Latest news with #Yevhen
USA Today
08-04-2025
- Sport
- USA Today
Ukrainian wrestling twins need father to get green card to keep Olympic dream alive
Ukrainian wrestling twins need father to get green card to keep Olympic dream alive The threat of deportation hovers like a guillotine over Ukrainian twins as they hope their father will get a green card so they can wrestle for US in the 2028 Olympics. Show Caption Hide Caption Green card holders are trying to speed up the process for citizenship out of fear Daniel Gonzalez discusses how green card holders pursuing citizenship are reacting to the Trump administration's immigration policy. Ukrainian wrestling twins Dmystro and Maksym Chubenko need family to get green card to keep their Olympics dreams alive The wrestlers arrived in Columbus, Ohio, from worn-torn Ukraine in 2023 The wrestling room is a safe haven for Yevhen Pylypenko and his sons, Dmytro and Maksym Chubenko. It is there, sparring on the mat, where the Ukrainians can escape the political pressure that threatens to disrupt their hopes and dreams. On the mat, there is no need to obtain a green card or to worry that without permanent resident status it is possible the family, which also includes Yevhen's wife, Maryna, and daughter Polina, could be forced to return to Ukraine, the war-torn eastern European nation from which they first fled in the spring of 2022, after Russia invaded. They spent nine months in Croatia before bumping into the director of an Ohio wrestling club who was touring the country with some of his athletes. Brian Church, director of Columbus Wrestling Club, convinced the family to take advantage of the U.S. pathway program for Ukrainian refugees. He invited them to live with him in Worthington, a Columbus suburb, they accepted the offer, and two years later, they still live with Church. But their refugee status has ended, which means the only way they can remain in Columbus long-term is to get the green card, which would allow them to live and work here permanently. They have long wanted to wrestle in the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. While their English has greatly improved since they arrived in the US, their chances to represent the United States in Greco-Roman wrestling at the 2028 Games have not. And there is not much they can do about it, except continue to excel at their sport, which they see as a way to show they are contributing to U.S. society. 'We have to go hard at everything. We need to be perfect,' Maksym said a few weeks ago before he, his brother and father left for the U.S. Olympic training camp in Colorado Springs, where they were invited to work out by U.S. Olympic Greco-Roman coach Herb House. If the twins must walk the straight and narrow line, noting that being on their best behavior on and off the mat can only help show that the family is worthy of remaining in the States, then the line their father must toe is even thinner. After all, he is the one who must obtain the green card. 'They want to show they're not the kind of people you don't want in this country,' said Church, adding that Yevhen is an excellent coach who helps train Olympic hopefuls – he helped prepare the USA Under-20 team for the 2024 World Championships – and his sons are gifted wrestlers. The 19-year-old twins each placed at the prestigious Fargo National Championship in 2024, Dmytro at 138 pounds and Maksym at 144. Greco-Roman wrestling in U.S. remains outside looking in Off the mat, father and sons want to turn America into a Greco-Roman wrestling nation, which is a tall mountain to climb considering the majority of U.S. high school and college wrestling is folk style. (Greco-Roman differs from folk/freestyle mostly in that it does not allow holds below the waist). Talking to the twins offers a study in a type of seriousness – painting with a broad brush here – uncommon to high school students. The seniors at Worthington Kilbourne High School are single-minded in their quest to excel at their craft. Not that they cannot have fun, but there is a soberness, accompanied by a hint of sadness, that permeates their persona. And no wonder, when the threat of deportation hovers like a guillotine. 'We are always thinking about it, concerned about it,' Dmytro said. The family has had to learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable, because the process of obtaining a green card is both costly (legal fees) and lengthy, with no guarantee of a positive outcome. And the thought of returning to Ukraine? Well, as best they can, the twins try not to think about it. Instead, they work. And work. And work. Father. Mother. Sons. They make a living delivering food for DoorDash, cutting down on life expenses by living with Church, who is single. Yevhen volunteers at Columbus Wrestling Club, training young wrestlers from across central Ohio, and planned this month to begin working with the Athletes in Action wrestling team. He is doing his best to prove his worth as a model citizen and positive contributor to U.S. sports. Much is at stake. The twins cannot leave the country without Yevhen obtaining his green card, which means no international competition, which means no shot at making the 2028 Olympic team. Failing to obtain green card brings negative consequences 'They're kind of stuck,' Church said. 