‘Saltivka will never get back what it lost’ How Russia’s war against Ukraine transformed Kharkiv’s hardest-hit neighborhood 

The following story appeared in The Beet, a weekly email dispatch from Meduza covering Central and Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia. Click here to subscribe! The original reporting was first published by Meduza (in Russian) in August 2025.

Located just an hour’s drive from the border with Russia, Saltivka used to be Kharkiv’s largest residential area. Built after World War II to accommodate the fast-growing population of Ukraine’s second-biggest city, it was once home to around 300,000 people. 

After Moscow began its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Saltivka’s proximity to the border made it a hotspot for Russian attacks. As tens of thousands of residents fled, this once vibrant area came to resemble a ghost town.

More than three-and-a-half years later, however, things are changing once again. Though Russian forces continue to strike Kharkiv from the air regularly — and are carrying out a renewed ground offensive in the region — life is slowly returning to Saltivka. Destroyed high-rises are coming down, those that can be salvaged are being rebuilt, and evacuated residents are even gradually returning to their homes. 

The rise of the microdistricts

In the aftermath of World War II, the Soviet authorities set about rebuilding Kharkiv and found themselves faced with the challenge of accommodating a population that was growing faster than anticipated. Between 1943 and the late 1950s, the number of people living in Kharkiv swelled from around 200,000 to 930,000. 

“By 1959, Kharkiv had returned to its pre-war population,” explains a local historian and tour guide, who asked to remain anonymous. “There was an urgent need to give people their own square meters [of living space], so they could finally move out of barracks and communal apartments.” 

City planners devised a master plan that designated arable land north of Kharkiv’s main industrial enterprises for residential development. A team led by Ukrainian architect Leonid Tyulpa designed the housing complexes, which were built north of the Saltivske Highway — a major roadway leading to the nearby settlement of Staryi Saltiv (hence the name). 

“Such districts were built for everyone who needed housing in the city — and a lot of people needed it. The housing crisis in the [USSR] had existed since the time of industrialization, when large numbers of people moved to cities where factories were built,” says architectural historian Semen Shyrochyn. “After the war, it became even worse. There was a lot of destruction, and people were living in communal apartments and barracks. Mass housing construction made it possible to resettle them.”

From the late 1950s to the late 1990s, housing complexes like the ones in Saltivka were built across the Soviet Union. These microdistricts, as they are known, typically adhered to a standardized plan, much like suburban neighborhoods in the United States. But the USSR’s planned economy and state monopoly on real estate made standardized development possible on a much larger scale. 

“In a microdistrict, the buildings are spaced out, there’s greenery, and infrastructure is located within the perimeter,” Shyrochyn explains, adding that thanks to standardized development, buildings from particular Soviet-era design series can be found across former Eastern Bloc countries. “Although it seems to us that all the buildings in these housing complexes are the same, there are actually many different designs; they just look similar.” 

Beginning in the late 1950s and early 1960s, public infrastructure like kindergartens and schools was built directly inside the perimeters of these housing developments. “There were clear standards for how far a residential building should be from a kindergarten or a school. Everything had to be convenient and accessible,” Shyrochyn says. Other mandatory infrastructure, like cinemas and parks, was often built on the boundary between two such neighborhoods. 

“For residents accustomed to the narrow streets of [central Kharkiv] or cramped pre-war communal apartments, the wide avenues with their white buildings and big, open spaces seemed unfamiliar,” the tour guide recalls. “Even now, Saltivka feels different from the city center.”  

The microdistricts in Northern Saltivka (Pivnichna Saltivka, in Ukrainian), designed by Ukrainian architect Viktor Mozheyko, were built between 1986 and 1992. The neighborhood’s improved standardized housing design and colorful buildings set it apart from the rest of the district, as did its ponds and greenspaces. “The natural landscape here is perfectly integrated into the residential environment,” Shyrochyn says. “In old photos, you can see the buildings standing literally in the middle of a wasteland. But 40 years later, these microdistricts are green; the trees have grown, and the landscaping became what it was intended to be.” 

Inferiority complex

After Ukraine gained independence from the Soviet Union in the 1990s, bedroom communities like Saltivka underwent a population change. “People with more resources sold their homes on the outskirts and moved to the city center. And those who needed to move out, or who needed the money, sold their homes in the center and bought cheaper apartments on the outskirts,” Shyrochyn explains. 

As lower-income residents moved to Saltivka, the area came to be perceived as dangerous. But according to Shyrochyn, this reputation fell away as the neighborhood continued to attract new residents and new businesses cropped up to serve their needs. “About 10 to 15 years ago, people from small towns began moving to big cities once again. They needed somewhere to live, and the most affordable housing was apartments in bedroom communities,” he recalls. “These people had jobs, so new necessary infrastructure popped up around them.”

Soviet-era supermarkets and shops were replaced with brand-new stores, shopping malls, kiosks, and gyms. “The sense that the residential districts were somehow ‘inferior’ disappeared, because businesses compensated for everything that was missing,” Shyrochyn says.

Meanwhile, some local landmarks fell into ruin. Saltivka’s first shopping center, constructed in 1978 and known among locals as the “Mausoleum,” once housed everything from grocery and hardware stores to hairdressers and cafeterias. “None of this remains now — the building was picked apart by various tenants and fell into a deplorable state,” the tour guide laments. 

A dearth of public transportation links also proved to be a persistent problem. As the tour guide notes, rivers to the west and south leave Saltivka cut off from the rest of Kharkiv. And with many local industrial enterprises having closed or fallen into disrepair, many Saltivka residents now commute to jobs elsewhere. “But the city transport routes were not originally designed for this, and the transport problem in Saltivka has only gotten worse,” the tour guide says. 

