From Here to Eternity

Some wars occur in the news cycle, while others happen within people’s minds, bodies, and lives. When bombs fall on cities that once seemed safe, they cause not only physical destruction but also fractures in the human facade. Identity, safety, and rights – everything can shatter in an instant. For certain groups, the war becomes twofold: they flee not only from shells and soldiers but also from a society that never fully accepted their existence. This text recounts the story of one such fate. Of Natasha, a woman caught amidst the struggle, not only for her country but also for the right to be who she is: an LGBTQI person. Her story underscores the crucial importance of recognising and addressing minority issues during times of conflict.

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https://www.konst.se/jorgen-thornberg

“Two Fronts for Natasha

She packed her name with trembling hands,
a passport kissed by sirens' wail,
a flag inside her lungs still stands
while silence pursues like a veil.

They say the war is fought with guns,
but some must fight to be—
to love, to breathe beneath the sun
without erasure’s litany.

She runs from falling metal skies,
but not from fear of flame alone—
the stare that judges, lips that lie,
the law that carves her heart from home.

A nation breaks, a soul resists.
One body holds two battlefields.
But even Ash remembers fists
that rose before the fire yields.

Now in a land that speaks her name
without the need to hide or bend,
she meets a soul with kindled flame—
no need to lie, no need to mend.

Two women walk through morning light,
their shadows touching, hand in hand.
No law defines their love as blight;
no past can drown what they withstand.”
Malmö July 2025

From Here to Eternity
My image portrays two remarkably resilient women – one who has fled the war in Ukraine and now lives in Malmö. I have titled it From Here to Eternity, after the novel by James Jones. It is set in Hawaii in the lead-up to the attack on Pearl Harbour and depicts the lives of three American soldiers stationed there. It examines their hardships, relationships, and the tense atmosphere before the war. Their counterparts in today’s Ukraine appear in the background, even if my focus is on a different group, particularly how queer women are affected. Their resilience in the face of such adversity is truly inspiring.

The novel and the film explore themes such as loyalty, love, violence, and death, capturing the cynicism and desperation that can surface under pressure in the shadow of war. These themes are universal and resonate with people from all walks of life. On that front, nothing has changed—even when viewed narrowly from a woman’s perspective rather than a man’s.

A central theme in From Here to Eternity is the soldiers’ fear of war and its consequences, which creates a continuous undercurrent of tension throughout the story. The 1951 novel is celebrated for its realistic depiction of military life and its characters, and it was adapted into a successful film. Change the gender of the main characters, and it could quite easily be set in today's world. And if you also consider the sexual orientation of certain women, the sense of vulnerability deepens.

The two women are walking towards the shore along the long pier that leads to and from Ribersborgs Kallbadhus. They could have walked hand in hand, because that’s how close they had become since living together since last December. Klara was born and raised in Malmö around the turn of the millennium, while Natasha, the same age, came from Myshchenky, a village just over thirty kilometres from Kharkiv in Ukraine. Despite their different backgrounds, they share a deep bond. Klara had grown up in safety and had never considered living anywhere else than Malmö – and if you ever got tired of the city, well, there was always the bridge to Copenhagen. That they’re lesbians, you’ve surely figured out by now.

Natasha had dreamed of travelling – but not like this. She was fleeing a brutal war that not only threatened the freedom of Ukrainians but also her life as a lesbian woman. Everyone belonging to the queer community – or HBTQI, to use the proper acronym – has reason to fear what would happen if Russia succeeds in carrying out its plan to take over the country. Despite the overwhelming odds, Natasha's resilience shone through. Since the Russian military had subjected her university to a brutal bombardment in November last year, and she had come close to being killed, Natasha had fled Ukraine after increasing pressure from her mother and grandmother. “Trains go the other way too,” her mother had said, without much conviction. A significant factor was that both her father and her brother had already fallen, and that grief was enough. Natasha travelled through Poland and arrived in Ystad on 1 December. Once in Malmö, she contacted RFSL – quite naturally, considering her orientation. The challenges she faced as a lesbian refugee were immense, from the fear of persecution to the struggle for acceptance in a new country.

Although RFSL cannot coordinate or direct LGBTQI individuals to the numerous housing offers from private citizens, it was through them that Natasha and Klara met. RFSL, a leading LGBTQI rights organisation, played a crucial role in providing support and resources to Natasha during her transition to life in Malmö. In the clubhouse on Stora Nygatan, a noticeboard displayed housing offers aimed explicitly at Ukrainian refugees. It was there, amidst handwritten notes and rainbow flags, that their paths crossed.