'They can't compete for spots on the U.S. team because they don't hold passports, and (U.S. wrestling) doesn't want them coming and competing and beating people when they can't travel (internationally).' In addition, what college wants to give scholarships to wrestlers who could get deported in the middle of a season? 'It's a problem,' Church said. 'Because if they end up having to go back (to Ukraine), now you're dealing with, 'Hey, you left. We are not going to do anything for you.' They have no place to live. It would be really bad as far as a living situation.' How valuable to the national greater good must a person be to make a strong case that he or she deserves to remain in the United States? That is the unknown weighing upon Yevhen and his family. 'These past couple months, they're all working almost 12 hours a day,' Church said. It is hard to predict how the story ends. Several U.S. Olympic coaches have written letters in support of Yevhen, pointing out his importance to the team. But letters of support are common among those seeking green cards. Yevhen's heart is in the right place. 'I want to help the state of Ohio,' he said, explaining how the state has 'many sportsmen,' which is an international term for athletes. The proud father, like his sons, tries to remain positive, even as uncertainty swirls. 'It's difficult,' Yevhen said. 'All you can do is keep doing what you are doing today.' Keep working. Keep hoping. Keep the faith. Reach Rob Oller at roller@ or on X @rollerCD.
Yahoo
08-04-2025
- Sport
- Yahoo
Ukrainian wrestling twins need father to get green card to keep Olympic dream alive
The wrestling room is a safe haven for Yevhen Pylypenko and his sons, Dmytro and Maksym Chubenko. It is there, sparring on the mat, where the Ukrainians can escape the political pressure that threatens to disrupt their hopes and dreams. On the mat, there is no need to obtain a green card or to worry that without permanent resident status it is possible the family, which also includes Yevhen's wife, Maryna, and daughter Polina, could be forced to return to Ukraine, the war-torn eastern European nation from which they first fled in the spring of 2022, after Russia invaded. They spent nine months in Croatia before bumping into the director of an Ohio wrestling club who was touring the country with some of his athletes. Brian Church, director of Columbus Wrestling Club, convinced the family to take advantage of the U.S. pathway program for Ukrainian refugees. He invited them to live with him in Worthington, a Columbus suburb, they accepted the offer, and two years later, they still live with Church. But their refugee status has ended, which means the only way they can remain in Columbus long-term is to get the green card, which would allow them to live and work here permanently. They have long wanted to wrestle in the 2028 Summer Olympics in Los Angeles. While their English has greatly improved since they arrived in the US, their chances to represent the United States in Greco-Roman wrestling at the 2028 Games have not. And there is not much they can do about it, except continue to excel at their sport, which they see as a way to show they are contributing to U.S. society. 'We have to go hard at everything. We need to be perfect,' Maksym said a few weeks ago before he, his brother and father left for the U.S. Olympic training camp in Colorado Springs, where they were invited to work out by U.S. Olympic Greco-Roman coach Herb House. If the twins must walk the straight and narrow line, noting that being on their best behavior on and off the mat can only help show that the family is worthy of remaining in the States, then the line their father must toe is even thinner. After all, he is the one who must obtain the green card. 'They want to show they're not the kind of people you don't want in this country,' said Church, adding that Yevhen is an excellent coach who helps train Olympic hopefuls – he helped prepare the USA Under-20 team for the 2024 World Championships – and his sons are gifted wrestlers. The 19-year-old twins each placed at the prestigious Fargo National Championship in 2024, Dmytro at 138 pounds and Maksym at 144. Off the mat, father and sons want to turn America into a Greco-Roman wrestling nation, which is a tall mountain to climb considering the majority of U.S. high school and college wrestling is folk style. (Greco-Roman differs from folk/freestyle mostly in that it does not allow holds below the waist). Talking to the twins offers a study in a type of seriousness – painting with a broad brush here – uncommon to high school students. The seniors at Worthington Kilbourne High School are single-minded in their quest to excel at their craft. Not that they cannot have fun, but there is a soberness, accompanied by a hint of sadness, that permeates their persona. And no wonder, when the threat of deportation hovers like a guillotine. 