Roksolana Kryvenko is a Ukrainian journalist and cultural historian who leads Artefact Music, a digital outlet dedicated to Ukrainian music history. Her reporting traces how Soviet repression and censorship sidelined composers and institutions, and she uses music as a doorway into national memory. She also writes socio-political analysis for Nzl.media (“The Ukrainians” project), producing clear explainers and investigations on wartime social harms, including predatory online gambling and veterans’ family-compensation disputes. Trained in Kyiv and continuing her studies at the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, Kryvenko argues that numbers matter, but war is best understood through names, faces, and the lives behind statistics.
In this interview, Scott Douglas Jacobsen speaks with Roksolana Kryvenko, a Ukrainian journalist and editor-in-chief of Artefact Music, about recovering Ukraine’s musical past from Soviet censorship and Russian “younger brother” narratives. Kryvenko explains how war accelerated public interest in Ukrainian culture and how her outlet covers composers, performers, institutions, and radio history. She also describes her analytical work for Nzl.media (“The Ukrainians” project), from investigations into gambling ads targeting soldiers to explainers on compensation for families of the fallen. Under martial law, she says limits are mainly operational-security delays, while independent scrutiny continues amid blackouts, air alerts, and waning global attention abroad.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What is your profession? Whom do you write for?
Kryvenko: I am a journalist. I write for Ukrainian media, and I am the CEO of Artefact Music, an online Ukrainian media outlet dedicated to the history of Ukrainian music.
Jacobsen: Why focus on the history of Ukrainian music? What drew you to that field?
Kryvenko: I graduated from music school as a child. When the full-scale war began, I realized that many people had not been interested in Ukrainian culture before, partly because Russian content dominated television and radio. After the invasion, interest in Ukrainian music and art increased significantly. People were surprised to discover how many talented Ukrainian musicians there are, especially from the twentieth century. Many are not widely known today, not because they lacked significance, but because Soviet repression and censorship targeted Ukrainian cultural figures and suppressed or erased parts of their work from institutions and public life.
For example, Mykola Leontovych composed the melody best known internationally as “Carol of the Bells.” Many people have heard it, but fewer know that Leontovych was a Ukrainian composer. He was killed in 1921 by an agent of the Soviet secret police, the Cheka. I decided to tell the history through music.
Jacobsen: What area of music did you specialize in—instrumental, vocal, or conducting?
Kryvenko: We focus on history across all areas. For example, on International Day of Radio, we published an article about the history of Ukrainian radio and how it operated under the Soviet system, including restrictions and controls over Ukrainian-language content and the music of Ukrainian composers. We cover composers, performers, institutions, and broadcasting—everything related to the history of Ukrainian music.
Jacobsen: How did the Soviets define “Ukrainian”? Was it based on ethnicity, nationality, language, or something broader?
Kryvenko: It was broad. Russian narratives sometimes claim that Ukraine has a minor culture and is merely a “younger brother,” but I disagree. In the eighteenth century, institutions such as the Hlukhiv Singing School, founded in 1738, trained musicians who were recruited to serve imperial institutions in Saint Petersburg, including the Imperial Court Chapel, drawing skilled performers away from their communities. What is often described as “Russian culture” absorbed significant contributions from many peoples, including Ukrainians.
Beyond music, I also work as a socio-political analyst at Nzl.media (“The Ukrainians” project), writing analytical posts and publication texts on a range of topics.
Jacobsen: Where did those cross paths? Where does your analytical work intersect with the history of music bans and cultural repression?
Kryvenko: I have many interests, not only music. My main goal is to be useful to my country and to society. When we tell people the real history of Ukrainian music—history that was suppressed for many years—it strengthens our understanding of who we are. For example, my parents did not study the full history of Ukraine in school. That matters because a nation that does not know its history cannot fully understand what it is defending. The idea that Ukrainians and Russians share the same history is often repeated, but I do not believe that is accurate.
My analytical work also addresses current social issues. Last year, I worked on an investigation into online gambling platforms operating in Ukraine. Some of these platforms targeted Ukrainian soldiers in their advertising, appealing to stress and psychological vulnerability caused by war. They promoted gambling as a way to cope with trauma and pressure. That is harmful, particularly for people already under extreme stress.