For the first time, the EU activated the so-called Temporary Protection Directive. This allowed people fleeing Ukraine to receive immediate, time-limited residence and work permits in EU member states without the need for individual assessments. A swift, temporary protection that could replace months of uncertainty. At the same time, the option to apply for asylum at any moment remained, allowing her need for security to be assessed on an individual basis. However, at that very moment, Natasha's immediate concerns took precedence: having a roof over her head. A door that could be closed at night. The uncertainty of her future weighed heavily on her shoulders.

She was leaning against the noticeboard when a dark-blonde woman, roughly her age, approached with a fresh sheet of paper in her hand. The woman was just about to pin her offer up when their eyes met. It was only a moment – but it was enough. Natasha reached out and took the note straight from her hand.

“This one might suit me. I’m Natasha,” she said, without reading more than the headline: ‘Room for female Ukrainian refugee’. They looked at each other again, a second time, longer now, as if something had already been decided. In that moment, a bond was formed —a connection that transcended their circumstances and brought them together on a shared journey of resilience and hope. Their connection is a testament to the power of human relationships in overcoming challenges.

“That sounds like a good idea,” the woman replied. “My name’s Klara. I’d be happy to show you what I have to offer – tonight already." There was an instant connection between them, a bond that would grow stronger with each passing day.

KLARA:
Where do you live now?

NATASHA: (She smiled wryly)
In a one-room flat housed in a crypt, centrally located in a nearby park.

KLARA:
Then I know where. It's a bit chilly this time of year, but the view is beautiful. We’ll figure it out. If you don’t like the facilities, it might be suitable for a night until you find something better. Do you have any luggage?

NATASHA: (nodding towards the entrance and the cloakroom) Just what I have in my backpack and my sleeping bag. I’ve left the rest at the station. To save time, I can tell you that the inspection went perfectly well, and even now, after almost eight months, Natasha is still living with Klara, and by now, they consider themselves a couple. Their bond, forged in the face of adversity, is a testament to the power of human connection. Natasha had been able to resume her studies at Malmö University’s Department of Computer Science and Media Technology, where, by coincidence, Klara was also a student. Their shared hope for the future is a beacon of optimism in the face of uncertainty.

Of course, Natasha had taken the time to explain how she ended up in Malmö, but perhaps my readers here are curious.

Natasha had gone home for a few days to check on her family amidst the increasingly tense situation. On the surface, everything appeared normal, and when she left the university, lectures continued as usual. Her village was only a couple of hours away by bus.

As recently as the day before, February 18, everything in Kharkiv appeared entirely normal. People were sitting in cafés and restaurants, and hardly anyone seemed to anticipate war. Only Grandma was worried. She had been a child during the Second World War and remembered very well how the Russians behaved then, and all the years after, up until the May Revolution. “Evil is rooted in Russian soil and has been ever since Ivan the Terrible in the 1400s. Don’t expect them to keep any agreements or follow any doctrines other than their own,” she said whenever the subject came up. Natasha’s mother had grown increasingly concerned for her daughter and asked her to come home so they could discuss the situation properly.

But Natasha was asleep when a powerful explosion at the nearby airport in the Kharkiv region woke them. When the family realised that the threat of full-scale war was real, they immediately started preparing the basement as a shelter, dragging down mattresses, making temporary beds, and organising the essentials. The village quickly turned into a war zone. Several times, they had to run for cover during ongoing shelling. Natasha especially remembers one occasion when she was putting her little brother, Viktor, to bed, who was then barely two years old. They were alone in the house; Dad and the older brothers had already been called up, and Mum and Grandma had gone over to the neighbours. Despite the fear and uncertainty, they remained steadfast and resourceful.

The night of 8 November 2024, her university was hit once again. A hostile grenade struck right in the square between two buildings, damaging both the central and northern parts of the campus. Natasha was there. She could have died that night.

It was on that fateful night, November 8, 2024, that Natasha's university was targeted once again. A hostile grenade struck the square between two buildings, causing extensive damage. Natasha was there, a mere breath away from death. This is the urgency of the situation in Ukraine.

The conversation that follows is one Natasha and Klara recounted to me from memory when we met at the cold bathhouse tavern in July. They shared their fears, their hopes, and their struggles, giving me a glimpse into their lives. I’m sharing it so you can understand the background and how others continue to live in Ukraine today. I assure you, nothing has improved since Natasha fled; rather, the opposite is true.