'We are always thinking about it, concerned about it,' Dmytro said. The family has had to learn to be comfortable being uncomfortable, because the process of obtaining a green card is both costly (legal fees) and lengthy, with no guarantee of a positive outcome. And the thought of returning to Ukraine? Well, as best they can, the twins try not to think about it. Instead, they work. And work. And work. Father. Mother. Sons. They make a living delivering food for DoorDash, cutting down on life expenses by living with Church, who is single. Yevhen volunteers at Columbus Wrestling Club, training young wrestlers from across central Ohio, and planned this month to begin working with the Athletes in Action wrestling team. He is doing his best to prove his worth as a model citizen and positive contributor to U.S. sports. Much is at stake. The twins cannot leave the country without Yevhen obtaining his green card, which means no international competition, which means no shot at making the 2028 Olympic team. 'They're kind of stuck,' Church said. 'They can't compete for spots on the U.S. team because they don't hold passports, and (U.S. wrestling) doesn't want them coming and competing and beating people when they can't travel (internationally).' In addition, what college wants to give scholarships to wrestlers who could get deported in the middle of a season? 'It's a problem,' Church said. 'Because if they end up having to go back (to Ukraine), now you're dealing with, 'Hey, you left. We are not going to do anything for you.' They have no place to live. It would be really bad as far as a living situation.' How valuable to the national greater good must a person be to make a strong case that he or she deserves to remain in the United States? That is the unknown weighing upon Yevhen and his family. 'These past couple months, they're all working almost 12 hours a day,' Church said. It is hard to predict how the story ends. Several U.S. Olympic coaches have written letters in support of Yevhen, pointing out his importance to the team. But letters of support are common among those seeking green cards. Yevhen's heart is in the right place. 'I want to help the state of Ohio,' he said, explaining how the state has 'many sportsmen,' which is an international term for athletes. The proud father, like his sons, tries to remain positive, even as uncertainty swirls. 'It's difficult,' Yevhen said. 'All you can do is keep doing what you are doing today.' Keep working. Keep hoping. Keep the faith. Reach Rob Oller at roller@ or on X @rollerCD. This article originally appeared on The Columbus Dispatch: Ukrainian twins need dad to get green card so they can keep competing
Yahoo
06-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
Inside the Lives of Ukraine's Tired, Determined Drone Pilots
A column of smoke rises on the horizon, and birds scatter from the trees as the green van barrels down the muddy road. It's January 21, the day after Donald Trump's inauguration, and a Ukrainian Army drone unit is on a reconnaissance mission on the border of the Volnovakha region of Donetsk in Eastern Ukraine. The van comes to a stop under a tangle of branches, concealing it from enemy drones above, and the soldiers jump out. Yevhen, the unit's navigator, unloads a V-shaped drone and begins unspooling cables for the Starlink. Dmytro, the pilot, sets up computers in the back of the van. Serhiy, the technician, puts up two four-meter-high green antennas.* The men pay no attention to the distant bursts of automatic fire and explosions. Within minutes, Serhiy hooks up the drone to a huge slingshot on the edge of a field. The motor screams as the rear propeller spins up, and Yevhen counts down, 'Three, two, one, launch!' Serhiy launches the drone, and it whooshes up into the sky. Dmytro watches the drone's-eye view on his computer, the ground shrinking away. Yevhen, studying a battlefield map marked with enemy positions, vehicles, and fortifications, gives precise instructions to Dmytro. 'Go higher. Ten degrees left.' A pause. 'Five degrees right.' A reconnaissance flight can last hours. With the drone on course, the men settle in. They adjust controls, smoke, and chat. Politics comes up. (Earlier in the day, they laughed at Trump's campaign promise to end the war in a day. 