For Czech journalist and writer Adela Knapova, Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine was as shocking and unforgettable as the 9/11 terrorist attacks in the United States. It was a moment when the world was glued to screens, watching history unfold in real time. Feeling a profound journalistic duty to witness such critical events for Europe firsthand, Knapova left Prague to be closer to the unfolding crisis. Her decision was also deeply personal -- many of her friends and acquaintances lived in Ukrainian cities that had suddenly become military targets of a neighboring aggressor.

Knapova chronicled her experiences in war-torn Ukraine through journalistic reports and in her book "Cowardly Notes from the Ukraine War." The book, however, transcends traditional reportage. It serves as a deeply personal account, reflecting on the reactions of ordinary people confronted with threats and fears for which no one is truly prepared. A German translation of the book was presented in Vienna in December, where Knapova arrived from Kharkiv -- a front-line city she now calls her temporary home. Kharkiv, with its resilience and unique "character," captured her heart.

In an interview with an Ukrinform correspondent in Austria, Knapova discussed her experiences in Ukraine, the journey that brought her to front-line Kharkiv, and her admiration for its indomitable residents. She also shared her thoughts on European fatigue toward the war, the importance of continued support for Ukraine, the role of art in the nation's survival, and the necessity of showcasing Ukraine's cultural identity on the global stage.

STAYING IN PRAGUE WHILE UKRAINE FACES CRISIS WAS UNTHINKABLE

- Adela, at a time when many people were fleeing a war-torn country in February 2022, you decided to go there. What motivated your decision?

- I had been to Ukraine long before the war escalated. My first reportage trip abroad - I wasn’t yet 20 years old - was to Ukraine, and that journey even earned me an international prize at the time. Later I visited Ukraine after 2014, making multiple trips not only to Mariupol during my reporting assignments.

When the full-scale invasion began, I made the decision within three days to go. As a journalist, especially a European journalist, if a war breaks out in Europe, you simply have to be there. It’s our responsibility as reporters. You can’t just stay in Prague, in a safe place, relying on information from one or two international agencies.

My colleagues warned me: “Don’t go. It’s too dangerous. Stay here. You can write commentary based on agencies reports.” But for me that felt unprofessional. As a journalist it’s my duty to witness events firsthand. Staying in Prague while such events unfolded in Ukraine was unthinkable.

The scale of the war was shocking for everyone. It was like the 11th of September in the United States with people everywhere glued to their screens watching events unfold live. I was receiving videos from friends in Kyiv, Zaporizhia, Mariupol, standing on their balconies and capturing those unimaginable events. I was almost crying. And I was scared.

That’s when I decided: I needed to go to Mariupol to help them and to witness it myself. Of course I didn’t manage to reach Mariupol. In those first weeks of the war, traveling across Ukraine was nearly impossible. We spent hours in queues at checkpoints, there was shortage of fuel, and within weeks Mariupol was captured by Russian forces. I lost contact with many friends there.

- Your book recounts, among other things, the events of the very beginning of Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Did you plan to write it from the start, or did it come about naturally as events unfolded?

- No, it wasn’t planned. I didn’t set out to write a novel. Initially I wrote a reports and after returning from a roughly three-week trip across Ukraine I had a meeting in Prague with Ukrainians. Many people in Prague who had loved ones in Ukraine had no clear understanding of what the situation was like – whether their families needed food, what kind of help was necessary. Those first weeks were truly chaotic.

At that meeting, after the official part, I started sharing more personal and politically incorrect stories – things I couldn’t include in a reportage. My friends, many of whom are writers, encouraged me: “Oh my God, you have to write a novel about this.”

So the book isn’t a typical war novel. It’s set during the first weeks of the war in Ukraine but it’s more about all of us, about human beings in the 21st century. It explores how we, as individuals, face threats, danger, and fear that we were completely unprepared for. It’s about our limits and the reality of who we are.

We often like to think we are brave, but when faced with real challenges, we realize we might not be as courageous as we imagined. Many readers have said it makes them laugh and cry at the same time – even my friends from Ukraine, who have read excerpts already translated into Ukrainian. We’re now working on a full Ukrainian translation and planning to publish it in Ukraine. They’ve said they cannot wait to read it because it offers an external perspective.

- From someone who was an outsider but had been inside.

- Yes, something like that.

In that book I write things that aren’t entirely flattering for Ukrainians – or for myself. As a writer I don’t aim to make everything look perfect; I write what I see and feel. The writing must be true. Of course it’s still fiction so not everything is strictly factual, but for me, fiction is truer than reality. The book wasn’t something I intended to write. It emerged naturally.

