I’ve been visiting Kherson for two and a half years now. Every time I return, the city looks more battered, more abandoned. But this time felt different. The moment I walked into a small café just two kilometres from the riverfront, I noticed something that said more than any conversation could.
Leaflets. Scattered on every table, printed by the local military administration – not ads or menus or posters with just three words:
Listen. Run. Hide.
It reminded me of those signs on the London Underground, like “See it. Say it. Sorted”. Except this wasn’t about suspicious bags, it was about drones. Little buzzing things that sound like lawnmowers in the sky. Death, flying at head height. And everyone here knows what to do when they hear it. Because in Kherson, drones are daily life now.
Imagining Kherson was London
If you’re not familiar with Kherson, imagine London. Imagine a foreign army invades. There’s a ‘battle of London’ and the British army pushes the enemy back across the Thames. They blow up Westminster Bridge and London Bridge in the process. The invaders are pushed just south of the river, but they don’t stop. They dig in on the south bank and start shelling the city every single day. They fire drones and artillery from Peckham and Battersea into Soho and Camden, into parks, hospitals, apartment blocks.
This is what is happening in Kherson.
The Russians retreated from the city in 2022. But they’ve been destroying it ever since. Not just with shells, but with First Person View (FPV) drones. These are cheap and small devices, built in garages with explosives strapped to the front. For over a year now, they’ve been hitting the city every single day. I made a film last year called Hunted in Kherson after I was chased by one myself. And that’s now become the new normal. Hundreds have died. It doesn’t make the news anymore, but it’s still happening.
No place is safe anymore
I met Irina, a former police officer who now works on local aid and evacuations. She lived under Russian occupation for four months, hiding her identity. If they had known who she was, she’d be dead. Now she drives across the city helping people flee the frontlines. Her 11-year-old son is angry. He wants to go outside and play, but there are drones overhead every day. So, he can’t.
She took me to visit Anna, a civilian who lived in Antonivka, just north of the city. She was evacuated with her 12-year-old son because FPV drones were hitting her neighbourhood every day. She told me how she used to run from tree to tree just to avoid being seen. One of her close friends, an older woman she went to church with, was killed right in front of her.
Now she lives further north, in what was once considered safe territory. But the Russians are adapting. They’ve started using fibre-optic cable to extend the range of their drones. Now they can fly up to 20 kilometres. So even areas like the north of Kherson, where civilians were evacuated to, are being hit too.
Redefining ‘Mother Nature’
She said something that’s stayed with me ever since. The Russians have made us fear ‘Mother Nature’ itself. People used to look up at the sky and see birds. Now, when they look up, they wonder if it’s a drone. I spoke to a birdwatcher who told me he doesn’t go out anymore. At night, locals used to stargaze. Now, they’re afraid even of the stars because they might be drones too.
In most places, we wait for the rain to stop before going outside. In Kherson, people wait for the rain to start. Or for the wind to pick up. Because drones can’t fly well in bad weather. ‘Mother Nature’ is the only air defence they can rely on.
A wave of nightmares
The people here call this the “third nightmare”.
The first was the occupation. Russian troops ran the city, kidnapped people, and executed anyone who looked at them the wrong way.
The second was the shelling. Three hundred, four hundred times a day. Every part of the city.
Now it’s the drones. The buzz is worse than the bang.
The Russian war playbook – scorched earth and war crimes
Kherson had a pre-war population of 380,000. Now it’s down to just 60,000. And it’s still shrinking. This week alone, Russia dropped eight glide bombs. One-ton Soviet-made weapons designed to sink battleships were dropped into a civilian landmark in the town square. There’s no justification. It’s just about destruction. If they can’t have the city, they’ll turn it to rubble.
That’s the mentality. We’ve seen it before in Syria. Assad did it in Aleppo and Homs. Russia does it in Bakhmut, Mariupol, and Kherson. If they can’t win, they destroy.
But the people here are still standing. Human Rights Watch this week published a report confirming everything I and others have been reporting for over a year. Russia is systematically targeting civilians in Kherson. It is a war crime. And it’s happening every day.
Still, people stay.
I met an 87-year-old woman picking up bread from a volunteer centre. When asked why she doesn’t leave, why she doesn’t get a passport and move away, she just said this:
“My son and my husband are buried here. Putin is a beast. But he’ll never win.”
That’s the spirit of Kherson. Terrified, under siege, but unbroken.
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