"Everyone perished. I am the only one left." - Vladimir Parasyuk: From the Maidan to eleven years of war.

We are speaking on the eve of the 11th anniversary of the Maidan, which marked the beginning not only of our story as media, but yours as well. How were you back then — and how are you now? What has changed?

Perhaps, I am a bit different. Circumstances have changed, and one has to get used to them. Eleven years have passed, and in that time anyone gains experience and becomes someone else. I've started to look at certain things more broadly.

Your perspective has even changed.

I’ve aged (laughs). I was 25 when I was at the Maidan. Now I’m 37.

One of the most significant events during this time is the birth of my son. However, I see him very rarely. In March, it will be three years since I joined the army.

I miss so much of his life, and that’s the hardest part. I came back — he started walking, went away again — he started talking. He understands everything and directly says: “Dad, don’t leave, don’t abandon me”... It’s always difficult.

I both love and hate the road the most. When I’m heading for rotation, it weighs heavily on my soul. But when I’m coming back, I count every sign, every tree, because home is getting closer. That’s how it is for every soldier.

“How can I consider myself a hero?”

You are called a hero of the Maidan...

No, look...

You distanced yourself from the laurels of a hero even back then, saying: “Heroes are the entire Ukrainian people who managed to dismantle this regime.”

How can I consider myself a hero when I’ve witnessed the heroic deeds of the people I fight alongside? I probably don’t even accomplish half of those brave acts. I would need to live two more lives to reach their level.

I see people who have endured Russian captivity, lost their health... Many of my friends have died. How can I say that I am a hero? No, I will never say that in my life.

These labels are unnecessary. It makes me uncomfortable when people say that. I always correct them: don’t throw around that word, because it is very important in our society right now. I have something to compare it to.

But you were also in captivity.

In 2014. That was the scariest thing I experienced back then .

Although no, the scariest part was when I returned. I thought the authorities would gather us, apologize for what happened, and we would move on. Instead, they started to smear us with dirt and pit us against each other.

I said: “Guys, don’t let yourselves be used. We’ve been through hell.” Many years have passed, but I remember probably every minute — everything that happened in Ilovaisk.

It hurt me deeply that they started to fight against us. We became unnecessary. Someone had to be held accountable for those reckless actions. And they still keep quiet about it. For them, it’s like a bone in their throat.

“By punching someone, I showed: look, they are also people”

After the Maidan, you were involved in scandals and fights in parliament. Is this due to an acute sense of justice?

To be honest, it’s hard to throw me off balance. Unfortunately, the Ukrainian political scene managed to do that. But I regret nothing.

I was burning with the desire to change something, but I didn’t seek to become a deputy. It was the decision of my comrades, who said: “Go, you will protect us. After all, a people's deputy has influence.” Those who said this have died. Many are missing. I’m left alone.

But you don’t regret becoming a deputy?

Finally, I saw how the Verkhovna Rada works. I realized that it’s all inflated with pathos and lies; you just need to crack the door open for people to see it.

And by hitting someone, I showed: look, they are also people. And you hired this management to control them.

To initiate processes of civic control in the state, politicians had to do something unpopular. And it started a certain process. This is not just my achievement. There were many worthy people in that session — Yegor Sobolev, Igor Lutsenko, who are now fighting.

“Damn it, I’d take those bastards and make them clear the minefields”

Can Parasyuk still settle scores by kicking down doors? Or is the environment in the army a bit different now?

Here, it’s a different method of settling scores (laughs). Here I have commanders, and I follow orders.

Again, I say: my actions in the past didn’t happen just because I wanted them to. They had their reasons. I understood that at that moment we didn’t have a judicial system, we didn’t have a law enforcement system. Well, at least you’d get punched.

If something critical happened tomorrow, I might not hold back either. Like any person, depending on how they feel their sense of justice.

I came back, opened an article, and read about what is happening in one of the boarding schools in the Ternopil region. And it tore me apart inside. I wanted to say “damn it!”. I’d take those bastards, those caretakers, line them up and make them clear the minefields. Just to understand my level of rejection towards such things.

Because the best die here so that life can continue there. That’s why my attitude towards such matters is critical. Because the price is too high. This is our reality. And the most important thing is not to separate ourselves. Not to run away from all of this. We must have collective responsibility.

Does it “tear you apart” that there are now more discussions about reservations than discussions about, say, clear terms of service? Is the level of fatigue critical now? And what is the moral state of the military?

I’m in a community where there are many professionals. And if they said tomorrow — “That’s it, you can demobilize” — I think very few would actually do it. Because they have a certain social responsibility — primarily towards their fallen comrades.

I’ll tell you honestly: I probably wouldn’t demobilize either. Unless circumstances changed somehow or something changed on the front. But if it were as it is now, I wouldn’t do it. And neither would they. Their lives are built on war. They think about nothing else; they don’t know anything else.

“I want to survive this war”

By the way, wouldn’t you want to return to parliament after the war? Judging by polls, there’s currently a strong demand for new politicians from among the military.

When the current authorities were forming lists, a friend asked if I would go if offered. I said: “No, because I’m already an old politician” (laughs).

But I am not a politician. I have some political experience, but I don’t fit the mold of a classic politician — and I don’t want to.

I am focused on the unit where I serve and on the people who serve here. I respect them immensely and will do everything to ensure our work is effective and that everyone returns home.

I also want to go home. Very much. I want to survive — and that’s one of my key goals.

Your core from the Maidan is now practically all at war?

The people who were closest to me have almost all died — some since 2014, some now. Only a few remain. It’s hard to talk about this, but that’s our history, isn’t it?

I asked myself, why have so many of my friends died? And I realized that my circle consists of very active people who wanted to change something, to move the country in the right direction. There was the Maidan — they went to the Maidan. There was ATO — they went to ATO. The war began — they went to war. They couldn’t do otherwise.

Ultimately, couldn’t you do otherwise either? I know that even your sister is on the front lines now.

Yes, she is in a different unit, in an infantry brigade. She dreamed of becoming a sniper.

It’s very difficult for a woman in the army,