Indomitable: American filmmaker shines a light on Ukraine's untold resilience

Sonia Lowman is a young American documentary filmmaker. In her projects, she often addresses difficult socio-political issues and regularly visits places facing significant humanitarian crises around the world. Her latest work is a film "Indomitable", which recently premiered at the esteemed New York Justice Film Festival, an event specialising in human rights films. Today, Lowman's documentary begins its global festival tour. The director hopes it will soon be shown in Poland.

The starting point of her story is the story of a hospital in Chernihiv, a city in northern Ukraine, near the border with Belarus. The city was one of the first targets of the Russian army at the outset of the war. The hospital was heavily damaged by shelling, leading to its operations moving to underground shelters beneath the building.

Przemek Gulda, journalist at Virtualna Polska: What surprised you the most during your visit to Ukraine?

Sonia Lowman, American documentary filmmaker: The extraordinary duality of life. On one hand, people in Kyiv or Chernihiv tried to carry on as normally as possible: they went to work, and in their free time, they sat in cafes to chat and gossip. But at the same time, when the air-raid sirens sounded, they immediately abandoned this very ordinary, Western, bourgeois life and sought refuge in basements, like in World War II. It was surreal, almost schizophrenic. I was captivated by their resilience, their efforts to maintain normalcy. Then, upon returning to the States, this duality took on a completely different meaning.

In what sense?

Adjusting to the fact that life in California was just normal, peaceful, safe felt odd. My thoughts kept returning to those in Ukraine, who were living through hell yet striving to not let it define their lives. The contrast with the paradise that America seemed in this context was heartbreaking. Returning to my comfortable life felt almost alien.

How is the war perceived in America?

There's no consensus on this question, and that's troubling for many reasons. There isn't the unanimous support for those fighting and living through the war in Ukraine that I had hoped for. In the States, unfortunately, everything hinges on which TV station you watch, as each presents a different view of the world and shapes its audience's attitude towards both domestic and international events differently.

How did your Ukrainian project begin?

This wasn't my first film centred on war, trauma, and exclusion. I had previously worked with the African-American community in the States, as well as in Sudan and other regions experiencing humanitarian crises. I'm drawn to such issues, which often seem overlooked by many. I feel it's essential to shed light on them. When Russia invaded Ukraine, I felt compelled to cover it. I was searching for a compelling angle.

Your film starts in Chernihiv, which was destroyed by the Russian army. How did you get there?

An American charitable organisation attempting to support the Ukrainian people since the war began put me in touch. They suggested the hospital as a potential focal point for the documentary. It sounded fascinating, and I soon realised it provided a perfect introduction to the wider story I wanted to tell.

But let's start at the beginning. First, you reached Chernihiv...

It was almost precisely on the anniversary of the invasion. And it wasn't easy. The journey took me four days, including a flight halfway around the world to Kyiv. Kyiv felt relatively calm compared to what was to come. The war was present but not overwhelmingly so. However, as we headed north to Chernihiv, near the border, the reality of war became ever more apparent, with each checkpoint and patrolled stop bringing us closer to the frontline atmosphere: soldiers in combat gear and the sound of passing projectiles.

And in Chernihiv itself?

The impact of war was palpable there, though it was relatively calm during my visit. Military operations had swept through the city much earlier, at the very start of the invasion. That was when the hospital I discuss in the film was destroyed. The staff had evacuated patients to the basement, where they spent many days.

What impacted you the most upon seeing this place?

The basements where people took shelter deeply moved me. The thought of them spending so long in the dark was immense. Here, my empathy as a person intersects with my cinematic perspective. Darkness can signify horror, but it also has symbolic value: it represents the triumph of dark forces. Waiting for the light becomes a hope for liberation from darkness. These thoughts were constant as I navigated those basements.

You mentioned your film took an unexpected turn. How so?

The hospital I originally intended to feature specialises in dealing with mental health issues. It soon became clear that the story of the medical facility was also an entry point into discussing the national psyche under siege. This subplot gradually took centre stage and eventually became the documentary's focal point.

In one scene, a doctor describes in a calm voice how everyone in Ukraine is now grappling with psychological issues due to the war. It's a powerful moment...

Exactly. That conversation was an eye-opener. Besides interviewing the medical team who protected and cared for patients in the basement, I decided to speak with those receiving treatment. I wanted to understand how the war had impacted their mental health. Suddenly, my project evolved from a feature on a single psychiatric hospital into an exploration of an entire nation's psyche. Moreover, I aimed to highlight that the aftermath of this trauma is only beginning.

Many in Ukraine have endured such severe trauma that recovery will be a long process. The nation will need extensive psychotherapy, regardless of when and how the war ends. Its psychological scars will be profound and enduring, posing a significant challenge for years to come.

How has the psychological state of Ukrainians evolved throughout the invasion?

I arrived during a particularly intense period, following the heaviest fighting in the city, when the immediate danger had subsided. There was also increasing anticipation of a Ukrainian counteroffensive. The mood in the city was optimistic.

There was palpable hope linked to military prospects and a sense of solidarity with the international community supporting Ukraine. People felt they weren't isolated, with Europe and the United States offering support.

And today? Are you still in contact with the individuals featured in your film?

Yes, and the mood has shifted significantly. Often, I see it in the eyes of those I speak with, and I sense their unspoken questions: "Does the world still stand with us? Does anyone still listen? Does what's happening here still matter to anyone?". They recognise that the global interest in their plight has waned, and support has dwindled, uncertain if the States will continue their assistance at all.

In the States, is the possibility of a Trump victory seen as likely to reduce aid to Ukraine?

I'd say that those aware of Ukraine's needs and striving to keep the issue alive are unlikely to support Trump. Thus, these topics are interconnected. However, the pre-election debate in the States is increasingly focused on domestic issues. Isolationism is gaining traction, diverting attention away from Ukrainian concerns. My film was created partly to address this, aiming to showcase the ongoing crisis and rally support for Ukraine.

What are you working on today?

The film on Ukraine has become part of a series dedicated to strong women on the front lines, both literally and metaphorically. This was not originally planned, but I've found myself drawn to such stories. My current projects continue this theme.

In the Gaza Strip, I'm making a film about a doctor, and footage for a film about an activist in Venezuela has already been filmed. In Somalia, I'm collaborating with a young woman fighting against climate change. Another project in Afghanistan will also focus on women's issues.