Panic in Sloviansk: Local Residents Fear Loss of Home Amidst Proposed Ukraine Land Deal at Alaska Summit

Nestled along the serene shores of Sloviansk’s secluded salt lake, the soothing waters offer a fleeting escape from the relentless turmoil of the eastern frontlines just miles away. For local journalist Mykhailo, taking brief dips in the water amidst the lake’s sandy expanse and overlooking a colossal concrete bomb shelter, the conversation about a potential Ukraine land deal at the Alaska summit feels ominously surreal.

“I sometimes feel as if I’m drifting away from reality here,” Mykhailo says between dips in the healing waters. The area is frequently shelled, which he humorously terms “Sloviansk’s Salt Lake City.”

The Kremlin’s proposition to US special envoy Steve Witkoff, suggesting a ceasefire in exchange for territories in Donbas yet to be conquered by Russia, raises concerns that this town, and surrounding areas, could suddenly become part of Moscow’s domain. The proposal has instilled a palpable sense of unease, which Mykhailo describes as “panic.”

“Many of my friends want to stay here, but we may all have to leave,” he admits. “But honestly, I don’t think it will happen.” There is a defiance that acknowledges the high-stakes diplomacy between US President Donald Trump and Russian President Vladimir Putin could easily falter in both its preparation and execution.

“What Trump did wrong was to take him out of the swamp,” Mykhailo asserts. “He removed him and said, ‘Vladimir, I want to talk to you. I just like you.’ But he didn’t care that every day Ukrainians are dying.”

For Ludmila, who navigates the waters in an arm-powered wheelchair due to injuries sustained from stepping on a landmine two years ago, the salt lake offers temporary respite from her daily pain. The diplomacy surrounding the proposed deal leaves her unimpressed.

“They lie,” she waves dismissively. “For them, it’s all a spectacle. They decide one thing, say another, and do another. That’s politics.”

Across Donetsk region, word of Witkoff’s emerging deal with the Kremlin, fraught with confusion and immediately rejected by Kyiv, has sent lives already devastated by war into a deeper spiral. The town of Sloviansk was first seized by Moscow’s proxy “separatists” in 2014 before Ukrainian forces reclaimed control. New trenches have been hastily dug to its west as a precaution against Russia’s ongoing offensive potentially threatening the town once more.

In the town’s only functioning maternity ward for miles, Taisiya cradles Assol, her newborn daughter born on Sunday into a world where the risks of staying in Sloviansk have multiplied. “I saw the news,” she says. “That would be very bad. But we have no control over that. It’s not our decision. People will just give away their homes.”

Births and deaths continue, the passing of Sofia Lamekhova being particularly distressing. Her parents, Natalia and Sviatoslav, were relieved when she and her husband, Mykyta, decided to reside in Kyiv with their newborn son Lev. As Sviatoslav says: “We wanted them to be farther from the frontline. Here in Sloviansk, every day there are drone attacks and shelling.”

But the family of three was killed in the rubble of a July 31 airstrike on an apartment block in Kyiv, all claimed by the building’s collapse. Sofia was three months pregnant and due in Sloviansk in a few days to share her happy news with friends.

“They left to escape the war, but the war caught up to them there,” says Natalia. Sviatoslav adds: “Coming to terms with such a loss as a person is impossible.” They were buried on the outskirts of town. A Ukrainian jet roars overhead as they tend to the dusty flowers on their burial mounds, bound by duty to Sloviansk—their home and a place where they provide essential aid to many locals.

The nearest train station is Kramatorsk, the de facto capital of Ukrainian-held Donetsk, bustling with civilian life amid military presence. A massive airstrike took down a central building, tearing through its four stories and into its basement. Russian drone attacks are common. But the city thrives in the urgency of survival in war, and the war itself.

The train from Kyiv arrives on Monday under air raid sirens. Dozens gather on the platform to greet and replace those departing for the capital. Tetyana weeps as her husband Serhiy, who has been fighting since Russia’s full invasion on the second day, receives a two-day leave for his birthday.

As Tetyana cries, the soldier gently reprimands her. “It would have been better if she had not come,” he says. “Calm down.” Tetyana is preoccupied with personal concerns. “Do you know what my dream is? Just for my husband to come home. I don’t care about those territories. I just want him to be alive and return home.”

The train departs for the capital, men pressing their hands against the moving glass windows, and a girl sketching a heart on a closing door. The sirens persist.