In the heart of Kyiv, amidst the shadows of war, a remarkable story of resilience and cultural preservation unfolds. Kyiv's architectural heritage, a testament to its rich history, is fighting for survival against multiple threats.
Lesia Danylenko, with a proud smile, unveiled her home's new entrance, a symbol of hope and determination. The elegant transom window, nicknamed the "croissant" by volunteers, sparked a playful debate among residents, with Danylenko suggesting it resembled a peacock's tail. This restoration project, supported by the community, became a celebration, bringing people together through two lively street parties.
But here's where it gets controversial... Danylenko sees this renovation as more than just a cosmetic upgrade. It's an act of defiance against Russia, a statement of their unwavering commitment to their homeland. "We're not afraid to stay in Ukraine," she declares, adding, "I could have left, but I chose to stay and fight for our future."
In a city where Russian attacks are an ever-present threat, the act of restoring a building takes on a deeper meaning. Since the beginning of 2025, the Kremlin's aerial raids have intensified, leaving a trail of destruction in their wake. After each attack, a familiar routine unfolds: shattered windows are boarded up, and workers strive to salvage what they can of the residential buildings.
Among the ruins, a dedicated group of activists has taken up the mantle of preserving Kyiv's architectural gems, particularly the unique style known as Ukrainian modernism. Danylenko's house, located in the central Shevchenkivskyi district, is a prime example. Built in 1906, it boasts intricate details like horse chestnut leaves and camomile flowers adorning its exterior.
"These symbols of Kyiv are rare treasures," Danylenko explains. Designed by the Austrian-German architect Martin Klug, the mansion stands as a testament to a bygone era. Nearby, other buildings showcase similar art nouveau features, including asymmetrical designs with gothic towers and turrets.
However, Russia is not the only adversary in this battle. Preservation campaigners face an uphill battle against unscrupulous developers, corrupt officials, and a governing class that seems indifferent or even hostile to the city's architectural legacy. The harsh winter climate adds another layer of challenge.
Dmytro Perov, an activist with the Heritage Kyiv group, paints a stark picture: "Kyiv is a city where money talks. We lack the political will to protect our heritage." He goes on to accuse the city's mayor, Vitali Klitschko, of having ties with developers who bulldoze important historical sites. "Klitschko's vision for the capital is stuck in the 90s, reminiscent of Tony Soprano," Perov alleges, referring to the popular TV show.
Perov highlights the absence of many civically-minded activists, who are now fighting on the frontline or have tragically lost their lives. The financial strain of Russia's prolonged war has affected everyone, including judges who make mysterious rulings in favor of dubious construction projects. "This war is eroding our society and institutions," he argues.
Taking us to one of the most egregious demolition sites in the Podil neighborhood, Perov shows the remains of classical 19th-century houses. Despite an agreement to preserve the attractive brick facade, developers tore it down just a day after Russia's invasion in 2022. Now, a new shopping and business center is being constructed, watched over by an unfriendly security guard.
Anatolii Pohorily, a supporter of Heritage Kyiv, offers little hope for the remaining turquoise-painted houses on the site. Developers, he says, often use the guise of "archaeological research" to level old properties. The Soviet Union, too, left its mark, reconstructing Khreshchatyk, the city's main thoroughfare, to accommodate tanks and communist military parades.
Serhiy Mironov, one of Kyiv's most passionate advocates for historic buildings, tragically lost his life fighting in Bakhmut in 2022. His colleague, Nelli Chudna, carries on his legacy, determined to preserve the city's architectural gems. Originally, Kyiv boasted 3,500 brick-built mansions, many built for the city's prosperous sugar barons. Today, only 80 of their original doors remain, Chudna laments.
"It wasn't Russian rockets that destroyed them; it was us," she says, emphasizing the urgency of their mission. "If we don't defend our architecture now, there will be nothing left." Chudna's organization, True Kyiv, recently restored a charming house built in 1910, now serving as their headquarters, a film set, and a museum.
Yurii Pikul, the artist who resides in the restored building, describes his home as "cool and a bit cold." He questions why many Ukrainians seem to undervalue their past: "It's a lack of education and taste. We're trying to move west, but we're still far from civilization." Pikul attributes this mindset to lingering Soviet ways of thinking, where personal responsibility for one's surroundings is often lacking.
Some buildings are collapsing due to official neglect. Chudna points to a once-grand villa now hidden behind a modern hospital, its roof collapsed, pigeons nesting in its broken windows, and rubbish piling up under a fairytale tower. "We don't always win," she admits. "Restoration is our therapy; we're fighting to save this history and beauty."
In the face of war and adversity, Kyiv's residents are not just rebuilding their city; they're rebuilding their identity and their connection to the past. This battle for architectural preservation is a powerful statement of resilience and a reminder that culture and heritage are worth fighting for.
