers away, and long-range weapons respond more quickly than heavy weapons can reach firing range. This is the so-called ‘transparent’ battlefield.
Therefore, military advancement is only possible in small infantry groups of two to three individuals. Observers from the outside may get the impression that the front has stabilized, as in World War I, but this is not entirely true. This is not trench warfare but rather micro-advancement seeping through the gaps between combat units and points temporarily out of sight. This military micro-mobility is made invisible against the backdrop of spectacular battles that dominate the media. However, it is ongoing and demands bloody sacrifices. The number and scale of these advances are unlike anything experienced in previous maneuver operations. Therefore, it seems that the front is standing still or moving very slowly. This was not the case with Mariupol.
Struggling to survive the siege
At that time, everything was just beginning. New methods of warfare had not yet amassed a bloody track record, and the city was located too close to the border. Russia’s offensive was carried out with tanks and other heavily armored vehicles. This distinguishes the siege of Mariupol from those of other cities in Ukraine: it was stormed with heavy weapons. In the first hours of the war, artillery destroyed the infrastructure of many districts, leaving them without electricity, heating, a water supply, or mobile communications. Some locations had gas, but if a shot hit the gas pipeline, a wall of fire would last for a long time. All of the city’s residents instantly found themselves in a different reality. Any attempt to go outside, even to the courtyard to boil water, often resulted in death. My friend’s father died this way. They were forced to leave his body wrapped in a carpet in the courtyard for the entire duration of the siege. Many remained under the rubble.
It was even more dangerous to venture out further, such as to look for water. There aren’t many wells or water towers in a steppe town. People were forced to filter water from central heating systems, even for drinking. Even after passing through numerous layers of fabric, the water was still rusty. Dehydration was a major problem in the large industrial city that was deprived of a central water supply. The city was under constant shelling from large, self-propelled guns. There were also snipers at work. Consequently, many people died of dehydration. For more than three months, wiping their bodies with a wet cloth was simply out of the question for many. This would have been difficult in principle, especially in the winter and spring cold. There was no heating in the cold basements where people tried to hide from the shelling. Any wetting would lead to frostbite of the limbs. In addition to dying under the rubble, gangrene became a common cause of death among the civilian population. The cold dulls perception, plunging people into apathy and further complicating survival. By early March, almost all residents had run out of food. They rummaged through shop window debris, hoping to find grain trampled into the mud after the riots of the first few days.
This contradictory and tragic situation is difficult to describe in full. It is challenging to maintain objectivity when recounting the epicenter of the disaster and the unwritten tragedies of individuals. My story will focus solely on the interactions between the city’s residents. Without mutual informational assistance, survival would have been even more difficult for everyone. People only went out to get food and water and often did not return. It was unclear whether they had been killed or were unable to return from neighboring houses due to the intense shelling. Some returned to find not family members, but rubble. Often, there was no one nearby to ask if their friends or acquaintances had escaped the shelling or remained there. It was reassuring to know that your relatives weren’t there. People rushed to the first civilians they met and asked if they had seen anyone who had escaped.
Staying connected
Some people helped anyone they could, including both people and animals. I know of one case in which they dug for four hours to rescue a cat screaming under the rubble. Often, though, there was no way to help. They heard cries for help but were unable to respond. There was a constant lack of basic living conditions – heat, light, and water – with a constant threat to life, not to mention the exhausting sounds of battle, which flared up and died down randomly. Relatives were lost in an emergency situation. It was impossible to know how far away help was, and going out to try to find it could cost you your life. In such a situation, when the usual sources of communication are unavailable, any news is welcome. Those with broken cars used their generators to charge mobile phones. They shared their remaining energy with neighbors so they could contact loved ones and find their way through the chaos of blood and fire.
Until mid-March, there was no communication with residents outside Mariupol. People had no way of knowing what was happening to their families and loved ones. In the early days, the fighting in the city could only be observed via satellite. Seeing the destruction in real time was surreal. Rare mobile phone signal points became gathering places for people during random moments of calm. It was necessary to orient oneself and react instantly. Everything could change catastrophically in a second.