As I told the girls, “It’s a mystery to me why not every right-minded person in the world completely denounces Putin and his cronies and firmly stands their ground, cutting all ties with this rogue nation and bringing it to its knees. Looking at history, this has been the behaviour of the Russians since the Renaissance—constantly expanding their territory at the expense of their neighbours. It won’t stop with Ukraine; it will carry on until, like with Germany and Japan, they’re compelled into unconditional surrender and then learn how to behave. It will take a few generations, but just like with the old Axis powers, it can turn out quite well in time.”

KLARA:
How was the situation for people like us in Ukraine previously?

NATASHA:
Despite the prevailing negative attitude towards LGBTQI people in the country, there has been a resilient spirit. We have managed to exercise our democratic rights, and LGBTQI organisations have operated openly, free from state interference. This resilience is a beacon of hope in the face of adversity.

KLARA:
So, as in many other places, in other words.

NATASHA:
At first glance, it seems fine, but Ukraine has never been a haven for LGBTQ people. Despite the challenges, we have persevered, unable to live comfortably or enjoy the same rights as heterosexual cisgender individuals. Ukraine decriminalised homosexuality in 1991, when the country gained independence. However, despite this, no significant progress was made for nearly two decades.

Following the so-called Revolution of Dignity—Euromaidan—in 2013/14, when the pro-Russian government was compelled to leave the country amid a popular protest, a new era of hope began for LGBTQ rights. I was only thirteen then and had not yet realised I preferred girls to boys. When I did a few years later, the old regime had been replaced by pro-European political forces, and we then began to see evident progress regarding LGBTQ rights.

KLARA:
I was the same age when I came out. At university, I understand things went well? It was a moment of vulnerability and courage, a step towards living authentically.

NATASHA:
Yes, I haven’t had to hide my orientation—on the contrary. However, some people looked at me sideways, especially those who supported Putin. They bide their time and sharpen their knives. As the Russians moved closer to Kharkiv, their hostility grew. Remember that Kharkiv is nearer to the front than Helsingborg is to Malmö—just over half an hour by car, if nothing stops the Russians. And my university is even closer, similar to Lund. The Russian conflict not only brought physical danger but also intensified the social hostility towards LGBTQ individuals, making our lives even more challenging.

KLARA:
That’s alarmingly close. I can hardly imagine what that would feel like. The idea seems so surreal for us Swedes, who have enjoyed peace for two hundred years. Still, the anxiety is creeping in with all this talk of war approaching, and the brochure we recently received, 'If War Comes,' which is a government-issued guide on how to prepare for and respond to a potential war situation, has only heightened our concerns.

NATASHA:
You have no idea. It’s constant alerts, and during lectures or meetings, you sometimes hear explosions in the background. Especially with glide bombs, the warning sometimes comes after the blast. We got used to it, even though we often lacked electricity and heat. In winter, it was sometimes only five or six degrees Celsius in some lab rooms.

KLARA:
God, that’s terrible. I could never tolerate that.

NATASHA:
I’m sure you could—if you had to.

KLARA:
How can one carry out research in such conditions, so close to the front?

NATASHA: It felt somewhat surreal, but you can’t simply give up. My colleagues in Kharkiv are still doing their best, even on our project.

ME: (And I joined in the conversation)
Perhaps you could elaborate on the situation for the LGBTQ community—for those of us who aren’t as well-informed…

NATASHA:
Gladly. During my late teens and until the war broke out, the LGBTQ movement in Ukraine gained excellent visibility thanks to the work of activists and international support. In 2021, pride marches were held in several major Ukrainian cities. Besides Kharkiv, they took place in Kyiv, Odesa, and Zaporizhzhia—and we were able to march under police protection and with approval from local authorities. That same year, Ukraine’s Ministry of Science and Education approved a special course for teachers aimed at preventing bullying of LGBTQ youth in schools. Significant progress has also been made in healthcare for trans people, so we’re no longer wheeled straight to the morgue, so to speak.

KLARA:
But then the Russian bastards arrived, for that’s what we must call them — even people from that country we’ve never met.

ME:
Fine by me. (As an amateur historian, I had serious concerns about something that has characterised Russia and the former Soviet Union well into our own time. Ask the Baltic states, Finland, and Poland, as well as most of Eastern Europe. A hundred and nineteen million people can’t be wrong. But it doesn’t stop there. The former Soviet republics—those states that were forcibly under Russian or Soviet rule—have a combined population of around 285.6 million people. In total, over four hundred million people have never asked to be dominated by Russia. There’s no bloodier regime in modern times. You would have to go back to Genghis Khan in the 1100s to find someone who killed as many. The Russian death machine has, in the 20th century alone, far surpassed Genghis Khan’s campaigns—and it continues to claim lives today in Ukraine, Chechnya, and other areas where power and fear override human life.

