Drawings about the war created by the boys and girls of Class 6H.
WHEN the Russian invasion of Ukraine began in February 2022 and some of her students fled abroad, Iryna Kovaliova, a literature teacher, decided it was time to retire.
“I wrote my resignation letter and took my things from school,” she said.
But the children in her sixth-grade class, 6H, in a Kyiv school, begged her to stay, “at least for the duration of the war”, she recounted in a recent interview.
Two years later, she is still teaching at age 63, three years past the retirement age for teachers, torn by the heartbreak of watching her students grapple with the trauma of air raids, bombings and the loss of loved ones.
Kovaliova is still teaching at 63, three years past the retirement age for her profession, torn by the heartbreak of watching her students grapple with the privations of war. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
Kovaliova worries for those who have been displaced, forced to study online, as well as for former students who have already enlisted in the army and are fighting on the frontlines.
She begins every morning by checking the social media accounts of two former students who are now in the army, relieved when she sees that they have been online, knowing that at least they are alive.
Maria Lysenko, the school principal, said she was worried for a whole generation of children, but also for her teachers.
“Children are like tuning forks, a reflection of what is happening in our lives,” Lysenko said.
“There is a reason that a child is lying on the desk – maybe he has not slept all night because he was waiting for news from someone close.
“But what about the teachers?” she added. “They are holding on, no breakdowns, no panic, doing their best.”
Children and teachers across the country began their first day of classes for the new academic year early September, at a time when Russia has been stepping up bombardments of Ukrainian cities.
Class 6H is the most troubled group of the sixth grade in Kovaliova’s school.
The children, she said, dislike discipline and cannot sit still after going through lockdown during Covid-19 and then two years of disruption with the outbreak of war.
They often ignore teachers, Kovaliova said, adding, “It’s a difficult group.”
But, she said, she could see reasons behind their behaviour.
The girls of Kovaliova’s Class 6H working together on sketches depicting their wartime experiences in their classroom in Kyiv, Ukraine. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
“These children are loud. They want to shout something. But we never asked what they are shouting about.
“These children are crying for help,” she added. “They are like a bleeding wound and no one sees it.”
So, instead of checking their homework on a recent morning, she surprised the class with a sudden question. She invited a reporter from The New York Times along to listen in.
Since the Russian invasion began, she said she had been pushing the school to consider displaying in the school’s bomb shelter a giant mural, painted by the children, in which they could express their experience of the war.
The school prevaricated, so she decided to plunge ahead, asking her students to start thinking about the project.
The first to speak was Danya, 11, a student who was displaced from his home in the Ukrainian city of Luhansk in 2014, when fighting first broke out between Russia-backed separatists and government forces in the eastern regions of Luhansk and Donetsk.
“Before, I thought of my house as a wardrobe where I could hide, where nothing worries you,” he said.
“And it’s not like that.”
Then, Yehor, 11, from Kyiv, said he fled the capital with his mother at the time the full-scale Russian invasion started.
“I wanted to stay, but my parents thought that soldiers were already approaching,” he said.
“We left. My dad stayed, and he saw with his own eyes a missile flying and hitting.”
Yehor’s family fled to a town west of the capital. He kept a religious icon with him, which he thinks helped them to make the trip safely. He said he wanted to depict that icon on the painting.
Kovaliova explained her idea: “Imagine, a student comes to the school in 20 years’ time,” she told the class.
“The war is over. We live in a happy country. And he sees this mural signed, ‘Class 6-H’. He sees a wardrobe and an icon on a wardrobe. And he starts thinking.
Children sheltering at their school in Kyiv during an air raid alert. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
“What changed inside you in these two years?” she said. “And how would you reflect it in a collective painting?”
Nazariy, 12, replied, “For me, war is death, in the first place. It’s very painful.”
Nervous laughter broke out in the classroom.
“My uncle died,” he said.
Kovaliova hushed the class. “How old was he?” she asked.
“Thirty-two,” Nazariy said.
“I want to cry,” Kovaliova said. “What would you paint?” she asked him.
“A fortress. Knights entering the fortress. And a lot of blood all around,” he said.
“How were you changed?” the teacher asked, turning to the class.
“I became less ashamed to voice my opinion,” said Nazar, 12.
“Before, I was thinking: ‘Why was I born in Ukraine?’ After the war started, I began to feel cool that I’m from Ukraine. I would paint a mirror on the wardrobe – to see how I changed.”
Arina, 11, revealed that she had been displaced from eastern Ukraine and separated from her grandparents who remained in Russian-occupied territory. She began to weep, and several of her classmates rushed to embrace her.
“I would paint a person crying,” Arina said. “Because people die, and you can’t even visit their grave.”
“It’s a very important conversation,” their teacher said.
“Thank you. I understand you better. You understand each other better.”
Drawings about the war created by the boys and girls of Class 6H.
Stories were tumbling out now.
“My brother died recently. He was 24,” a boy called Sasha said.
“I didn’t value those moments of life with him. I would paint arms holding coffins. Our painting is getting complicated,” he added.
Another classmate, Kyryl, spoke up.
“When the war began, it was much scarier than I expected,” he said. “I would paint fear.”
“How would you paint fear?” Kovaliova asked him.
“Darkness,” Kyryl said. — ©2024 The New York Times Company
