Ukraine's postal workers deliver lifeline under Russian fire

Ukraine’s postal workers deliver a lifeline under Russian fire

Each morning, Igor Smelyansky studies a huge map of Ukraine on the wall of his office and decides where to place his people in danger’s path.

His aides feed him real-time intelligence on Russian attacks, and he sends out his teams, weighing possible operational gains against the risk of death or serious injury.

Smelyansky is not a military commander. He leads Ukraine’s state postal service, Ukrposhta.

And every day he has to judge how far to send his postmen and women into the deadly “kill zone” near the front lines, where the danger of drone strikes is constant.

“If it’s too dangerous to go today, we won’t go,” Smelyansky told us. “We’ll go tomorrow, or we’ll go somewhere else. The key is to be as agile as you can.”

Ukrposhta does far more than gather letters and parcels. It distributes pensions in cash, collects payment for utility bills, and brings essential food and medicine to people on the edges of society.

In that way, it provides a lifeline to millions of poor and elderly Ukrainians in remote villages where shops are scarce and journeys to the city are costly and perilous. In a huge rural country battered by war, Ukrposhta is part of the glue holding the nation together.

That has turned the service into a Russian target. In recent months, attacks have intensified not only on postmen and women, but also on sorting offices and logistics hubs. The Kremlin has said strikes of this kind are retaliation for Ukrainian attacks on Russian online retailers such as Wildberries.

Speaking from his imposing Soviet-era office building overlooking Kyiv’s famous Maidan square, Smelyansky said: “If we don’t go [to a village], we don’t have basic supply. We don’t have food. We don’t have medicine. People will struggle. If we do go, they may delay a decision to evacuate from the areas they probably should have evacuated.”

There are plenty of dangers. If a postal van arrives without warning, a crowd may gather, creating an easy target for an opportunistic Russian drone operator. But if they phone ahead, the information could leak.

“Is it a danger?” Smelyansky said. “Absolutely. Because there are Russian sympathisers who can give them the location of the truck that’s coming.”

If Smelyansky decides not to send a van, he is criticised. “You get messages from people from those villages: ‘You betrayed us. You didn’t come...’ But if I go, I may risk the life of the driver.”

Smelyansky says Russia is intentionally targeting his staff because of the crucial role they play in strengthening Ukraine’s resilience and helping people survive in their homes through the fighting and harsh winters.

“It’s not an accident, it’s deliberate,” he said. “By attacking Ukrposhta, you put pressure on people… who are depending on the truck coming in.” Russia denies targeting civilians.

Since 2022, hundreds of Ukrposhta branches and vehicles have been struck, and more than 50 staff have died, either on the front line or while on their rounds, according to Ukrposhta.

We travelled with Kateryna Marynych, a 38-year-old postmistress, near Zaporizhzhia - a city not far from the southern front lines.

She lost her home and her husband during the full-scale invasion, and came to the area to rebuild her life. She ran the post office in the village of Lukasheve for two years until it was destroyed in March by a Russian drone, which was targeting soldiers working nearby.

After her van pulled up, a steady line of elderly residents formed. She sat in the front passenger seat with the window open, handing out cash and taking payments.

One customer, Nadiia, said she was thankful: “It’s a long way for us to travel to Zaporizhzhia. Especially now, at a time when there are attacks all around us. The fact that they come here is really nice.”

Oleksandrivna, 77, arrived in a purple dressing gown and walked with a crutch. When I asked where she would be without Kateryna, she answered: “We would be stuffed! I am just out of hospital after a stroke. Where could I go for my medicine?”

But Mykola, 64, pointed to another service the post office offers to a mostly elderly population. “It is very important,” he said. “It’s one of the few joys of the month: you come out, have a chat with people, collect your pension, and go home.”

For many people in remote communities, Kateryna may be their last connection to the Ukrainian state.

She says she hopes her customers are proud of her. “They love me, they need me,” she said. “They are waiting for me. Sometimes they call me, especially after attacks on Zaporizhzhia and ask me how I am. We are like a big family. My attitude towards them is like a grandmother or grandfather.”

The attacks on Ukrposhta are part of Russia’s broader escalation of its war on Ukraine, with rapid drone strikes increasing against civilian infrastructure including business infrastructure, energy facilities, transport networks and border posts. Analysts say that as Russia’s invasion stalls on the battlefield in the east, it is seeking other ways to pressure Kyiv.

For safety, Kateryna always travels with her partner, Slava, who drives. While she sorts the cash, he works from the back of the van, receiving and sending parcels, and delivering food and water. He also carries a side-arm in a holster for personal protection; these vans carry a lot of cash.

Both wear body armour when near the front line. And they have an antenna in the van that shows them the location of the small first-person-view drones that make the front line so deadly. They have seen drones from the car but, fortunately, have not yet been hit.

She accepted that her job was dangerous, but said she would never give it up. “It is my work,” she said. “If I can’t, who will do my job?”

Ukraine’s defence takes many forms - and it is not always delivered at the barrel of a gun.