Work on an overpass to improve connectivity began in 2021, but was suspended due to Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. As a result, Saltivka’s main transport connection to the rest of Kharkiv is the subway line, which takes 17 minutes to get from the last stop to the city center. There also used to be several tram routes that stretched from Saltivka all the way across town, but only one is still running today. 

‘A constant feeling of war’

The first months of Russia’s full-scale invasion turned Saltivka into a ghost town. Located just 30 kilometers (less than 19 miles) from Russia’s Belgorod region, Northern Saltivka in particular became a shield for Kharkiv as Russian troops shelled the city relentlessly. By the summer of 2022, some estimates said that Saltivka’s population of 300,000 had dwindled to less than 1,000 people. Local authorities reckoned that up to 90 percent of the housing stock had been destroyed or seriously damaged. 

After Russian forces retreated from the Kharkiv region in the fall of 2022, they continued attacking Saltivka with Shahed drones, missiles, and precision-guided glide bombs. These strikes continue to cause fires, kill and injure residents, and destroy buildings to this day. 

According to Meduza’s photographer, who remains unnamed for security reasons, some of Saltivka’s neighborhoods have suffered so much damage that they’re hardly recognizable, while others appear untouched. “In the areas that are easily shelled, there’s not a single building that doesn’t at least have broken windows or destroyed apartments,” he says. “Some places, especially in Northern Saltivka, are now simply deserted. There’s almost no one there. However, there may be people living in the buildings next to the ruins. I saw residents going into destroyed buildings to collect their belongings before they were torn down.”

“When you look at a building razed to its foundations, it’s difficult not to think about what might have happened to its inhabitants,” the photographer adds. “I [came] across places that have become wastelands. The ruins have already been demolished, but nothing has been built in their place. These voids are a reminder of irrevocable losses, and of things that can never be restored.”

While working in Saltivka, Meduza’s photographer experienced firsthand just how close the front line feels. “I could sometimes hear artillery. Once, it went nonstop for three hours straight,” he recalls. “People here live with a constant feeling of war.”

According to the photographer, air raid sirens sometimes sound “six or seven times a day,” signaling attacks on the Kharkiv region. But residents rely on Telegram channels for more accurate information about incoming strikes. “Most people don’t go to bomb shelters during the air raid alerts. And in Northern Saltivka, there almost aren’t any shelters — even the basements of buildings are closed. Instead, there’s the subway and a few underground parking garages,” he explains.

“People rely on luck,” he continues. “If they’re warned about a drone attack, they try to do something. But if it’s a missile alert, they ignore it and simply accept their fate. Because a missile flies so fast that you just won’t have time to run to a shelter.” 

‘This isn’t scorched earth’

Today, Russian troops are on the offensive in the Kharkiv region once again. As of October 18, they had reached the center of Kupyansk, a town about 110 kilometers (68 miles) southeast of Kharkiv, but Ukrainian forces still held the other half of the city. According to Meduza’s military analysis, Russia’s likely goal is to capture Kupyansk before the end of the year. 

On October 14, Kharkiv Region Governor Oleh Syniehubov announced an expansion of the mandatory evacuation zone in the Kharkiv region, forcing families with children to leave 40 settlements amid intensified Russian attacks near Kupyansk. That same day, Russian guided bombs damaged a hospital and knocked out power to 30,000 residents in three of Kharkiv’s northern districts. Two weeks earlier, Russian air strikes damaged 45 buildings in Saltivka in a single night.

But as the local tour guide notes, Saltivka is already rising from the ruins. “Neither Saltivka as a whole nor its microdistricts have been completely destroyed,” he underscores. “In Northern Saltivka, life has already resumed. Markets and shops are open, public transport is running, and restoration work is underway. This isn’t scorched earth. Some of the buildings damaged in 2022 have already been rebuilt.” 

That said, other buildings have been deemed unfit for restoration. And according to Shyrochyn, this might be for the best. “It’s important to understand that the main value of these microdistricts is their living environment,” he explains. “Much can be restored or is already being restored. The question is, what will be built there? The older buildings are already outdated. Perhaps it’s easier and cheaper to build something new.” 

Despite the extensive damage to the district, Saltivka is currently experiencing another influx of new residents, taking in displaced people who fled nearby towns like Kupyansk and Izyum. “Saltivka lost some of its residents, but new ones have arrived from other frontline areas, because there’s a lot of housing here that can be rented cheaply,” Meduza’s photographer explains. (According to local rental websites, an apartment in Saltivka can be rented for as little as 2,500 to 5,000 hryvnias per month — the equivalent of $60 to $120.) 

“The restoration of the area is proceeding gradually, and, in the meantime, people are arranging their lives as best they can,” the tour guide says. “Residents of Saltivka will never get back what they lost. And today, they’re more concerned about the fact that they keep getting utility bills even though their apartments are destroyed.” 

Indeed, Saltivka’s residents seem to be focusing on more practical concerns, even as the war rages on. “Kharkivites are very proud of their city, and those living in Saltivka are very proud of their district. Despite the devastation, they continue to plant front gardens, sweep their courtyards, and paint,” Meduza’s photographer observes. “These little things are the only ones they can change. They can’t do anything about the ruins of high-rise buildings, but they can grow their own little garden nearby. They continue to plant flowers because they want life to come back.”

Hello, I’m Eilish Hart, the editor of The Beet. Thanks for taking the time to read our work! Our newsletter delivers underreported stories like this one to subscribers once a month. Like all of Meduza’s reporting, it’s free to read but relies on support from readers. Please help us keep fighting for independent journalism.