By Fabien Schmidt
On Thursday, 3rd of March 2022, LSE’s Amnesty International Society organized a screening of the documentary, “The Distant Barking of Dogs”, a film shedding light on the human dimension of the war in Ukraine’s Donbas region.
The distant barking of dogs is all that the inhabitants of Hnutove, a small village in the Donbas region, hear after the explosions faint. Oleg, the film’s protagonist, is ten and growing up in a world full of violence. His village lies on the so-called “contact line”, a small strip of land that is the front line of fighting between the Ukrainian army and the Russia-backed separatist forces. Only a few kilometers away lies the now-besieged city of Mariupol. But even though violence has escalated to new dimensions since February 24th, the war has never really been gone. Since 2014, more than 13,000 people have died on both sides, many of which civilians. Ceasefire violations and casualties occurred almost daily.
After his mother’s passing and father’s disappearance, Oleg has only his grandmother, Alexandra, with whom he shares a deeply loving bond. Alexandra is strongly bound to her village– while most people have fled the area, she – and by extension, Oleg – decides to stay. In an emotionally notable scene, she says, “every dog is a lion in his home” – elsewhere, they are refugees.
The director Simon Lereng Wilmont tells an intimate and deeply touching tale of childhood in chaos. Without any political commentary, the film shows the horrors of war and their psychological and material impact on those who must suffer it. Wilmont reports how, when he asked Oleg for the first time how it felt to be scared, he looked at him and without hesitation said, “If you can imagine a hand reaching in and grabbing your heart. When the first explosions sound, after the cannons have fired, the hand starts squeezing your heart. Then it gets all cold, too.”
But the film also shows how, even in face of chaos and severe adversity, humans succeed in building small bubbles of love and shared humanity to carry themselves through the darkness. For 90 minutes, we accompanied Oleg as he plays, learns, and discovers his world amid shelling and explosions. Through his eyes, we experienced the wonders and troubles of childhood, the drama of friendships lost, the mourning of deceased parents, the fear of death, the fun of playing in the summer heat, the determination of perseverance, and the love shared among a young boy and his courageous grandmother.
I first watched this documentary in 2019 in Kyiv with my friend Diana, who herself is from Donezk. She had to leave her family because of the war when she was still in school. She hasn’t been home in Donezk ever since. Last week she had to leave her home for a second time, not knowing if she will see it again, again. Meanwhile, the dogs are dragging dead bodies through the streets of Donbas. I sincerely hope that she and Oleg will be able to experience peace in their homeland someday soon.
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