Kursk Under Fire, Truth Under Siege
By Gillian Schutte
On 5 June 2025, I attended the Russian-hosted international online press symposium titled 'Liberation of Kursk Region', a teleconference convened to present first-hand accounts, evidence, and legal testimony on the attacks carried out by the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) and foreign mercenaries during incursions into the Kursk Region. It was a sobering exercise in counter-memory — one that exposed the ideological filters through which Western media interprets war, and how it strategically erases certain kinds of suffering.
The event brought together a panel of experts, eyewitnesses, and officials to report on the nature of these violations. Each presentation revealed both the physical damage inflicted on the Russian civilian population, as well as the deeper injury of denial — a refusal by the Western bloc to recognise the legitimacy of Russian civilian grief.
The eyewitness accounts shared by three Kurskites were harrowing. One described watching elderly neighbours die when their home was shelled. Another spoke of civilians being shot at close range. A third, fighting tears, recounted the rape of women during the brief occupation of their village. These testimonies were the lived memories of war and trauma, delivered with quiet devastation.
Rodion Miroshnik, Ambassador-at-Large of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation, provided a comprehensive briefing on what Russia identifies as crimes committed by the Kiev regime. He detailed the shelling of border villages, destruction of non-military infrastructure, use of foreign mercenaries, and the discovery of banned Western-supplied munitions, including cluster bombs and white phosphorus, in civilian zones. Miroshnik cited ongoing investigations by the Russian Investigative Committee into violations of international humanitarian law — all allegedly ignored by the institutions tasked with upholding these laws.
According to Miroshnik, several communities in the Kursk Region suffered not only bombardment but were also subject to brief occupations by AFU-aligned forces. During these episodes, civilians were reportedly displaced, forcibly taken into Ukrainian territory, and subjected to psychological trauma. Families returning to liberated areas faced destroyed homes, contaminated land, and unexploded ordnance, with little to no humanitarian intervention from the international community.
Igor Kashin, Head of the Special Projects Department in the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in the Russian Federation, presented a legal analysis of these findings. His tone was forensic. He itemised the breaches of the Geneva Conventions and other international protocols, explaining how evidence had been submitted to various global institutions — including the UN and the ICC — yet no meaningful action had followed.
Olga Kiriy, a Russian filmmaker and documentarian, delivered a visual account of the devastation. Her footage showed razed schools, burning residential blocks, and civilians returning to ghost towns, still wearing the shock of war on their faces. In one of her documentaries she shows a Ukranian soldier admitting to the rape of women by himself and his unit. Her presentation conveyed what words could not: the raw aftermath of military violence on people who remain unseen and unspoken in the official Western narrative of the conflict.
Ivan Konovalov, military analyst and historian, contextualised the attacks on Kursk within a broader framework. He explained that the AFU operations were tactical provocations — designed to destabilise border regions and provoke retaliation, which could then be framed by NATO-aligned media as further proof of Russian aggression. He pointed out that these attacks coincided with deliveries of new Western weaponry to Ukraine, raising serious questions about the complicity of foreign governments and arms manufacturers.
The testimonies shared during the teleconference dismantled the binary framework imposed by Western media, where Ukraine is valorised as a struggling democracy and Russia is reduced to a caricature. The reality conveyed by the speakers was more complex and far more disturbing. Russia, too, has civilians. Its towns and villages are not abstract zones on a geopolitical map but home to people who have suffered death, displacement, and the terror of war.
Yet these accounts are absent from global headlines. They are not debated in parliaments, nor dissected on primetime panels. Instead, they are swiftly relegated to the realm of 'disinformation' — a catch-all term used by liberal institutions to shut down inconvenient truths.
This is the machinery of narrative warfare — where facts are not weighed for their truth, but for their utility to power. The West's information order sustains itself through omission, selective moral outrage, and the assumption that some lives matter more than others.
As a South African journalist who has long documented structural injustice, I recognise this silencing. It follows a pattern familiar to the Global South — where international law is invoked as a weapon rather than a principle; where invasions by Western powers are called interventions, but defensive operations by others are framed as crimes; and where victims must pass ideological litmus tests before they are deemed worthy of empathy.
The suffering in the Kursk Region demands recognition. The use of banned munitions against civilians, the forced displacement of families, and the destruction of non-military infrastructure all constitute grave breaches of international law. That these acts are committed using Western weapons, under the cover of Western media silence, reveals a moral crisis at the heart of the liberal order.