'Maybe today is the last day of war, and tomorrow we go home,' Yevhen said sarcastically.) After 20 minutes, the drone's video feed breaks up. The clouds are too low today, and flying any lower would expose it to enemy fire. 'Recall it,' Yevhen says. Once the drone returns, they move to join an adjacent unit working with kamikaze winged drones a few hundred meters away. Soon after they arrive, one of the soldiers points to the sky, 'FPV! I see it!' The men crouch down. The X-shaped silhouette of an enemy drone circles above the trees. The soldiers stay motionless as the drone buzzes above them—growing louder, then softer, then louder again. There is nothing to do but wait and hope the drone won't find them under the trees before it runs out of battery. 'I flew with FPVs a lot,' Yevhen explains. (FPV stands for first-person view: The pilot's goggles show the drone's-eye view.) 'It's better to move slow and not to run. It is harder for the pilot to see someone who does not move, especially under the trees. I know because I destroyed a lot of Russians that were trying to run away.' After 10 long minutes, the drone leaves and detonates somewhere to the west, and the men get back to work. They prepare their winged kamikaze drone, which is also an FPV but larger than the more common X-shaped drone and thus can fly further and carry larger explosives, making it effective for striking high-priority targets deep behind enemy lines. Days earlier, with their reconnaissance drone, Yevhen's unit had identified an enemy artillery gun hidden in the trees. That's the mission objective for the kamikaze drone, which is now airborne and approaching its target. It darts down in a suicide drop toward the artillery gun, which is only half-hidden by camouflage netting. The video cuts out before impact. The pilot exhales, grins, and stretches his fingers. The men watch the dead screen, waiting. Then Yevhen shakes his head, 'I think it was a miss. You overshot, maybe, by 100 meters.' The sun sinks lower, stretching long shadows through the trees. The temptation is there—to stay, to send up another drone, to try again. But the next flight will have to wait. This is the reality of combat. Most missions are trial and error—misses, signal loss, moving targets. Success comes from persistence, not just one lucky hit. 'Better to try again tomorrow,' Yevhen says, packing up his rifle. The others nod. The war doesn't end tonight, and neither does their the sun sinks below the horizon, the unit returns to its billet, a squat brick house with a slanted roof in a village close to their outpost. Yevhen, Dmytro, and Serhiy drop their gear in the hallway and change their muddy boots for slippers, moving quietly, knowing that after all they are guests in this home. Oleksandr sits in the warm light of the kitchen with a cigarette between his fingers. He has his wife's name tattooed on his hand. 'Come in, come in,' he says, waving Yevhen to smoke with him. He and his wife, Natalia, decided to let the soldiers stay at their home for free. Their own son, Vitalii, is with infantry in one of the hottest spots of the front line, in Pokrovsk, and it comes naturally to the couple to offer a meal, a place to rest, a bit of warmth to Yevhen's unit. The soldiers eat and chat with the elderly couple, but their work for the day hasn't ended yet. They prepare equipment and upload the photos and videos collected from the drone. Throughout the evening, enemy Shahed drones buzz nearby, heading toward central Ukraine. Late at night, a laptop screen lights Serhiy's face as he lies in his sleeping bag, watching a movie. Yevhen, heading out for a cigarette, glances over Serhiy's shoulder. 'That's my movie,' he says. 'I know,' Serhiy replies, grinning. Before the war, Yevhen was an actor. He repeatedly calls it 'a different life' or 'a peace life.' The war has split his life into two unrecognizable halves. Pointing at the screen where his movie plays, he says, 'The director is in the army now.' Then, 'That actor is in the army too. That one was killed in Kupiansk.' A pause. 'And him—he's dead too.' Yevhen joined the army as soon as the full-scale invasion started. 'Once the war ends, I would like to be an actor again,' he says. 