KHARKIV FEELS LIKE HOME NOW – I'VE FALLEN IN LOVE WITH THE CITY

- As far as I understand, you now live in Kharkiv. How did you make the decision to stay in Ukraine, where the war is ongoing, and especially in Kharkiv, which is not far from the Russian border and is under constant attack?

- Everything that happened to me in Ukraine since the full-scale war started was a huge coincidence, and there was no specific plan behind it. I never wanted to live in Ukraine, especially not in Kharkiv. That’s the raw truth.

I knew most of Ukraine, but I had never been to Kharkiv before. I didn’t see any reason to go there. But after my latest novel was published I was invited last year to Lviv for a festival, where I read some excerpts. I was afraid that people in Ukraine would question how a foreigner could dare to write about the Ukrainian war. However, I was relieved when I received a positive feedback.

Shortly after, I was invited to Kharkiv, where there's a literary residency called "Budynok Slovo". People from Kharkiv Literary Museum that runs Slovo residency believed the environment there could inspire me.

- And how was your first experience in Kharkiv? Were you able to find inspiration there?

- I visited Kharkiv for the first time last year and on my very first night a large rocket hit the street near Budynok Slovo. I was alone, terrified, and didn’t know what to do. I remember thinking:“If I survive the night, I’ll take the next train back to the Czech Republic.”

But then morning came, the sun was shining, I was alive, and the city was still moving. I saw children, people… Life continuing despite everything. I felt ashamed for being so scared. Despite it all, I fell in love with the city. It’s hard to explain. I live in Prague, which is beautiful in a traditional sense, but Kharkiv is unique. It’s not conventionally beautiful but it has a distinct character – especially its architecture. The city exudes strength, history, and resilience.

Budynok Slovo itself carries a heavy legacy. A hundred years ago, Stalin tried to destroy Ukrainian writers and culture, killing nearly everyone who lived there. Now, a century later, Putin is trying to do the same to Ukraine.

At first I thought it would be my last visit there in Slovo. Honestly, I told everyone: “This house feels like a black hole filled with blood and terror. I can’t stay here anymore.” I left convinced I’d never return.

But within six months something pulled me back. I didn’t know why, but I felt I had to go. When I returned, I met incredible people – artists like Serhiy Zhadan, Pavlo Makov and Kostiantyn Zorkin – who have become dear friends, almost family. I’ve been told: “You should write a novel about Kharkiv. We can’t because we’re from here, but you should.”

So I decided I will try to write something that will take place in war-torn Kharkiv. And I felt that to write such a book one must live there. So yes, now I partly live in Kharkiv.

- So, will your next book be about Kharkiv?

- It’s hard to say. I cannot talk about a book before it’s finished. But I’ve already wrote a collection of short stories that take place in Kharkiv, which should be published in the Czech Republic within three months. It’s called Bloody compote. I completed it last month in Kharkiv. Kostiantyn Zorkin, phenomenal visual artist, has just finished the illustrations and the cover. The publication will coincide with the third anniversary of the war.

Alongside that I continue writing reportages and weekly columns for Czech newspaper.

Right now Kharkiv feels like my place, even though my family and friends, understandably, don’t like it – they’re afraid.

To be honest, I’m scared too. I’m not like the Kharkivans. They don’t seem scared at all – or if they are, they never show it.

IT'S HARD TO IMAGINE CZECHS RESPONDING AS UKRAINIANS HAVE

- You mentioned that you’re different from Kharkivans. How do you perceive them?

- I don’t know how to describe it. From the very beginning of the war Ukrainians struck me as unbelievably strong. I can’t imagine Czech people reacting in the same way – with such bravery and resilience. Everyone has been incredibly open to me, from the first weeks up to now. They’re always helpful and grateful for any support they receive.

Even those who are now afraid for their future, after three years of living under such conditions – it’s incredibly difficult not just in Kharkiv but also in places like Sumy or Izjum or Kupjansk where I travel too. Yet these people possess a unique dignity, an inner strength that I deeply admire.

Of course, there’s a lot of pathos, and while I understand it, I don’t always agree with it. People have changed, including in Kharkiv, as has much of Ukraine. After three years many are tired and increasingly dissatisfied with how the government treats ordinary citizens. For instance the current approach to forced mobilization feels deeply anti-democratic and troubling. It creates significant moral strain.

I’m not excusing Russia’s actions in any way but some things I’ve witnessed on your streets are unacceptable. Even under martial law there are ways to enforce rules with dignity and respect for people. I’m not challenging the state’s right to conduct mobilization or requisition vehicles during wartime, but I am questioning how these actions are carried out. The system is flawed, and it urgently needs reform.

