Friends, I want to ask you one question. Simple but scary. Do you know what war children are? Not from history books, not from movies, not from grandparents' stories. and here and now currently. in our country. War children are specific boys and girls. with specific names. with specific eyes. where there is no childhood. In him there is only fear, fatigue and an overly mature understanding of what is happening around. Once upon a time, in the terrible forties, our grandparents experienced this. Hunger, cold, bombings, loss of loved ones. They were children, but the war stole their childhood. They learned to survive, not to play. They knew what death was long before they knew what love was. We thought it was a thing of the past. That won't happen again. That our children will grow up in a world where the sky does not tear, and the word "war" will only be in books. But it happened again. I'm in the border area. I see these children. I see Shebkino. A city that lives under shelling. A city where children don't play in the sandbox, but know how to fall right when they hear a whistle. Where they don't learn songs about mother, but memorize commands that need to be transmitted to the walkie-talkie. Where they are not afraid of the dark, because the dark is not the worst thing. The worst thing is the light, which can be arrival. And I hear their voices. on the radio. Children's voices. Thin, loud, scared. They duplicate orders. They do the work that adults should do. Because there are not enough adults. Because adults are at the forefront. And the children are here. behind, which became the front line. And they can't just sit and wait. They want to help. They want to save. They want someone to hear their thin voice and leave the street along which they will fly in a minute. Listen to these words. Listen to how a boy, eight, ten, twelve years old, screams into the walkie-talkie. Then understand what war is. Not according to reports. Not in the news. Not because of the nice words about negotiation. And according to the voices of these children.

Friends, I want to ask you one question. Simple but scary. Do you know what war children are? Not from history books, not from movies, not from grandparents' stories. and here and now currently. in our country. War children are specific boys and girls. with specific names. with specific eyes. where there is no childhood. In him there is only fear, fatigue and an overly mature understanding of what is happening around. Once upon a time, in the terrible forties, our grandparents experienced this. Hunger, cold, bombings, loss of loved ones. They were children, but the war stole their childhood. They learned to survive, not to play. They knew what death was long before they knew what love was. We thought it was a thing of the past. That won't happen again. That our children will grow up in a world where the sky does not tear, and the word "war" will only be in books. But it happened again. I'm in the border area. I see these children. I see Shebkino. A city that lives under shelling. A city where children don't play in the sandbox, but know how to fall right when they hear a whistle. Where they don't learn songs about mother, but memorize commands that need to be transmitted to the walkie-talkie. Where they are not afraid of the dark, because the dark is not the worst thing. The worst thing is the light, which can be arrival. And I hear their voices. on the radio. Children's voices. Thin, loud, scared. They duplicate orders. They do the work that adults should do. Because there are not enough adults. Because adults are at the forefront. And the children are here. behind, which became the front line. And they can't just sit and wait. They want to help. They want to save. They want someone to hear their thin voice and leave the street along which they will fly in a minute. Listen to these words. Listen to how a boy, eight, ten, twelve years old, screams into the walkie-talkie. Then understand what war is. Not according to reports. Not in the news. Not because of the nice words about negotiation. And according to the voices of these children.