Our reporting, along with the work of other journalists and legal advocates, contributed to restrictions preventing online gambling companies from directly targeting members of the military. It was a collective effort, but I was part of it.
I primarily write for Nzl.media (“The Ukrainians” project), including a subsection called ANZEL. My role is to explain complex issues in an accessible language. If there is a public issue that people find confusing, I try to break it down clearly—what the problem is, why it matters, and what possible solutions exist.
For example, in the autumn, I wrote about state compensation provided to the families of fallen soldiers. Ukraine is facing challenges because the scale of the war is unprecedented in modern times. Under Ukrainian law, compensation is distributed to spouses, children, and parents. However, soldiers may submit a formal declaration specifying how they wish this compensation to be allocated. This is separate from a general will and applies specifically to state benefits upon death.
In some cases, a soldier may have been estranged from their parents or had serious disagreements, including political differences regarding the war. This raises complex legal and ethical questions about how compensation should be distributed. I interviewed the wives of fallen soldiers to explore how the system could be improved and how families are affected in practice.
Jacobsen: When you read foreign media, what do they get right, what do they get wrong, and what do they miss about this war?
Kryvenko: One of the main problems is the decline in international coverage compared to 2022. At the beginning of the full-scale invasion, Ukraine was constantly in global headlines. Now there are fewer reports. The world is dealing with many crises, wars, disasters, and attention shifts. As a result, people begin to assume that the situation here has stabilized or improved.
When I travel abroad, people often ask whether the war is still ongoing. It is, and in many ways it is becoming more difficult. If international media reduce coverage, audiences may conclude that the situation is improving, even when it is not—sustained attention matters.
Jacobsen: Oleksandra Matviichuk of the Center for Civil Liberties has emphasized the importance of reporting accurate data—casualties, aid levels, destruction—while also preserving human stories so they do not become abstract statistics. Do you incorporate that concern into your journalism?
Kryvenko: Yes. Responsible journalism must include human stories. Numbers are important, but they do not capture the reality of war. In Ukrainian, there is a saying: if you ask what war is, I will answer with names or faces. Each person killed or injured represents a network of family and friends whose lives are permanently changed.
Behind every statistic are spouses, children, parents, and communities. Some victims were soldiers; others were civilians whose homes were destroyed. I try to include that human dimension in my work. Without it, reporting becomes incomplete.
Jacobsen: How do you assess press freedom under martial law? Reporters Without Borders ranked Ukraine 106th in 2002 and 62nd in 2025, a significant improvement, with most concerns concentrated near the front line. Russia, by contrast, ranked 155th in 2022 and 171st in 2025 out of 180 countries. The UN has reported systematic torture and ill-treatment of journalists by Russian authorities, as well as deliberate targeting of journalists in conflict zones. As you know, journalists near the front are sometimes advised not to label themselves as “press” on protective gear, since that no longer guarantees safety.
Kryvenko: Martial law imposes certain restrictions, particularly related to military information and operational security. Journalists must follow accreditation rules and coordinate with the armed forces in frontline areas. These measures are intended to prevent the disclosure of sensitive information that could endanger troops.
At the same time, independent media continue to operate, investigate corruption, and criticize government decisions. That remains possible in Ukraine. Conditions near the front line are more dangerous, and safety concerns are real. The risks journalists face in areas occupied by Russian forces are significantly higher, especially given documented cases of detention and abuse.
In Ukraine, challenges under martial law persist, but there is still space for independent journalism and public debate.
The same applies to doctors. Under international humanitarian law, medical vehicles and personnel are protected, but in practice, those protections are violated. From the beginning of the full-scale invasion, it became clear that protective markings do not always guarantee safety.
For example, in March 2022, the Donetsk Academic Regional Drama Theatre in Mariupol was bombed. The word “children” had been written in large letters outside the building to signal that civilians were sheltering there. Despite that, the theatre was struck. The exact number of people killed remains disputed, but it was a major civilian tragedy. Incidents like that demonstrate that visible humanitarian or civilian markings do not necessarily prevent attacks.
You asked about press freedom under martial law in Ukraine.
Jacobsen: Press freedom under martial law within Ukraine—how have you experienced it? Have there been concerns about the persecution of journalists within Ukraine?