As the evacuation of civilians began in mid-March, volunteers started bringing in food, water, and generators. The locations where these necessities were distributed became places of pilgrimage. People gathered in groups to charge their phones, learn where the next food and water distribution point would be, and plan their evacuations. They discussed how to reach these places as safely as possible.
Information politics of everyday war
The situation changed instantly, when access to energy and information became more limited. It was often useless to communicate with people outside the city, and it was unreliable to spend the last drops of battery power and seconds of connection on it. Those physically close to you usually knew as little as you did. Specific forms of mobile communication became a way out of this vicious circle. People began creating mobile communication chats within the city. These groups formed quickly and were tied to specific locations. For example: ‘Bus Station,’ ‘36 School,’ ‘Kuingy,’ ‘Neptune Pool,’ and ‘House No. 146.’
The overly broad communication network that existed before the war was useless for understanding the rapidly changing situation. Knowing exactly where intense shelling would begin, where a sniper was operating, where water and food could be obtained, where a phone could be charged, where the nearest evacuation point or undamaged shelter was located, where people from a bombed-out house had gone – at least in which direction – and where the children were was important. This information was crucial for survival. Only other people suffering from the war could provide it. Some people shared what little they had and offered help, but the most important thing was to be able to navigate the chaos. It was the only way to combat the waves of apathy and despair overwhelming people. Such waves were not allowed to seep into these channels.
In the physically safe environment of the digital world, ordinary online communication acts as an amplifier of emotions. In times of despair, people did not allow themselves to express grief, not even the most sincere kind. They did not have the time or energy to waste on these precious resources. If someone started writing about the death of a loved one, others did not pull them away; however, they did not express sympathy or support either. This disregard for emotions helped to clarify the operational situation by rationalizing and systematizing information.
Preserving your humanity
In essence, it was a rational agreement to protect life, liberty, and property, as John Locke would say. This agreement forms the basis of civil society. It did not arise from deep reflection on complex theoretical concepts of society but from the practice of survival in a besieged city, which was close to the ‘natural state.’ This ‘natural state’ is not a distant page in human history nor a generalization of the Thirty Years’ War in Europe. Unfortunately, it is reproduced by every new tragedy of a military situation (Hugo Grotius). However, it was not the “man is a wolf to man” attitude and “private violence” (Thomas Hobbes) that helped everyone survive; rather, it was the ability to preserve one’s humanity, understand what was important to another person at that critical moment, and try to help them.
Even in the absence of state administration – which is tantamount to social anomie – people remained ‘citizens’ in relation to each other and preserved their ‘civil status.’ In the media environment, civil solidarity became a new form of grassroots democratic interaction. This was not the result of lofty motivations or “moral argumentation” (Samuel von Pufendorf), but it saved people from apathy and preserved their faith in each other and themselves. Even the simple exchange of information in a chat room is an act of civic solidarity when there are no ‘sovereigns’ and help from relatives is impossible.
Learning from Mariupol
Images of the disaster in Mariupol were among the first to spread around the world. In response, people in other countries took to the streets in demonstrations, hoping to stop the tragedy and express sympathy for the city’s suffering residents. This outpouring was an extension of the global practice of grassroots democracy.
Now, schools in Sweden have introduced a civil defense course that teaches students where to find shelters, how to get there, and how to navigate once they arrive. However, it is equally important to understand how grassroots democracy functions in critical situations and what resources are available.
Mariupol was attacked with heavy mobile weapons, so the city was captured in only three months. On May 20, 2022, the last Ukrainian troops surrendered at Azovstal. According to Ukrainian law, Mariupol is now considered a ‘temporarily occupied territory.’ Due to the new conditions of war and its micro-advances, deploying a siege as a military strategy in the ongoing war will last longer and be more exhausting than it was in Mariupol, where the siege lasted only three months. Other cities in Ukraine are usually surrounded for six months or more. Therefore, it is important to understand not only institutional interaction but also the basics of media interaction and the correct evacuation procedures, both for military specialists and civilians.
Civilians are primarily responsible for themselves, but media interaction increases everyone’s chances of survival and enables new forms of grassroots democracy. When evacuated Mariupol residents arrived at their new destination, those who had arrived earlier asked the new arrivals what was left behind. A little boy’s answer broke my heart: “There is no city, only the sea remains.”