Anna Chernenko reports from Kharkiv, a city that has become both a frontline and a proving ground for modern journalism under fire. As drones extend the battlefield far beyond traditional combat zones, the risks facing reporters have multiplied, forcing constant adaptation in how stories are gathered, verified, and told. Alongside these physical dangers, Ukrainian journalists confront a parallel war over truth itself—one shaped by Russian disinformation campaigns that blur reality and weaponize narrative.

In conversation with Scott Douglas Jacobsen, with translation by frontline reporter Volodymyr Pavlov, Chernenko reflects on how war is reshaping Ukrainian journalism from the inside out. She speaks candidly about risk, professional responsibility, and the uneasy balance between national survival and journalistic independence. What emerges is a portrait of a media landscape under siege but still stubbornly committed to documenting reality—even as that reality becomes harder to safely witness and harder to convincingly defend.

The interview was slightly edited for clarity and length.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: How will the experience of war shape Ukrainian journalism over time—not only in reporting itself, but in how journalists process and reflect it through writing, film, and photography?

Anna Chernenko: This is an interesting question. I have thought about it, though I would not call myself a journalist in the traditional sense. I think the answer lies in how we write, how we film, and how we photograph—how we capture what we are living through.

Perhaps this will not be fully reflected in the current material, but over the long term, we will feel it more deeply. My friends, my acquaintances, my colleagues—some are already writing books, some are reflecting on the war in different ways, and this will be unique. To truly experience it and understand it, we will return to this material later, for sure. This is how I see it now.

So, without overthinking it, I can single out one feature. Perhaps after this question, I will continue to reflect more. I am the kind of person who returns to questions and thinks about them over time. My answer may not change, but right now I would say it is about deep immersion—the experience of living inside this reality, the problem of life within this problem.

Jacobsen: Ukrainian journalism today is shaped by both physical danger and information warfare. How has this environment affected journalists’ willingness to take risks, and how do you navigate the tension between professional responsibility, national identity, and personal safety?

Chernenko: It is hard to answer this question, because for Ukrainians it is not about separate ideas—unity, life, and freedom are closely connected. It is all the same. I live here, I am Ukrainian, and that is why I continue to do this work.

These words describe our lives now. Are we ready to take risks? The evolution of these risks already shows that we are ready, and even more than before. In 2023, I could go to the line of contact at about 1.5 kilometers from Russian positions. I understood there could be fire, mines, or tanks. Now I understand that this is not the limit. I can be 30–40 kilometers away, because drones can reach us. This is not only about me; it is about all my colleagues in Kharkiv.

I also think it is important to understand what drives the Russian side. I think back to 2014. At that time, I did not understand that information could be used in this way, but it turns out they were ready for this. They did not see a problem in it—it was their job. Now it is deception: deceiving their audience, deceiving my audience, deceiving the world.

I can say that my colleagues continue to take risks in order to do their work. Before 2014, I did not see a difference. It seemed to me that we were all simply transmitting information. But it turned out they were ready to deceive, and they did deceive, and they did not see it as a problem. That is why my colleagues and I continue to take risks.

Even if it may sound like unnecessary bravado or pathos when written, these years of war have shown that it is not pathos. It is simply the reality we live in.

Jacobsen: Looking ahead, how might shifts in political leadership—or the continuation of current power structures—affect Ukrainian journalism, and what role will journalists play in documenting and interpreting the war’s long-term consequences?

Chernenko: First, if there are elections and Volodymyr Zelenskyy is elected again, I think we will continue as we are. Ukrainian journalists will continue to work as they have been working. There will be no major changes because there is no pressure or restrictions imposed on journalists. We will continue along the same path.

As for Vladimir Putin, I do not believe that something will suddenly change or that there will be a happy ending. To believe that would be to believe in something almost supernatural.

I hope that there will be victory. Then we will write about real facts and begin to analyze what has happened. We will no longer write about the war itself, but about its consequences in different areas of life.

I think the war will continue even if Putin dies. It is not only about one person. There are people who make decisions, who send others to fight, who continue this war. They will not suddenly become different or democratic. They have their own course, and that course is anti-democratic.

So in one case, we continue as we are working now. In another case, the themes of our work may shift. But I do not believe that leadership changes alone will define journalism in Ukraine.

If the war ends, it will become safer for us as journalists to work. That will be the most important change. But again, I do not believe that elections or Putin’s death alone will end the war.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Anna.