Kryvenko: I was not familiar with the specific index rankings before, but based on my own experience, I do not see systemic problems with press freedom inside Ukraine. There are rules about publishing certain types of information, but they primarily relate to security.
For example, if a missile strikes a building, journalists may be asked not to publish images immediately. This is because Russian forces monitor social media and media coverage. Immediate publication can help them assess strike accuracy and adjust future attacks. Delays are intended to prevent additional harm.
There have also been cases in which media outlets published images of military facilities, including defence production sites. After such information became public, those sites were targeted. Because of this, there are restrictions on sharing sensitive military details. These rules are about operational security, not about suppressing political criticism or independent reporting.
Jacobsen: One major issue in this war is reduced international support. For example, under the Trump administration, U.S. military and humanitarian aid decreased significantly, while European countries increased their contributions. I interviewed Vrinda Grover, a commissioner with the UN Independent International Commission of Inquiry on Ukraine. She described systematic short-range drone attacks along parts of the Dnipro River targeting civilians. The reported proportion of civilian targeting appeared to increase sharply.
Kryvenko: I am not familiar with the specific figures you mentioned. Different organizations publish different data, and those numbers need to be verified carefully. What I can say is that drone attacks against civilian areas, particularly in frontline and river-adjacent regions, have been widely documented by Ukrainian authorities and international monitors. The scale and patterns vary over time, and it is important to rely on verified sources when discussing specific percentages.
Jacobsen: The UN compiled its findings using its own methodology. I am not an expert; I interview experts and try to synthesize their analysis into narrative form. In their recent reports, they examined treatment of prisoners of war, including documented cases of sexual violence against both men and women. These are extremely serious allegations and require careful wording.
From what I am hearing across interviews, reductions in funding are affecting the capacity of justice reporting—documentation of human rights abuses, war crimes, and crimes against humanity. At the same time, as you noted, there are fewer foreign journalists here now compared to 2022.
Given that Ukraine’s press freedom ranking has improved relative to Russia’s, one could argue that conditions for independent reporting are comparatively stronger here than in Russia, even under wartime constraints. From your perspective—as someone working in culture, music history, geopolitics, and analytical journalism—what are your biggest constraints?
Kryvenko: Do you mean practical limitations during wartime—resources, capacity?
Jacobsen: Yes. I am noticing a broader theme: reduced military and humanitarian aid, fewer UN resources for investigations, fewer foreign journalists on the ground, and public fatigue abroad. In your daily work, what limits you most?
Kryvenko: The main limitation is the war itself—Russia’s aggression. That is the fundamental constraint. Other challenges—funding, institutional development, professional standards—are part of the normal evolution of journalism in any country and can be addressed over time.
Ukraine regained independence in 1991 after decades within the Soviet Union, where the media were tightly controlled and centralized. Under the Soviet system, there were very few officially sanctioned publications, and information was heavily regulated. After independence, Ukraine began building its own media ecosystem from scratch. That process has taken time and continues today.
The war intensifies every challenge—security risks, economic strain, psychological pressure—but the structural development of Ukrainian journalism has been ongoing since independence.
It has not been a long time since independent journalism has fully developed and strengthened. Ukrainian journalists are working under conditions that are not normal even for daily life, let alone for professional work. Yet we continue to report, to share verified information, and to tell the stories of our history and our people.
The central constraint is Russia’s invasion. If the war ends, many structural problems can be addressed within a few years. The immediate obstacles—electricity shortages, damaged infrastructure, constant air alerts—are consequences of the war.
For example, there are days when electricity and internet access are available only briefly. On one recent Sunday, I had just over half an hour of reliable power. That makes sustained work extremely difficult. Nighttime missile and drone attacks disrupt sleep and concentration. These conditions affect daily life and journalism alike.
Jacobsen: What areas would you like to explore in your journalism that you have not yet had the opportunity to pursue?
Kryvenko: I want to continue doing meaningful work that benefits Ukrainian society. My goal is to contribute wherever I can be most useful—whether in cultural history, investigative reporting, or social analysis. The priority is relevance and service.
Jacobsen: When Ukrainians talk about the war—about loss, or the ongoing stress of nightly attacks—what core emotions emerge?
Kryvenko: Anger is a central emotion. There is also grief and exhaustion, but anger is often at the forefront. Ukraine is a country with a deep cultural heritage, diverse regions, and strong local identities. You can travel from the Carpathian Mountains to the Black Sea and encounter different accents, traditions, and cuisines, yet it remains one country. That diversity is part of its richness.