It had nothing to do with Russophobia, but was objectively justified, and something I had already told the girls, and there wasn’t a single comma they wished to amend.

NATASHA:
Yes, the arrival of the Russians means many steps backwards, but the protection of LGBTQ people’s rights has never truly been a priority for any of the major political parties. Most Ukrainian politicians have considered it unthinkable to support our rights publicly. The Orthodox Church and specific conservative nationalist organisations have consistently pressured the government to introduce measures that would make life more difficult for LGBTQ and feminist organisations. Additionally, smaller, radical far-right groups have regularly attacked both LGBTQ and women’s rights events.

KLARA:
Yes, that must have hurt like salt in a wound.

NATASHA:
Of course it did. It isn’t surprising, not even to the most naïve optimist, that when the Russian invasion began in February 2022, LGBTQ organisations and activists could not rely on the authorities being particularly attentive or supportive of their cause. Their struggle, in the face of so many other pressing concerns, is a testament to their resilience and determination.

KLARA:
But it hasn’t been about gaining ground, has it – just about having the same conditions as everyone else, in case the worst should happen.

KLARA:
That I understand.

NATASHA:
Still, strange things are happening during this war, which many see as a struggle between European liberal and Russian conservative values. And the fact is, something is beginning to change. Sociological surveys, carried out by the Kyiv-based organisation Nash Svit, show that support for homosexual citizens having the same rights as other Ukrainian citizens has doubled since before the war – over 60 per cent now, compared to only half that in 2018. This shift in public opinion offers hope for the future of LGBTQ rights in Ukraine.

KLARA:
They say every cloud has a silver lining – but I’m sure you would gladly forgo those rights to find peace.

NATASHA:
Naturally, I don’t think that question will ever truly come up. “No NATO” and “no EU” are well-known Russian demands, but targeting us would seem petty by comparison. However, the internal resistance, our resilience, would undoubtedly persist.

After years of resistance from conservative and religious groups, the Ukrainian parliament, in the same summer as the Russian assault, ratified the so-called Istanbul Convention – the Council of Europe’s agreement on preventing and combating violence against women and domestic violence. This was a significant step towards protecting the rights of all individuals, including LGBTQI people. The ratification occurred despite opponents’ manipulative claims that the document would promote the normalisation of homosexuality and create a third gender in schools.

KLARA:
And the return of the Black Death.

NATASHA:
That too. Even though Ukraine has an anti-discrimination law that covers sexual orientation and gender identity, and despite the absence of statutes actively discriminating against LGBTQI people, our situation remains difficult. Not least because the church, which holds significant influence in our society, fuels hatred towards people like us through its teachings and public statements. The justice system rarely investigates hate crimes. During the war, LGBTQI organisations in the country have faced numerous attacks from far-right and Nazi groups. I have no illusions about what would happen if the Russians succeeded in their goal of defeating Ukraine. We are at the top of Putin’s list of people to disappear. Especially me – I have been an activist and chairperson.

KLARA:
Of course, war profoundly impacts everyone.

NATASHA:
Naturally, many people are affected in different ways in a situation like this. It’s vital that everyone in need, including LGBTQI people, receives assistance. We’re thankful that numerous initiatives are working to provide support, but there's a pressing need for more inclusivity in humanitarian efforts.

KLARA:
Why are LGBTQI people especially vulnerable during war?

NATASHA:
Marginalised groups are already vulnerable, and that vulnerability becomes greater during war, armed conflict, and disaster. For LGBTQI people, this can mean, for example, difficulty finding shelters that accept us or trans individuals having trouble fleeing due to their ID documents.

KLARA:
Is it true that LGBTQI people aren’t included in humanitarian relief efforts?

NATASHA:
Multiple academic articles and reports demonstrate how LGBTQI individuals are excluded from humanitarian efforts. The UNHCR, the UN’s refugee agency, highlighted this in its 2021 report.

KLARA:
Can’t LGBTQI people conceal their identities temporarily?

NATASHA:
It’s not always easy to conceal one’s identity as an LGBTQI person. Family members, partners, friends, and neighbours can reveal – or accidentally disclose – someone’s orientation or gender identity. Even pictures or messages on mobile phones and social media can be used to identify us. Trans individuals can also face exclusion if they have the wrong legal gender on their ID documents. It’s not always about wanting to hide – sometimes, it’s simply not possible.

KLARA:
You mean the forces of evil are joining ranks.