The conference was more than a forum for Russian voices. It was a reminder that truth is not owned by the powerful. It must be spoken even when it is buried. The people of Kursk have lived through war. They have returned to broken homes and haunted fields. Their testimonies exist. Their pain is real. And their silence is manufactured by design.
If the term 'liberation' is to have meaning, it must include liberation from the monopolies that determine whose pain is legitimate. It must disrupt the asymmetry of grief that defines the West's geopolitical posture.
We owe that to the people of Kursk. We owe it to all communities whose trauma is edited out of history to suit imperial narratives. And we owe it to ourselves, if we are to resist becoming complicit in the global machinery of selective justice.
*Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and critical-race scholar known for her radical critiques of neoliberalism, whiteness, and donor-driven media. Her work centres African liberation, social justice, and revolutionary thought.
** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.
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IOL News
6 hours ago
- IOL News
Kursk Under Fire, Truth Under Siege
By Gillian Schutte On 5 June 2025, I attended the Russian-hosted international online press symposium titled 'Liberation of Kursk Region', a teleconference convened to present first-hand accounts, evidence, and legal testimony on the attacks carried out by the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) and foreign mercenaries during incursions into the Kursk Region. It was a sobering exercise in counter-memory — one that exposed the ideological filters through which Western media interprets war, and how it strategically erases certain kinds of suffering. The event brought together a panel of experts, eyewitnesses, and officials to report on the nature of these violations. Each presentation revealed both the physical damage inflicted on the Russian civilian population, as well as the deeper injury of denial — a refusal by the Western bloc to recognise the legitimacy of Russian civilian grief. The eyewitness accounts shared by three Kurskites were harrowing. One described watching elderly neighbours die when their home was shelled. Another spoke of civilians being shot at close range. A third, fighting tears, recounted the rape of women during the brief occupation of their village. These testimonies were the lived memories of war and trauma, delivered with quiet devastation. Rodion Miroshnik, Ambassador-at-Large of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Russian Federation, provided a comprehensive briefing on what Russia identifies as crimes committed by the Kiev regime. He detailed the shelling of border villages, destruction of non-military infrastructure, use of foreign mercenaries, and the discovery of banned Western-supplied munitions, including cluster bombs and white phosphorus, in civilian zones. Miroshnik cited ongoing investigations by the Russian Investigative Committee into violations of international humanitarian law — all allegedly ignored by the institutions tasked with upholding these laws. According to Miroshnik, several communities in the Kursk Region suffered not only bombardment but were also subject to brief occupations by AFU-aligned forces. During these episodes, civilians were reportedly displaced, forcibly taken into Ukrainian territory, and subjected to psychological trauma. Families returning to liberated areas faced destroyed homes, contaminated land, and unexploded ordnance, with little to no humanitarian intervention from the international community. Igor Kashin, Head of the Special Projects Department in the Office of the High Commissioner for Human Rights in the Russian Federation, presented a legal analysis of these findings. His tone was forensic. He itemised the breaches of the Geneva Conventions and other international protocols, explaining how evidence had been submitted to various global institutions — including the UN and the ICC — yet no meaningful action had followed. Olga Kiriy, a Russian filmmaker and documentarian, delivered a visual account of the devastation. Her footage showed razed schools, burning residential blocks, and civilians returning to ghost towns, still wearing the shock of war on their faces. In one of her documentaries she shows a Ukranian soldier admitting to the rape of women by himself and his unit. Her presentation conveyed what words could not: the raw aftermath of military violence on people who remain unseen and unspoken in the official Western narrative of the conflict. Ivan Konovalov, military analyst and historian, contextualised the attacks on Kursk within a broader framework. He explained that the AFU operations were tactical provocations — designed to destabilise border regions and provoke retaliation, which could then be framed by NATO-aligned media as further proof of Russian aggression. He pointed out that these attacks coincided with deliveries of new Western weaponry to Ukraine, raising serious questions about the complicity of foreign governments and arms manufacturers. The testimonies shared during the teleconference dismantled the binary framework imposed by Western media, where Ukraine is valorised as a struggling democracy and Russia is reduced to a caricature. The reality conveyed by the speakers was more complex and far more disturbing. Russia, too, has civilians. Its towns and villages are not abstract zones on a geopolitical map but home to people who