They Were Not Soldiers

They Are Not Soldiers

They are fathers.
Daughters.
Artists.
Friends.

And for years now, I’ve stood beside them.

My name is Tanya. I’m a Ukrainian Polish Canadian who raises funds for the Ukrainian Armed Forces. My roots are in Lviv, Ternopil & Volyn. I have a large family who defend and live in Ukraine.

I’m working on this project in collaboration with commanders and soldiers of 117 Heavy Mechanized Brigade: Gimli Division, the “Perun” Unmanned Systems Battalion (42nd Separate Mechanized Brigade) and my dear friend Mindy – a Dutch American volunteer who has worked with many of us over the years. By us, I mean countless of brigades and volunteers both in Ukraine and internationally.

For a long time, my role was clear. I worked with focus – raising funds, solving problems, moving from one urgent need to the next. It required tunnel vision, and I gave it everything.

There was always something needed. Something immediate. Something that couldn’t wait.

But now, as we move through the fifth year of war, I’ve allowed myself to pause.

To take a breath.
To listen more closely.

Because behind every message, every request, every moment – there is a life being lived in the middle of all of this.

I am not there.
I am here.

I stay safe. I raise my child. I support them from a distance, in the ways that I can.

And they are there – defending, enduring, continuing on in conditions most of us will never fully understand.

They don’t have time to tell long stories.

But sometimes, they send photos.

Moments. Glimpses. Pieces of their days.

And when I receive them, I see something more than documentation. I see fragments of real life – how they live, how they adapt, how they hold on to themselves in the middle of war.

That is what this space is for.

I am not here to speak for them.
I am here to hold what they share.

To curate these images with care, and to give them a place where they can be seen – not as distant figures, not as headlines – but as human beings, exactly as they are, in their own moments.

This is not about looking back one day and remembering them.

This is about seeing them now.

Honouring them now.
Holding them in high regard while they are still in the middle of it – while they can see it, feel it, and know it.

This is their story, told in the only way they have time for.

Through what they choose to show.

This work will live here, as an online exhibit. And one day, I hope it will exist in physical spaces as well – shared in Toronto, and, if possible, in Ukraine.

Because these moments deserve to be witnessed.

Not later.
Now.

They are not just soldiers.

And this is where you can begin to see them.