That said, what continues to amaze me is the unshakable belief that Ukraine will survive and remain strong and that Kharkiv will always be Ukrainian. There’s no doubt about it. It’s something I can’t fully explain. Perhaps it’s ingrained in Kharkivans very being, because despite everything, they remain incredibly strong.

- People in Ukraine are exhausted by the war, and this is completely understandable. However, we also often hear about fatigue in other European countries, particularly in Austria and the Czech Republic…

- People in Czechia, Austria, and the rest of Europe don’t fully realize who the Russians really are. We still want to believe that such a significant threat can be solved through diplomacy and sanctions.

I’m afraid that it will come as a huge shock to the rest of Europe when they see how the Russians will react to the so-called peace talks and everything that unfolds in the next months.

- And what do you think about international support for Ukraine? Has it been enough?

- There is no doubt that everyone stands behind Ukraine, and we remain strong—that’s for sure. But weapons and ammunition are sent too late, not always in good condition, and in insufficient quantities. I’m pretty sure that if we had acted faster and with more force, things would look different.

- The government of Czechia and the people of Czechia support Ukraine very actively. I’d like to mention the Czech Ministry of the Interior campaign, which was inspired by your reportage story "Bread from the Minefield" and aimed at raising money for the BOŽENA demining system for Ukraine. How did you feel when you learned about it, and how do you assess the importance of such initiatives in supporting Ukraine?

- It was a huge surprise and a great honor. I didn’t expect it, but I’m happy because the system is quite expensive. I’m glad it’s working but it’s not enough.

That’s why I write commentaries and reportages for Ukraine every week. People are tired, but when you write something meaningful, it inspires them to take action again.

I also try to help animals for example in Kupyansk – abandoned animals on the front line. When I post about it on social media, donations from Czechia come in immediately. It’s amazing. Yes, it helps, but it’s only a small part of the bigger picture.

However, I see that it makes a real difference. It inspires people in Czechia and shows that every contribution matters – every crown, every euro. These small acts come together to create something significant.

In Kharkiv I can see it too. When I’m there, people are genuinely grateful. They appreciate it. Sharing their lives, risking my life alongside them, demonstrates solidarity in the best way possible.

- What emotions and thoughts dominate your mind while being in a city that experiences almost daily Russian shelling?

-  It’s hard to say. My friends from Kharkiv say I’m already a Kharkivyanka. 90% of the time I don’t even hear the bombs. Or I hear them but I don’t really register them. But when it’s  close, especially at night, when you hear everything, I do feel scared. My partner, who is from Kharkiv, always says, “It’s still far away, it’s okay.”

What can I say? Death is everywhere - in the air, in the water, in our movements… Life became pure lottery, you start to feel certain fatalism.

That’s why I really admire the people of Kharkiv and from this eastern regions who stay there and continue living. Because if everyone leaves, the Russians won’t need to fight for it; it will be theirs. It may still be officially Ukrainian but it will be an empty place.

I believe that people living in Kharkiv and eastern Ukraine are like civil soldiers. They live there, they work there, they keep the city and region going. And that’s an incredible strength to me.

UKRAINE MUST SHOWCASE ITS IDENTITY TO EUROPE 

- I would like to ask whether the Russian war has changed your approach to journalism. When you are part of this reality, which is changing and unfolding in front of you, has it had any impact on you? Or, more broadly, what role do you see journalism, literature and art playing during the war?

- I believe journalists must be there, be a witness, and write about what they see. But as an artist, as a writer I see something unbelievable.  Before I came to Kharkiv, I had never experienced anything like this. I can see with my own eyes that art is a crucial part of surviving for Ukraine. Because you are fighting for your country and what is country? What does it mean to be an Ukraininan? Ukraine is language, culture, identity… And art is the core of the heritage and identity and a base for culture.

Unfortunately, I must urge the Ukrainian government to support  Ukrainian artists and art because I see this need in Kharkiv and even in the Czech Republic. People need to identify with Ukraine, and you cannot identify only with the brave army or sportsmen. It doesn’t work; you need to identify with ideas, strong messages and images. This is truly needed, and I see it in Kharkiv.

Artists in Ukraine are very strong and important now. They all together form a new narrative of the country. For people not only in Kharkiv the art helps them survive. It gives them the reason to go on. Ukraine is not just the army. Those amazing people – soldiers, both women and men – who are fighting and dying are incredible, I cannot express how grateful I am to them. But they fight so others can live. They sacrifice their lives for Ukraine. And again -  what are they fighting for if there is no identity? Just for the territory? For the flag? The flag is only a piece of cloth if there’s nothing behind it.