'But even if I could, I don't know if I can shoot movies now. I have closed my mind from certain things in war. I don't have an empathy like an actor now. Anyway, my country needs a defender now, not an actor.'In the morning, the green van speeds past the freshly dug trenches, curls of barbed wire, and lines of dragon teeth back to the stretch of trees under which the unit's dugout hides. The trees shiver in the cold wind. The men move through their usual routine, only today joined by a fourth member, Volodymyr. Today, the drone carries a bomb, and that changes the launch procedure. A misfire could detonate the payload, so Serhiy puts together a trebuchet powered by a car battery to catapult the drone safely into the air. Yevhen's unit typically outfits its drones with rocket-propelled grenade warheads, but today they use fragmentation shells. They're submunitions salvaged from unexploded Russian cluster munition rockets. Yevhen laughs, 'Russians sent them here, and they didn't work. No problem—we'll recycle them and send them back for refund.' In the van, a red warning flashes across the screen—incoming glide bombs. A single glide bomb can level an eight-story building. The first two land on the horizon, sending up black mushroom clouds. Then the air cracks above and the third slams into the field next to them. The blast throws dirt and shrapnel in all directions. The shock wave rattles branches, and the men sprint for the dugouts as dirt and shrapnel shower the ground. Silence. Then Serhiy climbs out, brushing dust from his jacket. He picks up a jagged piece of shrapnel that landed less than a meter from where Yevhen was standing when the glide bombs exploded. He examines the van. 'Wheels punctured?' Yevhen glances over. 'No.' No more discussion. After years of fighting, close calls become routine. The men return to their work without a word. Serhiy checks the trebuchet tension. Dmytro confirms the drone's systems. Yevhen gives a final nod. 'Three, two, one—launch.' The trebuchet snaps forward, and the drone shoots into the sky. Luckily, the clouds are high enough today. The screen shows a battlefield carved up by months of war. Below, artillery shells detonate along the front, sending thick clouds of smoke into the sky. 'We will hit the target,' Yevhen says. Serhiy shrugs. 'We will see what happens.' 'You're not romantic.' 'I'm a realist.' The men laugh. On the screen, the target comes into view—a trench line tucked beneath a sparse tree line. A red square with a cross appears, locking onto the position. The drone slows down, stabilizing for the drop. The screen reads, 'Seconds to drop: 3, 2, 1,' and then: 'BOMB DROPPED.' The bomb spins slightly as it falls, shrinking into the landscape below, and then an orange fireball fills the screen. The men barely react. As soon the drone returns, they start preparing for the next launch. Tomorrow will be the same—more drone launches, another long day spent staring at screens and counting down to impact. The work is endless, but here on the front, no one expects it to be otherwise. There is no grand conclusion, no moment of finality, as long as they manage to stay alive. Just the next mission, the next drone flight, and the war that keeps going. * Since the soldiers allowed the photojournalist access without their commander's approval, they asked to be identified only by their first names and call signs.
Yahoo
16-03-2025
- General
- Yahoo
Ukrainian soldiers discover 6th–5th century BC burial site during fortification works in southern Ukraine
Servicemen of the 123rd Territorial Defence Brigade uncovered an ancient burial site dating back to the 6th–5th centuries BC while constructing military fortifications in southern Ukraine. Source: 123rd Territorial Defence Brigade on Facebook Details: During excavation work, an excavator operator named Mykola found a small amphora. He reported the find to his fellow serviceman Yevhen, who has a keen interest in history. Together, they handed the artefact over to the Staroflotski Barracks Museum. After thorough analysis, museum experts confirmed that the discovered amphora was of Ionian origin. It was crafted for ritual purposes and used in burial ceremonies. The remains of an ancient vessel. Photo: 123rd Territorial Defence Brigade Further investigation revealed that the site was an ancient burial ground dating back to the 6th–5th centuries BC. Another significant discovery was an oinochoe – an ancient Greek jug with a single handle and three spouts. It was used for pouring wine during symposia – traditional male gatherings featuring feasting and entertainment. A soldier in fortifications. Photo: 123rd Territorial Defence Brigade "These are ritual objects made specifically for burials and brought from Greece. The fact that the vessels are intact and undamaged suggests that the buried individuals held a high social status," explained Oleksandr, a former archaeologist and lecturer at Vasyl Sukhomlynskyi Mykolaiv National University, now serving in the military. Alongside the vessels, human skeletal remains were also handed over to researchers, providing an opportunity to gain deeper insights into the history and culture of the ancient inhabitants of the region. This discovery represents an important step not only in archaeology but also in understanding the customs and daily life of people who lived here thousands of years ago. Support Ukrainska Pravda on Patreon!