NATASHA:
You might put it that way. Feminist scholars have shown that the militarisation of society during wartime reinforces traditional gender roles. The church, often a significant social institution, also plays a negative role in this reinforcement. Men are expected to be brave and defend their country, while women are portrayed as mothers and wives, victims to be protected, responsible for caring for children and the elderly. Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine has demonstrated that some gender stereotypes are being challenged or even broken down. For instance, women constitute about 15 per cent of Ukraine’s army, facing Russia on the battlefield. However, like many other conflicts, this war remains deeply gendered. Although women are encouraged to protect themselves and their children by leaving their hometowns, all men between 18 and 60 are compelled to stay in the country, in case they need to be mobilised.

KLARA:
So, really, it’s the Russians you’re most afraid of?

NATASHA:
The short answer is “YES!” – with an exclamation point. That has been true ever since Putin, more than a decade ago, declared that the Russian state was to be a defender of so-called traditional family values. That’s when a law was introduced banning information about LGBTQ issues aimed at minors, since such information was defined as propaganda for same-sex relationships. This discriminatory law is just one example of the worsening situation for LGBTQ people in Russia. It’s no wonder that the impact of the Russian invasion on Ukrainian LGBTQ people has become a key concern for international human rights organisations.

NATASHA:
After a lost war, it becomes necessary to find scapegoats—those accused of provoking the Russian wrath and causing Ukraine's defeat. Naturally, all liberal groups are then at risk, including LGBTQ individuals. And the Jews, of course. They’re always in danger when someone needs someone to blame—the usual culprits, historically marginalised groups who are often unfairly targeted in times of crisis.

Finally, I want to stress the peril that LGBTQI individuals face in wartime Ukraine. The risk of becoming scapegoats for the war's outcome is a constant threat. However, it’s also essential to understand the fear and pressure they face. Many LGBTQI individuals, like myself, are urged by their families to leave the country to avoid becoming another casualty of war.

Background on the situation of all women as refugees.

A Ukrainian woman forced to flee the war often faces multiple simultaneous challenges. It may begin with something as basic as securing shelter, especially in a foreign country where safe and affordable housing is not guaranteed. However, for a refugee woman, this challenge is compounded by the fear of gender-based violence and the need to protect her children. Food, clothing, and hygiene items are also not always easy to find, not when you have left your home in haste, holding a child, with fear still lingering. At the same time, many women carry difficult experiences, both physical and psychological. The war has left scars – visible or not – and the need for healthcare is often urgent, encompassing not only wound treatment and infection control but also psychological support. Many suffer from post-traumatic stress disorder, sleep disturbances, anxiety, and depression, and obtaining appropriate care can be difficult, particularly if language barriers or bureaucratic hurdles stand in the way.

Furthermore, legal advice is often necessary. Those who have left their homes, perhaps lost their husbands or are trying to protect their children, may need assistance in securing asylum, protection, residence permits, or simply understanding their rights. Family matters, property disputes, and custody issues – all of it crosses the border with them, but nothing is specific anymore. Legal aid is crucial in ensuring that refugee women are not exploited and that their rights are protected.

Perhaps the gravest threat to women on the run is the one that often remains unseen until it’s too late: exploitation. Human trafficking, sexual exploitation, forced labour – there are always forces ready to exploit desperation, especially when safety nets fail and no one is watching. That’s why vigilance must be heightened, and support must be available from the very start.

For women not only to survive but also to start afresh, genuine integration must be achievable. This involves not just learning the language or completing forms, but also understanding the culture and customs. It’s about finding a place in society – in employment, social life, and daily activities. Many individuals need support to access education, career opportunities, and ways to support themselves, and above all, to feel that they are contributing rather than just receiving.

Several organisations are doing vital work in this area. The International Rescue Committee, the Swedish Women’s Lobby, and Kvinna till Kvinna (Woman to Woman) are among those offering tangible support, including emergency aid, legal advice, psychosocial assistance, and assistance with long-term rebuilding efforts. The International Rescue Committee, for instance, provides emergency aid and long-term support to refugee women, while the Swedish Women's Lobby focuses on advocating for women's rights and providing legal aid. Kvinna till Kvinna, on the other hand, offers psychosocial support and assistance with rebuilding efforts. It’s not just about charity; it’s about justice and dignity.

A woman who has fled the war needs more than peace. She needs safety, protection, healthcare, and an opportunity to reclaim her future. And it is our shared responsibility, as a global community, to ensure she receives it. The urgency of this issue cannot be overstated. We must act now to provide the support and resources these women need to rebuild their lives.