Unfortunately, many Europeans still don’t know what Ukraine is because of years of Russian propaganda. Outside the border we didn’t know what Ukraine was. We didn’t know Ukrainian artists and their legacy; we didn’t know Ukrainian history.

Because, yes, it wasn’t just 40 years – it was a long, long time of propaganda. For us, Ukraine was part of the Soviet Union.

- But now, after the Great War, the situation has changed, hasn't it?

- Yes, it has. Not only Czechs want to know more about Ukraine, but we don’t always get this information directly from Ukraine. We see brave men and women fighting and dying for their country, but we don't receive a full sense of Ukrainian identity.

That's why I strongly believe in the power of art. In Kharkiv, Kyiv, and other cities I see the best artists working under bombs. Some could live anywhere as they are really exceptional artist and could be world-renowned. But they are hardly known in Ukraine.

When they are invited abroad to promote Ukraine, they can’t go because most of them can't leave the country, even for just a couple of days. It’s heartbreaking because Ukraine’s identity isn’t only about its president, generals, or soldiers. There’s so much more to show…

- In this context, what would you recommend? How should Ukraine use this opportunity now, while there is still so much interest, to showcase its identity and art? How should it be done?

- It's really important that in each oblast, like Kharkiv or Kyiv, there should be someone in every mayor’s office really responsible for culture. They need a list of, say, 50 artists in each region and should support them – help them to work and assist them in going abroad to represent Ukraine. To show who you are. You have so much to offer,  please show it to the world.  The window of opportunity for Ukraine is open but it's slowly closing. I'm sure you can feel it here in Austria –it's closing gradually. I’m sorry for saying so but within two years no one will care about Ukraine anymore.

- Well, yes, I understand your point. But on the other hand, some Ukrainians might ask, "Why should these artists be exempt? They won’t fight; they’ll go abroad—what would be the criteria for selecting them?" Critics of this idea argue that changing attitudes toward Ukraine is a lengthy process. Meanwhile, Ukraine needs immediate support—it needs weapons and people right now.

- If we think like that, in the primitive black and white optics, then everyone should die on the front lines and you'd be fighting for an empty country. A lot of artists are already in the army fighting and dying as well. When I spoke to soldiers, they often say "We don’t want them to die here; we need them to help us. They know how to raise a lot of attention and money for us."

It’s not just the soldiers who win the war – whole country needs to function and it must have an identity. The fact is, if they go abroad for two weeks, it doesn’t mean they won’t come back. The people I’m talking about are committed to staying in their cities. They’ve had offers to leave but they’ve refused because they want to keep their homes, their cities and country.

You asked what Ukraine should do to show its identity. You simply can't do that without those who create it.

You asked about fatigue in European countries. Yes, people are tired because all they see is war. When people, even some politicians in Brussels, ask me, "What is Ukraine? What’s its identity? How does it differ from Russia?" What should I tell them?

Ukrainian identity isn’t just about the tragedies like Bucha or Azovstal; that’s a painful bloody reminder of the war. Is true identity tied to the history of Kyivan Rus’, dating back over a thousand years? It’s too distant to resonate with today’s struggles. To show Ukraine’s identity in Europe, more is needed than just the army’s bravery. There must be something that resonates with people beyond the battlefield. Russia spent years shaping its worldwide narrative.  When Russians conquer a new Ukrainian village one of the firts things they do is that they burn books and break statues, they destroy schools, libraries and theaters. It’s a deliberate tactic how to destroy Ukrainian culture. So Ukraine needs to start now to rebuilt it and protect what already has, even though it’s a gradual process. A year ago in the Czech Republic everyone was eager for Ukrainian artists. But now they say:”We offered but no one came." Attention is fading. We’ll get used to the war. In the Czech Republic, populist politics are exploiting this fear of war, but the truth is, most people still strongly support Ukraine. They stand by it and help as much as they can.

- What would you like to say to Ukrainians who are fighting for their freedom and their land? What message would you send to the people who continue to fight every day in the face of this terrible war?

- I want to thank them from the bottom of my heart. And I wish them to remain as strong as they’ve been until now. It must be inconceivably difficult. I don’t know how they do it. For me it’s a mystery.  Everyone who lives in Ukraine now has lost someone but they are still so strong…

As long as Ukrainians continue to believe in their country and live in there, not abroad, it will endure. That’s the key to Ukraine’s survival.

Vasyl Korotkyi, Vienna

Photos provided by Vasyl Korotkyi and Adela Knapova (from her own archive)