The Human Cost of Landmines Amid Constant Aerial Threat
Every morning, Antonina Kulhava stares at the horizon through thick clouds, listening for the whine of Russian drones before reaching her workplace — a modest site buried in a muddy field where the earth hides decades of Soviet-era warfare. At thirty-two, she is a humanitarian deminer with the Mines Advisory Group (MAG), and every day presents a lethal gamble against unexploded ordnance. Between twenty and twenty-five percent of Ukraine’s surface is contaminated with explosives — more than one hundred and thirty-nine thousand square kilometres of land, a territory larger than England and Wales combined. For civilians, this means families wandering the countryside, only to stumble upon hidden traps that claim lives. Antonina, whose quiet determination has become legendary among those trapped beneath the surface of war, tells us how she and her team battle this invisible enemy.
Into the Field: A Deminer’s Unconventional Path and Daily Reality
Kulhava arrived at her current post through an unexpected detour from finance and even pastry cooking. Seeking adventure, she discovered a position with MAG while awaiting her Czechian visa. Initially hesitant, fearing the dangers, she took the role nonetheless. What surprises many is her persistence — she led her early days in secrecy, hiding the job from her parents who worried about her wellbeing. “They would have wanted me to stay away,” she admits. Yet the call to action won them over, and now she works alongside men who typically dominate the sector.
The work is gruelling and often fatal. Teams conduct technical surveys before any physical clearing begins, ensuring every member wears appropriate protective gear. Three methods exist for detection: mechanical sweeps using machinery, manual search where deminers comb the mud by hand, and canine teams trained to sniff out explosives. Across seven categories — mines, grenades, rockets, missiles, aircraft bombs, cluster munitions, drones, and mortars — the terrain remains treacherous. “It is dangerous, of course,” she warns. “Threat levels vary depending on the site, but some locations are simply death traps.”
Breaking Barriers: A Woman in a Male-Dominated Industry
Despite the scale of landmine contamination, women remain underrepresented in the humanitarian mine action workforce — making up roughly thirty to thirty-five per cent nationally, with only about twelve per cent actually engaged in direct fieldwork. Kulhava speaks candidly about the cultural resistance she encountered. “My inner thoughts were like, ‘All this explosive ordnance, mines, bombs — it’s male stuff,'” she confesses. The assumption that only men belong in this field proved false, however. Through patience and skill, she has carved out space for herself, proving that expertise knows no gender.
Her journey reflects broader shifts in how societies respond to conflict. Where once the narrative focused solely on frontline combatants, modern humanitarianism increasingly recognises the psychological and physical toll borne by those working in harrowing conditions behind the trenches. The International Campaign to Abolish Landmines (ICBL) and similar initiatives have long advocated for demining specialists who understand the nuances of explosive remnants. In Ukraine, this translates to urgent necessity: each mine cleared reduces the risk to farmers returning to their fields, children playing in open spaces, and elderly residents seeking peace.
Fields Reclaimed: Sunflowers Where Bombs Once Bloomed
Progress, though slow, is visible in the transformation of former mining zones. Where once craters lay barren and deadly, farmers are beginning to sow seeds again. A sunflower field now stretches across what was once a death trap, symbolising a fragile return to normalcy. “The fields where we previously worked are being cultivated by farmers,” Kulhava notes. “There is a field of sunflowers where the mines were.” Each sprouting plant represents hours of painstaking labour, careful clearing operations, and immense sacrifice.
Yet the return of agriculture comes with emotional weight. Families who fled during shelling raids now watch their ancestral land recover, hoping to rebuild lives interrupted by violence. Kulhava’s work intersects with human stories — hers included, as she recently travelled to the United Kingdom to record an oral history interview with the Imperial War Museum. “It feels good knowing that someone will remember what I went through,” she says. The preservation of such testimonies ensures that future generations understand the true cost of war, not just its headlines.
Why it Matters
The struggle against landmines in Ukraine illustrates a fundamental truth about modern conflict: destruction extends far beyond the immediate battlefield. The removal of explosive ordnance is essential for restoring agricultural viability, enabling economic recovery, and giving victims a chance to reclaim their communities. With over four years of active hostilities, Ukraine remains one of the world’s most intensely mined nations, and the human price of this legacy continues to mount. Each mine-cleared hectare represents more than empty soil — it signifies potential lives saved, livelihoods restored, and hope reinstated in a landscape scarred by relentless violence. Without sustained attention and dedicated personnel like Antonina Kulhava, millions of lives could remain lost permanently, and the international community’s commitment to demining may fail to deliver on its promise of healing.