Cineuropa chatted to Ukrainian filmmaker, journalist and film critic Elena Rubashevska, who talked to us about the odyssey she has being enduring to escape the war, and the absurd situation that she and many of her fellow countrymen and women are in, with no passport and remaining unheard by their own institutions.

Cineuropa: Where are you now?
Elena Rubashevska: I’m in the heart of Warsaw. I’ve got some friends in Poland who were able to take care of me and put me in touch with some members of the Polish Filmmakers Association, who booked the hotel for me for the first week, so I could rest here and figure out what to do next.

Let’s start from the beginning, from 24 February…
I’d even start from 2014 because I’m originally from Donetsk, and I’ve already been through this experience. It wasn’t my first time. Since then, the war has been taking place there for eight years, and I, as a filmmaker, was thinking how to contribute to making it all at least a little bit more “logical”, from a human standpoint. I decided to work on a documentary feature, titled The Symphony of Donbas, which received support from the Göteborg Film Fund and the Ukrainian State Film Agency. When this war started, I was doing location scouting for my film in Kramatorsk, Donbas. On 24 February, we were awakened by the sound of missiles at around 4-5 am. Then we headed straight to the basement of our hotel, where all of the international press were gathered. We hoped that being close to the international press would somehow help us to escape. But, of course, in such circumstances, people think about running away on their own. We spent several hours trying to get a car, then we started our journey to Kyiv. By the time we reached the city, it had already become the epicentre of the conflict. We didn’t know that Putin had decided not only to conquer Donbas, but also to attack the whole country. The city was completely involved in a full-scale war, like in a disaster film, with soldiers everywhere and the constant sound of bombings. My problem was that I needed to go home, but I live outside of Kyiv, in a small neighbourhood next to it, and the military airfield is based there. In just one day, all of the roads leading to it were destroyed, so there was no way to get there. Likewise, there was no way for people who were there to escape. My mother, my neighbours and everybody I know are still there. I’m trying to stay in touch with them, but the internet connection is very unstable. Each day brings worse and worse news. When I realised there was no way for me to go back and collect my personal belongings and my passport, I headed straight to the Polish border. Right now, being here with no ID is no piece of cake. I need to decide what to do next, and how to legalise my presence.

So you’re now without an ID and nobody is offering to issue a new one…
Yes. One of the biggest surprises for me was to see how welcoming the Polish people were. They said they would do everything they could to figure out how to help people who don’t have documents. I know I’m not alone in this situation; there are thousands like me. We all went to the Ukrainian consulates and embassies. But these institutions are closed, and they don’t let us in. The guard poked his head out of the gate and said: “I’m sorry, but we can’t help you until the end of the war.” And he just shut the door.

That must have been very disappointing, to say the least…
Yes, it is disappointing, but I’m not surprised at all. I’m not surprised that Poland is more welcoming than Ukraine in this situation. Maybe it’s just because they were caught by surprise, and they will try to sort it out later on. But the attitude... They won’t even let people in, that’s the thing.

How did you get to Warsaw?
That’s a whole other story. My situation was kind of unique. Most people have been travelling with their families or someone they know. I was alone because I was on a work trip and was cut off from all my friends and relatives. Before I decided to leave, I realised that everybody I knew was in various areas that I could only reach by crossing battlefields. That wasn’t an option, obviously. I spent one night in Kyiv, where I happened to be in the area near the railway station, so the next day, I went there with the few things I had with me. Back then, there was no news about train services. When I got there, I saw that the railway station was overcrowded; it wasn’t even possible to move. So I went with the flow, and I didn’t plan where to go, because I couldn’t choose. Again, I was lucky enough to be in the right place at the right time. So many people are still trying to leave, and they can’t just hop on a train. The journey was complete hell, with people stuffed into all of the compartments, no air, children crying, older people, pets – [we were] all together... Then we arrived in L’viv. Somehow, I managed to hop on a bus, which took us to the Polish border. But since I had no documents, the driver didn’t want to risk being fined, so he dropped me off next to the border, and together with other people with no documents, we had to walk several kilometres... It was cold and there was no toilet, so people were just queueing there with everything they had. A lot of volunteers from nearby villages came to help and brought blankets and hot tea, although there wasn’t enough for all of us, as there were thousands of us. [...] Everybody in Poland was so welcoming. The locals had cars with the names of different cities and were offering to take you there for free. People would come and ask if you needed any help or advice. It’s been so reassuring and unexpected after everything we’ve been through.

What’s your take on the boycott activities regarding Russian cinema?
That’s not easy to answer, since this is a controversial topic, so there’s probably no right or wrong reply. Before everything started, we at FIPRESCI [Rubashevska is a member of the federation and the website’s editor-in-chief] had been invited to attend the Colloquium on Russian Cinema in Saint Petersburg in April. I was part of the delegation that was supposed to go there. When all this started, I pleaded with my colleagues not to go there. It was just the first day of the war, and nobody expected it to be so absurd or wide-scale. But then some colleagues said: “Shall we block all of the culture just because there were some bombings?” After a few days, everybody agreed not to go there. I don’t think all of the Russian artists, or the whole of Russian culture, should be banned. No way... But officially, on the governmental level, it’s not possible for the international press or any artists to go there and take part in activities. On the other hand, many Russian friends and colleagues I know can’t believe what’s happening. They feel powerless. They’re also scared to speak up, for fear of the repercussions. We know all too well what speaking up in Russia means for the common person. They’re also facing their own siege.