As Alina waited for the bus that would take her to her family’s weekend home outside Belgorod, she made sure to wait at the bottom of the concrete shelter built earlier this year around the stop.
It had been nearly six months since she and her 8-year-old brother, Artem, were nearly injured in an attack in Belgorod’s central square on New Year’s Eve, when 14-year-old Alina took him ice skating.
“We were lying down, covering our heads with our hands, opening our mouths slightly and lying on the floor for a long time,” she said, describing how they hid on the kitchen floor of ‘a restaurant right next to the square.
“It was very scary, but I’m used to it now,” she added. “And I know what to do in such situations.” In the months that followed, she had panic attacks and suffered from anxiety, said her mother, Nataliya, who, like several others interviewed for this article, asked not to be identified for fear of retaliation. from the authorities.
In Moscow, a new summer has set in, and life there is much the same as before Russia’s invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. But Belgorod, 40 kilometers from the border and once deeply connected to Ukrainians on another side, is different. This is evident upon arriving at the city’s train station, where imposing concrete shelters like those at the bus station appear on the platforms.
Belgorod’s large central square is now virtually empty, except for security forces guarding concrete shelters on every corner. The city’s neoclassical Soviet-era theater is flanked by screens showing videos teaching first aid techniques and telling passersby how to call for help if they find themselves trapped in the rubble.
The 340,000 residents, some of whom live within range of Ukrainian artillery, say they feel attacked. Ukraine can fire its own weapons across the border, but maintains it only targets military targets. Until last month, Washington prohibited Ukrainian forces from using American weapons to strike inside Russia, and then only against military installations.
After the bombing of the square on December 30, which killed at least 25 people and injured around 100 others, the city set up shelters near all bus stops. In March, during the presidential elections, the bombings intensified again.
At least 190 people have died in the Belgorod region since the start of the war, according to the regional governor’s office. This number is small compared to the more than 10,000 Ukrainian civilians who, according to the United Nations, died during the war. Despite this, Belgorod and its surrounding region hear air raid sirens and explosions several times a day, and although some residents are fatalistic, most residents take the risks seriously.
When the sirens sound, people abandon their cars and rush to the shelters, which can accommodate 15 to 20 people. Many complain about a lack of empathy from Moscow, where restaurants are packed and clubs welcome partygoers late into the night.
“I guess they live on another planet,” said another Belgorod resident, also named Nataliya, 71, referring to Muscovites as she weaved military camouflage nets with her friend Olga, 64.
Every resident has been touched by the war, whether in their own lives or through those of their friends and relatives across the border, where Ukraine’s second-largest city, Kharkiv, lies just 72 kilometers away.
“Most people know someone who has been killed or injured,” said a 20-year-old lawyer who requested anonymity because of his anti-war stance. He said regular attacks on the city, suppression of independent information and the use of intensive propaganda had increased support for the war.
“Half of Belgorod’s residents are Ukrainians,” he said. “The more things intensified and the more people were subjected to propaganda, the more hatred they developed. And now, of course, the majority is in favor of war.”
People like him, he says, now go about their days with a feeling of “quiet horror.”
Tensions in the city have increased over the past month, with Russia’s intervention new offensive towards Kharkiv. Russian President Vladimir V. Putin said the main goal of the assault was to push Ukrainian forces back far enough to put Belgorod and its region out of reach.
“We warned them against any incursion into our territory, bombing Belgorod and neighboring regions, otherwise we would be forced to create a security zone,” Mr. Putin said at the end of May during a press conference.
In the days after the Biden administration abandoned its ban on using American-made weapons to strike across the border, a a deepfake video has circulated showing a State Department spokesperson, Matthew Miller, appearing to suggest that the town of Belgorod was a legitimate target. The video was a fabrication, but it amplified fears of escalating attacks on the city.
Member of the Belgorod territorial defense, a member of the army activated under martial law, showed a collection of Western munitions casings that he said he had collected around the Belgorod border areas: the remains of a Czech-made Vampire rocket; a Polish mine; and the spent casing of an 84 mm rifle projectile, among others.
The MP, who only gave his call sign, Fil, said he was in favor of creating the “sanitary zone” between Russia and Ukraine that Mr. Putin had called for. Fil seemed to think that one day the Ukrainians who had fallen under Russian occupation would eventually return.
“Before, it was as if the entire city of Belgorod was in Kharkiv every weekend,” Fil says of the regular contact between residents of the two cities. “There was no difference between us and them.”
He said that although it “would take some time for ordinary people to get used to it, everyone would live like before again.” Those who don’t want it, he added, “will just have to leave.”
Outside the city, farmers have adapted to the state of war. On a recent afternoon, as Andrei, 29, prepared to water a field planted with sunflowers, his tractor was adorned with nets intended to keep away drones. Radar jamming devices were added to the summit.
“A drone attacked a tractor in a nearby village,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “It’s just gross cruelty.” He wasn’t sure there was anything the network could do, but it was worth a try. He said that once the Kharkiv offensive began, more and more Ukrainian drones reached the territory near the border.
People across the region are dealing with the life-changing consequences of war.
Dmitry Velichko recalled that he discussed with his sister Viktoriya Potryasayeva about buying a house by the sea. On December 30, The day before the most important family holiday for most Russians, Viktoriya, 35, went out with her daughters, Nastya and Liza, to buy gifts for her family, Mr. Velichko said. She bought a fancy blender for her mother and was waiting for the bus home with her daughters when the bombings began.
She was hit by shrapnel and lost so much blood that she died. Liza, who at 8 months was in a stroller, had to have her left leg amputated. Dmitri’s mother adopted 9-year-old Nastya, Mr. Velichko said, while he and his wife Olga adopted Liza. After months in the hospital being fed intravenously, Liza had forgotten how to swallow.
“She had to relearn everything,” Mr. Velichko, 38, said.
Liza has learned to crawl and will soon receive a small prosthetic leg that will allow her to walk.
Back in the concrete shelter at the bus stop, Nataliya, who works at a daycare, worries about the long-term effects of war on children.
“The kids at daycare are just learning to talk, and their first words are ‘Mommy, threat of missile strike,'” she said. “We urgently need peace talks. It won’t lead to anything good on either side, here or there.”
She added: “We don’t need Kharkiv, why should we take it?
