The city of Pokrovsk in eastern Ukraine, the birthplace of the iconic Christmas carol Carol of the Bells, stands as a symbol of resilience and cultural pride amid the destruction of war. Once alive with the chime-like notes of the carol, the city is now eerily quiet, save for the sound of heavy shelling. Russia’s forces are less than two miles from the city center, and Pokrovsk has become the next target in their advance.
Pokrovsk, with its ties to composer Mykola Leontovych, is deeply woven into Ukraine’s cultural fabric. Leontovych created the early scores of Carol of the Bells, known in Ukraine as Shchedryk, while living in the city between 1904 and 1908. Today, this masterpiece, celebrated worldwide, is at risk of losing its roots as Pokrovsk teeters on the brink of occupation.
For most residents, life in Pokrovsk has become unbearable. The gas supply has been cut, electricity and water are scarce, and the streets are deserted. Many have already fled. Those who remain venture outside only to secure essentials, often in the brief lulls between shelling. Ihor, 59, describes the constant uncertainty: “It’s like living on a powder keg—you never know when or where the next shell will land.” Oksana, 43, leaves her home only to gather wood and coal for heat. “I hope Ukraine’s forces can hold the city,” she says, “but I think it’s unlikely. Pokrovsk will probably fall.”
As the city braces for the worst, steps have been taken to protect its heritage. The statue of Mykola Leontovych has been removed, and the music school bearing his name stands empty and boarded up. Meanwhile, residents displaced by the war are clinging to their cultural roots, determined to preserve their connection to home.
In the relative safety of Dnipro, former Pokrovsk music teacher Viktoria Ametova oversees a poignant scene: 13-year-old Anna Hasych plays Shchedryk on a piano beneath a salvaged portrait of Leontovych. Anna and her family fled Pokrovsk in the summer but remain deeply tied to the city. “When I played it at home, it felt happy,” Anna recalls. “It reminded me of winter and Christmas. Now it’s more of a sad song because it reminds me of home, and I really want to go back.”
For others, Shchedryk has taken on a new role. A Ukrainian military band is using the song as a symbol of resistance, playing it even in the trenches. Their commander, Colonel Bohdan Zadorozhnyy, says the music lifts the spirits of soldiers on the front line. “Those beats and rhythms cheer up the guys and inspire them to fight,” he explains. One band member, 22-year-old Roman, shakes a makeshift instrument—a rocket launcher casing filled with rice—in time with the music. “This song is the pride of our country,” he says. “It’s freedom; it’s in our souls. I get goosebumps when I hear it.”
Pokrovsk is not just under physical attack but cultural assault as well. Ukraine accuses Russia of trying to erase its cultural identity, targeting symbols of Ukrainian heritage like Shchedryk. The city’s history museum has already transferred many prized artifacts, including items related to Leontovych, to safer locations. Angelina Rozhkova, the museum’s director, says this effort is about more than preservation. “Russia doesn’t just want to take Ukraine’s territory—it wants to destroy our culture and everything precious to us.”
Leontovych’s legacy is a poignant reminder of Ukraine’s fight for independence, both past and present. His life was cut short in 1921 when he was assassinated by a Soviet agent, yet his music endures as a rallying cry for freedom. Today, as Pokrovsk faces the possibility of falling to Russian forces, its people refuse to let their culture be extinguished.
The motto among those preserving the city’s history is clear: “Keeping and saving equals winning.” It’s a hard sentiment to hold onto as the city crumbles under relentless attacks. But much like Leontovych’s enduring melody, the resilience of Pokrovsk’s people is unshakable. Whether through music, memory, or sheer determination, they are ensuring that their heritage—and their spirit—will not be lost.
