I finally met some of my greatest professional heroes—the journalists of the Kyiv Independent.
If you are not familiar with the Kyiv Independent, you should be. These courageous reporters broke away from a rival news organization after many resigned in protest over an oligarch owner’s interference in editorial decisions.
Determined to build a genuinely independent outlet free from the conflicts of interest that accompany wealthy proprietors, they set out to create a reader-funded model increasingly necessary in today’s global media landscape.
Paid memberships, subscriptions, donations, and fundraisers became their lifeline. But just two months after launching, Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine began.
Instead of retreating, the founders leaned into the work. They committed to covering a country under one of the most brutal and unprovoked attacks in modern history.
As an entrepreneur for 25 years, I often tell younger professionals that difficult times are the perfect moment to start a venture or a new career. If you can learn to succeed in adversity, easier days will feel effortless by comparison. Of course, when I say, “difficult times,” I typically mean recessions or financial downturns—certainly not an existential war. Yet the Kyiv Independent has proven the principle: organizations born in hardship often demonstrate extraordinary strength.
These Ukrainian journalists suddenly became war correspondents, some reporting from home villages literally being erased by advancing Russian forces on a scorched-earth campaign. One young Australian journalist moved to Ukraine specifically to join the Kyiv Independent and now reports frequently from the front lines, producing some of the finest war journalism I have read.
But the Kyiv Independent is far more than battlefield updates. They cover every dimension of Ukraine’s struggle to preserve sovereignty and democracy—from investigations that hold the powerful accountable, to cultural and historical analysis that explains to global audiences why this war matters not only to Ukraine or Europe, but to the stability of the entire world. Their writing, photography, filmmaking, and storytelling consistently surpass anything I read in the United States.
And they do this under conditions most American journalists cannot imagine: rolling blackouts, working without heat or electricity, writing by flashlight after drone attacks, worrying constantly about family near the front, enduring harassment from Russian bots and trolls, and confronting real physical danger—all while striving to remain objective and uphold professional standards.
These journalists have sustained this work every single day for nearly four years. Their output puts much of the U.S. media to shame. Perhaps that is because, at this moment, Ukraine’s democracy and free press are in a healthier condition than our own.
After meeting them at the Kyiv Independent’s “Stories from Democracy’s Front Line” event at Ukraine Institute in New York City, it was clear that their character did not form because of the war—it pre-existed the hardship. The event featured three spoken-word testimonies from Kyiv Independent reporters recounting stories that shaped them.
Many in the audience—including attendees with no personal connection to Ukraine and some who had traveled from as far as Tennessee (Mark Cary) and Kentucky—shed tears.
The emotions were palpable: sorrow for the suffering described; anger at Putin and Russia; shame at our own government’s obstacles to supporting Ukraine; shame that more “freedom-loving” Americans aren’t speaking out; and admiration—deep admiration—for journalists who somehow remain optimistic despite living through trauma and loss most of us cannot fathom.
You may have noticed changes in my own writing and worldview over the past four years. It is no accident. I go to Ukraine every summer—primarily out of love, but also for professional development.
I no longer wish to produce a glib, carefree travel show that glosses over a world full of injustice and unnecessary suffering. I once believed that America had no problem a dose of authentic travel couldn’t fix. I no longer believe this. Some people are too far gone—unwilling to travel, unwilling to learn, reluctant to approach others with humility or an open heart. Too addicted to scrolling their phones for quick dopamine fixes to encounter reality’s beauty and sadness.
In recent years, I have sought out more journalistic environments, read more serious reporting, and engaged with journalists who have worked in war zones. I long hesitated to call myself anything other than a “travel journalist.” But that changed after seeing people misuse the term “journalist” to spread misinformation and propaganda.
One self-described “Ukrainian supporter” and “journalist” from Florida posted a video endorsing Trump’s re-election after the Trump–Biden debate—despite admitting she had not watched the debate. Her logic that Trump would be “good for Ukraine” was so contorted it bordered on parody. When the backlash grew, she deleted the video and denied its existence. Fortunately, I had saved a copy. Her calling herself a journalist is like me calling myself an NFL linebacker—one can say it, but that doesn’t make it true.
Then there was the obviously AI-generated article from a Facebook friend “journalist” Rita Cooke, after the disastrous Trump–Zelensky meeting, so incoherent it raised the question of whether the author was even real. She was. I had met her on a travel junket years ago. She, too, called herself a travel journalist, which says something unfortunate about my former profession.
And finally, the Society of Professional Journalists’ (SPJ’s) Deadline Club debacles. I joined the organization to sharpen my skills and meet like-minded professionals.
Instead, I encountered the membership director disturbingly repeating ruzzian propaganda—that “Ukrainians don’t want peace”—on the very night Kyiv suffered one of its worst attacks. She had no desire to hear my opinion on the matter, even though I’d actually visited and filmed in Ukraine several times. She was too busy force-feeding me her uninformed opinions.
That same night, another member, an outdoor journalist, insisted Ukraine was killing Russian civilians (they certainly are not) and argued that “both sides” were at fault.
At a previous meeting, a German journalist claimed Democrats “control the weather” and that Ukrainians are “the most corrupt people on the planet.”
I have since resigned. It became clear that anyone can join the Deadline Club —and anyone can call themselves a journalist. But that does not make it so.
Thankfully, I have since joined a more professional organization, the Association of Foreign Press Correspondents, which has reconfirmed my faith in ethical journalism by trained professionals.
Which brings me back to the Kyiv Independent. Under extreme duress, in a war zone, they demonstrate more professionalism and integrity than some of the larger media organizations in the United States.
Yes, it speaks to the decline of U.S. journalistic standards and the corrosive fusion of ideology and reporting—thanks in no small part to Rupert Murdoch, an Australian newspaperman-turned-media baron who decided that power and profit justified poisoning both his profession and his adopted country. He single-handedly brought our new dystopian culture-war reporting to new lows.
But it also points to something hopeful: a new generation of Ukrainian journalists who do not take truth, freedom, or democracy for granted. They know these things must be defended, fought for, and, tragically, bled for. And they are showing the world a path forward.
The Kyiv Independent reminds me of Nobel Peace Prize winner Maria Ressa and her Philippine startup outlet, Rappler—another newsroom forged in adversity, targeted by a thuggish authoritarian regime that sought to break them, and failed.
Hard times may forge good people. But after meeting the Kyiv Independent and hearing their stories, I am convinced that hard times also forge exceptional journalism.
If you aren’t familiar with their work, you should be. At just five dollars a month, their newsletter is, by far, the most important and most indispensable reporting I read.
I’m donating my typical annual Deadline Club Membership fee to the Kyiv Independent instead, to help them as they launch their Russian War Crimes Documentation project. I know, this will be money well spent.