have suffered death, displacement, and the terror of war. Yet these accounts are absent from global headlines. They are not debated in parliaments, nor dissected on primetime panels. Instead, they are swiftly relegated to the realm of 'disinformation' — a catch-all term used by liberal institutions to shut down inconvenient truths. This is the machinery of narrative warfare — where facts are not weighed for their truth, but for their utility to power. The West's information order sustains itself through omission, selective moral outrage, and the assumption that some lives matter more than others. As a South African journalist who has long documented structural injustice, I recognise this silencing. It follows a pattern familiar to the Global South — where international law is invoked as a weapon rather than a principle; where invasions by Western powers are called interventions, but defensive operations by others are framed as crimes; and where victims must pass ideological litmus tests before they are deemed worthy of empathy. The suffering in the Kursk Region demands recognition. The use of banned munitions against civilians, the forced displacement of families, and the destruction of non-military infrastructure all constitute grave breaches of international law. That these acts are committed using Western weapons, under the cover of Western media silence, reveals a moral crisis at the heart of the liberal order. The conference was more than a forum for Russian voices. It was a reminder that truth is not owned by the powerful. It must be spoken even when it is buried. The people of Kursk have lived through war. They have returned to broken homes and haunted fields. Their testimonies exist. Their pain is real. And their silence is manufactured by design. If the term 'liberation' is to have meaning, it must include liberation from the monopolies that determine whose pain is legitimate. It must disrupt the asymmetry of grief that defines the West's geopolitical posture. We owe that to the people of Kursk. We owe it to all communities whose trauma is edited out of history to suit imperial narratives. And we owe it to ourselves, if we are to resist becoming complicit in the global machinery of selective justice. *Gillian Schutte is a South African writer, filmmaker, and critical-race scholar known for her radical critiques of neoliberalism, whiteness, and donor-driven media. Her work centres African liberation, social justice, and revolutionary thought. ** The views expressed do not necessarily reflect the views of IOL or Independent Media.

IOL News
8 hours ago
- IOL News
The dogs of war: how Ukraine's pets became symbols of resilience
Kulivets with Zhuzha in his apartment in Kyiv. Image: Serhiy Morgunov/The Washington Post Soon after Russia invaded Ukraine in February 2022, Kyiv's top diplomat made a very personal and little-known policy decision: He encouraged Ukraine's Foreign Ministry staff to bring their dogs to work. Dmytro Kuleba's rule meant employees didn't have to leave their terrified dogs at home during missile and drone attacks. And it meant Kuleba's new rescue, a gray French bulldog named Marik, scooped from the wreckage of the besieged Ukrainian port city of Mariupol, would spend the next couple of years overhearing foreign policy discussions as he waddled around the office. Former Ukrainian foreign minister Dmytro Kuleba plays with his rescue dogs, Marik, 3, and Puzan, 3, at his home in Kyiv. Image: Serhiy Morgunov/The Washington Post Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Advertisement Video Player is loading. Play Video Play Unmute Current Time 0:00 / Duration -:- Loaded : 0% Stream Type LIVE Seek to live, currently behind live LIVE Remaining Time - 0:00 This is a modal window. Beginning of dialog window. Escape will cancel and close the window. Text Color White Black Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Background Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Opaque Semi-Transparent Transparent Window Color Black White Red Green Blue Yellow Magenta Cyan Transparency Transparent Semi-Transparent Opaque Font Size 50% 75% 100% 125% 150% 175% 200% 300% 400% Text Edge Style None Raised Depressed Uniform Dropshadow Font Family Proportional Sans-Serif Monospace Sans-Serif Proportional Serif Monospace Serif Casual Script Small Caps Reset restore all settings to the default values Done Close Modal Dialog End of dialog window. Next Stay Close ✕ Such an arrangement might seem unusual for a foreign minister - but not in wartime Ukraine. Russia's invasion has made the security of pets a national priority. Families in front-line towns often flee Russian shelling with multiple pets in tow, and soldiers feed and care for those left behind. Volunteers then risk their lives to evacuate them to safer cities, where they are often adopted into Ukrainian families or sent abroad. The lengths Ukrainian troops and volunteers have gone to rescue vulnerable dogs has spurred a massive cultural shift, transforming Ukraine - once criticized for its treatment of animals - into an extraordinarily dog-friendly country. Gone are stuffy old rules banning pets from many places. Kuleba resigned in 2024, but the Foreign Ministry confirmed that his dog policy remains in place. Zhuzha, who is around 6 years old, was adopted by Mykola Kulivets while he served in the Ukrainian military. After surviving several front-line postings together, the pair demobilized and moved to Kyiv. Kulivets brought Zhuzha on a first date with Maria Smirnova, who fell in love with