The Guardian
10-02-2025
- Politics
- The Guardian
Ukraine's teen soldiers: the cadets who hold the country's future in their hands
At a boarding school in Kyiv, cadets are training to become Ukraine's youngest soldiers – and help defend their country against Russia's devastating invasion. The Ivan Bohun military high school – one of three such establishments in Ukraine – is home to 600 teenagers. The lives of the cadets, who stay at the facility for two years before they turn 18, are strictly choreographed, according to Dmytro Yermolenko, the deputy head. He says the teenagers are given systematic military training and learn strict discipline. One of the recruits is 16-year-old Yevhen, whose childhood dream was to join the school. His grandfather, a decorated general, had set the example. Generations of the family have served as artillerymen, submariners and intelligence officers but Yevhen wants to become a fighter pilot. 'It's a very necessary job right now,' he explains. If Yevhen is successful, he could be training on Dutch or Danish F-16s by next year. Cadets prepare for physical exercise. The school competes against teams from other military institutions across Ukraine. Yevhen, 16, does pull-ups on a bar in a rare moment of free time. School days run from 6.50am to 9.30pm with the cadets taking classes on topics including maths, physics and history as well as firearms, gas attacks and battlefield strategy. Their day starts and ends with exercise. Between classes, cadets line up for checks by their commanders before they march in step to their next activity. On Sundays, they can go where they want. They venture into the city, visit their families or stay at the school to spend free time with their friends. About 50 of the 600 students are female. Cadets hand in their phones at the start of the school day. Mobile devices are banned during lessons. Right: Bondareva takes notes during a physics class. Cadets stand to greet their geography teacher. They study traditional academic topics as well as weapons and battlefield strategy. Cadets learn how to put on their gas masks in preparation for a potential Russian attack. Even with battles raging on Ukraine's extensive frontline, applications to join the school have risen sharply since the Russian invasion. Yermolenko says the number is four times higher than in 2021. More than half come from military families. The school also takes in foster children and orphans, some of whom have lost their parents either killed in combat or by Russian airstrikes. A Muslim cadet prays during a break from class. After graduating, more than 90% of the cadets enrol in military universities or join armed forces units around the country. As young officers, they are the future of Ukraine's ability to defend itself. Until that time, they remain children. Each of them, however, understands what the future holds. Kuz'mins'kyi shows fellow cadets how to reload a firearm as quickly as possible. Right: Peleshenko, Rachok and Brozhyn practise unloading their weapons. Drone attacks are common in Kyiv. Almost every night, as deadly Shaheds approach the city, the air raid alarm sounds. The cadets have two minutes to get dressed and run to their bomb shelter: the boarding school is considered a military target. Life at the school stops being a drill. Cadets grab their belongings on their way to a shelter after Russian drones are reported to be heading for Kyiv. Below: Cadets stretch out in their basement air raid shelter. The Russian onslaught has already cost the lives of 66 cadets, all killed in action since 24 February 2022. But Yevhen seems undeterred by the losses. 'I'm not going to sit and watch it all from home,' he insists. Photographs of outstanding former cadets are displayed in a hallway.