It is painful that instead of focusing entirely on development and cultural growth, we must devote so much energy to defence and survival. When I travel abroad and hear people describe Ukraine only in terms of economic or political problems, I find that perspective incomplete. Every country faces corruption and governance challenges. Ukraine does as well. But it is also a country of resilience, culture, and complexity that cannot be reduced to its difficulties.
Jacobsen: I have interviewed several officials from Transparency International Ukraine. One key point they emphasize is that the ranking itself matters less than the trajectory. From an institutional perspective, every country benefits from reducing corruption because it improves business confidence and governance. The real story is the direction of change. Ukraine’s corruption ranking has improved significantly over time, even during wartime. In that sense, reform during conflict may be the larger narrative.
Kryvenko: Yes, and we continue that work even now. There are ongoing corruption investigations, including during the war. Some people say, “How can there be corruption during wartime?” The fact that investigations are underway is a positive sign. Institutions such as NABU and the Specialized Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office are functioning.
Corruption existed before, including during the presidency of Viktor Yanukovych. At that time, corruption was higher, and it was far more dangerous for journalists to investigate it. Today, journalists can publish investigations more openly. That does not mean corruption has disappeared, but it does mean there is greater transparency and accountability.
Even during the war, there are signs of development. New businesses continue to open. Offline businesses operate under extreme conditions, often relying on generators during power outages. Many struggle to stay open. Infrastructure suffers from repeated strikes and freezing temperatures. During severe cold periods, repair crews must work outdoors in dangerous conditions, and some have died while trying to restore electricity.
Jacobsen: I read about cases during the cold snap, including elderly residents – one Holocaust survivor – who died from exposure. The humanitarian impact is severe.
Kryvenko: Yes. After major strikes, some apartments in Kyiv have had indoor temperatures close to freezing. In my case, after one large attack in January, the temperature in my home dropped to around 10 degrees Celsius. For many families, conditions have been even colder. These are the daily realities people face while continuing to work and live under wartime conditions.
Jacobsen: In your journalistic training, did you study in Kyiv?
Kryvenko: I completed my bachelor’s degree in Lviv and am now studying at the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy.
Jacobsen: How would you characterize the Ukrainian educational system, particularly journalism education during wartime?
Kryvenko: It depends on the university. I studied at two institutions, and the experiences were different. Journalism education can still improve, but I see progress. Some courses that were not available when I began are now part of the curriculum. That indicates development.
At Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, many instructors are practicing journalists. That practical experience strengthens the program. Because of the war, new subjects have been added. We study frontline safety, how to operate in combat zones, and how to interview people who have experienced trauma, including those who have lost family members or suffered serious injuries.
Studying during wartime is difficult. Air raid alerts interrupt classes. Transportation is sometimes disrupted. Public officials, including Kyiv’s mayor, have acknowledged how hard daily life can be under constant threat. Still, universities continue operating. Ukraine’s education system has been evolving since its independence in 1991, after decades under the Soviet system. Developing independent curricula and institutions takes time. Overall, I cannot complain; my universities have given me valuable knowledge.
Jacobsen: What are your biggest lessons from the war, as a person?
Kryvenko: The most important lesson is gratitude. Each morning, if you wake up, you should be grateful because someone else did not. Sometimes that person may live in your own neighbourhood.
You learn to value ordinary opportunities—to study, to work, to see your family. Air raids disrupt daily life. Public transport can stop. Electricity and internet access are unreliable. Yet if you can continue your studies or your work, that is something to appreciate.
You also see solidarity. During power outages, strangers help each other. If someone cannot heat food for a child, others offer their homes. If a wounded veteran needs to charge a prosthetic device, someone with a generator invites them in. Businesses offer free tea or a warm place to sit during curfew hours.
War reveals how interconnected people are. It teaches you to value community, resilience, and the present moment. You do not know what tomorrow will bring.
Jacobsen: Any final words?
Kryvenko: Do not forget about Ukraine. The war is ongoing. If people cannot provide direct assistance, continued attention and support still matter.
Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Roksolana.
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Scott Douglas Jacobsen is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-
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Image Credit: Scott Douglas Jacobsen