both of them. The couple now live together with Zhuzha Image: Serhiy Morgunov/ The Washington Post Dogs are also now welcome inside most restaurants, cafes, beauty salons, grocery stores and hotels in major Ukrainian cities. They're often greeted with water bowls and treats or, in some cases, their own menus. And, like Marik the French bulldog, and Kuleba's later rescue, Puzan, who is from the eastern town of Lyman, many of these dogs were rescued from the front lines. In Kyiv's sprawling parks, families now trade notes about their four-legged mutts' hometowns, describing dramatic escapes from war. Ukrainians' commitment to saving front-line animals 'literally changed how we as a nation are perceived abroad,' Kuleba said. A pack of abandoned dogs roamed the nearly empty village close to the eastern front where Ukrainian soldier Mykola Kulivets was stationed in 2022 - but the smallest, with her long black fur and pointy ears, stood out from the rest. One April morning, she appeared all alone at the door of Kulivets's makeshift base. He fed her a sausage and she never left. He cleaned her dirty, matted fur, named her Zhuzha, let her move inside - and two months later woke up to her giving birth under his cot. The timing could not have been worse: Kulivets's battalion was about to relocate to a village near the front-line city of Avdiivka, and he now had six dogs - including five puppies - in his care. His commander, a dog lover himself, told Kulivets to bring them along. For the rest of the summer, as fierce battles took place mere miles away, the dogs distracted Kulivets and his fellow troops from the horrors of war. 'To have some little one to take care of - I think it's a basic need for every human being,' he said. From afar, Kulivets's mother helped find homes around Ukraine for the four male puppies. His grandparents agreed to adopt the only girl, whom they named Asya. In late August, when the puppies were two months old, Kulivets drove to Dnipro to pass them off to his mom - his first time seeing her since he had deployed. He returned to war the same day with only Zhuzha left. Back east, Kulivets moved with Zhuzha to the city of Bakhmut, which Russia later destroyed and seized. Under intense shelling, he would hurry her outside for bathroom breaks. His team became so attached that they named their command centre after her, and her name appeared in official military orders. Kulivets and Zhuzha eventually demobilized, and both have settled into civilian life in Kyiv. 'When my commander calls me, his first question is not about me - it's about Zhuzha,' Kulivets said. 'Not normal anymore to buy dogs' Early in the war, Hanna Rudyk, deputy director of Kyiv's Khanenko Museum, left home with her young daughter, Silviia. They moved to Germany, and her husband, Artem, unable to travel due to martial law banning men from leaving the country, stayed behind. Rudyk knew they would eventually return to Kyiv but feared air raid sirens and explosions would traumatize Silviia, who is now 10. Maybe, she thought, a dog would help. But it had to be a rescue - during wartime, she said, 'it's not normal anymore to buy dogs.' Then she saw a Facebook post from a volunteer. Troops fighting in the eastern city of Toretsk, since destroyed by Russian artillery, had been caring for a dog who gave birth at their position. The surviving puppies had been evacuated - and one still needed a home. The remaining dog was a white female with brown spots and big pointy ears like a cartoon character. They named her Latka, Ukrainian for 'patch.'


eNCA
11 hours ago
- eNCA
Greek artist warns of fanaticism after art vandalised
ATHENS - A Greek artist whose work was vandalised by a far-right nationalist MP warned last week that fanaticism could spiral out of control in Western democracies. "This violence is increasingly present in Europe and the United States, where ideas of purity, race or faith fuel nationalism," artist Christophoros Katsadiotis told AFP in an interview on May 29. On March 10, four of Katsadiotis's artworks at Greece's National Gallery were thrown to the ground by two members of extreme-right Orthodox Christian party Niki -- one of them a party lawmaker -- who viewed them as "blasphemous". Two months later, about 30 masked individuals attempted to assault him before an event in Thessaloniki, resulting in the 53-year-old engraver being put under police protection during public appearances. Katsadiotis said the vandalisation incident at the National Gallery was "an attack on democracy... (and) our civilisation". "If I need police protection, then freedom of expression no longer exists. It's a form of censorship," he told AFP on the sidelines of his new exhibition in Athens. The art in question -- four engravings depicting Saint Christopher with a dog's head -- was part of a collective exhibition titled "The Allure of the Bizarre". The two perpetrators, who smashed the glass protecting the engravings, were detained by police but later released. Niki later expelled the lawmaker involved, Nikolaos Papadopoulos, from the party and the National Gallery has sued him. Katsadiotis is also planning to take legal action. "I was surprised and upset. It was the first time this had happened to me," he said. The incident at the National Gallery sparked an outcry and was condemned by the culture ministry. But the Orthodox Church, which holds broad influence over politics and society in Greece, has publicly criticised parts of the exhibition involving Katsadiotis, who spends his time between Athens and Paris.