Looking at the War in Ukraine Through a Historical Lens
Civilian locations, including houses of worship, have become targets during the Russian invasion. What remains of the Church of St. Veils of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church in Malyn, Ukraine, stands as a reminder of the brutality of war and its indiscriminate destruction.
As a student of history, I thought the closest I would ever come to war in Europe would be through firsthand stories I heard from those who fought there nearly 80 years ago, on the front lines of World War II. But Russia's invasion of Ukraine changed everything. As I watched this seismic shift in global security unfold, I realized that the future I had envisioned for myself and the world was no longer reality. I soon found myself in the midst of a war in the 21st century, donning a ballistic vest and a camera, documenting stories eerily reminiscent of those told to me in years past by veterans of World War II.
Through my work with the WWII Veterans History Project, a nonprofit organization I founded in 2015, I have had the privilege of interviewing more than 100 World War II veterans, ranging from 90 to 105 years old. I've spent nearly half my life building an archive of war stories, visiting former battlefields, and creating documentary films to educate people about the horrors of armed conflict. My mission is to preserve the history of conflict in hopes of a more peaceful future. But after years of studying past conflicts, I've discovered the importance of documenting and preserving war as it happens, adapting my life mission to teach future generations why such events should never be repeated.
Benjamin Mack-Jackson in northeastern Ukraine with the 'Sumy Partisans', a volunteer outfit that has been fighting Russian forces since February 2022.
When I'm not working to document war, I'm a typical student, a Junior at Rollins College in Winter Park, FL, majoring in International Relations with a minor in German. On February 23, 2022, I began my day like usual. I rolled out of bed just in time to walk to my first class and spend the day on campus. That evening, just before midnight, as I returned home to study, it became clear that the Russian invasion had finally begun. I remember sitting alone in front of my television, staring at the screen in utter disbelief as I watched images of tanks rolling across the border and missiles striking residential areas. I didn't sleep that night, and as I watched the situation unfold, I knew I couldn't just stand by and do nothing.
This badly disfigured armored vehicle was once part of the Russian force that entered Ukraine from Belarus to assault Kyiv in the early days of the war. Now, it's a relic of a fierce battle that took place on the outskirts of Moschun, a village nearly obliterated by indiscriminate Russian bombardment, leaving 80% of buildings either damaged or destroyed.
Three weeks later, during my Spring Break, I was on the ground in Poland, documenting the largest refugee crisis in Europe since World War II. My suitcases were stuffed full of medical supplies and humanitarian aid that I delivered to contacts on the border. I returned to Rollins to finish my semester, but when my Summer break began just a few months later in May, I was boarding a train into Ukraine itself.
When I returned to campus after my travels, I was bombarded with questions from my friends, professors, and fellow students. Most simply asked: "Why?"
Knocked-out vehicles and war debris are cleared from the roadway and salvaged for parts as Ukraine's fight against Russia constantly intensifies. Soldiers work alongside demolition crews to remove live explosive reactive armor (ERA) from the sides of this tank, likely to reuse in the creation of improvised explosive devices (IEDs).
They wondered why I would want to disrupt my peaceful, comfortable life as a college student to place myself in a war zone more than 5,000 miles away. I had no direct connection to the conflict. I'm not Ukrainian, don't have Ukrainian heritage, and have never documented a modern war before. And yet, I still felt compelled to go. I exhausted my resources – time, money, contacts, and emotion – to put myself in that situation.
As we mark one year since Russia's invasion, I've had ample time to reflect on what I witnessed and what I hope to accomplish with the stories I've captured. I didn't have a well-defined mission when I went to Ukraine, but I recognized the importance of the story and chased it. What I saw and experienced changed me forever in ways that I'll never truly be able to explain in words. It's one thing to listen to veterans recollect the horrors of war after 70 or 80 years, but it's another to witness such devastation with your own two eyes.
Once a vibrant apartment block in a suburb outside the Ukrainian capital of Kyiv, these charred ruins are all too familiar in Borodyanka, a town that faced indiscriminate bombing by Russian forces. It suffered the most destruction of any town in the Kyiv region. Civilian areas were deliberately targeted by airstrikes and missile attacks, killing dozens. These alleged war crimes are now part of ongoing investigations by local and international prosecutors.
Since I've returned, I've focused on not just telling the story of the war in Ukraine but ensuring the story reaches my generation, who, in my opinion, have a responsibility to build a more peaceful future. We have access to information like never before and can watch this war unfold in real time from the comfort of our homes. It should be easy to understand how brutal this war and all wars really are. We're seeing unprecedented documentation of this conflict, and yet I'd wager most Americans, especially among my generation, have little to no idea that the war is still ongoing. Even friends of mine who are familiar with my work are frequently surprised when I tell them that the fighting rages on. Now more than ever, young people need to be aware of the consequences of war as our society grows increasingly polarized and desensitized to violence. It is a dangerous combination.
Andrey Taran, a Ukrainian soldier known as "the man who knocks out tanks", stands in front of a Russian T-72 tank he destroyed with an RPG in Sumy, Ukraine. The tank slowly burned from the inside, causing the turret to explode and launch into the air. It landed upside down around fifty feet away, with pieces of metal littering the surrounding area. What remains of the crew is still inside. The tank commander was wounded but managed to escape before the explosion. Andrey tracked him through the woods and was the only one who walked out alive.
I know I cannot force anyone to understand, pay attention, or empathize. I also cannot make people stop fighting, but I can educate them about what happens in war, opening their eyes to realities often concealed from plain view. By sharing photographs, memories, and stories from my time in Ukraine, I'm forcing people to confront this war. I know I'm not the only one. Journalists, filmmakers, photographers, and correspondents alike have documented this war relentlessly and with unwavering courage.
I often feel unworthy and out of place when I'm generalized with those who have spent their lives documenting war on the front lines. But then something occurs which makes me understand the importance of this work and that no matter how minimal my place may be in the field of conflict journalism, the stories I'm capturing do matter and are making a difference in the world, to someone, somewhere, somehow.
Although I am one single voice, I hope my stories, experiences, and photographs will continue to inspire my generation to keep this war at the forefront of our daily conversations. We must not and cannot look the other way; otherwise, we might find ourselves walking in the footsteps of our grandparents and great-grandparents. We might find ourselves walking in the footsteps of the 'greatest generation'.
A man stands in the debris of a destroyed restaurant amid cleanup efforts in Bucha, Ukraine. Russian forces committed dozens of documented war crimes and crimes against humanity during their occupation of the town, located about 30 kilometers northwest of Ukraine's capital, Kyiv. The scars of war and the reminders of Russia's deadly occupation still linger as residents of the quiet town work to move on from the horrors that plagued their streets just months ago.