In a workforce transformed by war, Ukrainian women are now working in coal mines

TERNIVKA, Ukraine — It’s still dark when the busload of miners arrives for the morning shift at this small city in eastern Ukraine’s coal country.

Among the workers is 36-year-old Iryna Ostanko, effusive and athletic, smiling at her fellow coal workers in the cold dawn as they walk to the mine, owned by DTEK, Ukraine’s private energy supplier.

“I used to work as an accountant,” she says, “and then this job, which pays way better, opened up.”

Also heading to the mine is Ostanko’s colleague, Tetiana Medvedenko. Her home is just half a mile away, so she walks to work. Medvedenko is 44, low-key and slight, and she was a housewife until earlier this year. Her husband also works at the mine.

“At first, he wasn’t thrilled that I took this job,” she says. “But now he sees that I can do the work well, and so he just kind of puts up with it.”

Ostanko and Medvedenko — who work underground in logistical support of the coal mine — symbolize just how much war has changed Ukraine’s workforce, especially in heavy industry and mining. Before Russia’s February 2022 invasion, a law prohibited women from working in “harmful and dangerous conditions,” including underground jobs in mines. By summer that same year, parliament lifted the ban due to a worker shortage.

Many male miners working underground joined the military early in the war and, in the last year, others were conscripted. Male-dominated industries such as steel plants and coal mines lost so many workers that the industries faced massive production drops. This mine also lost scores of workers, threatening productivity.

So DTEK and other mining companies advertised that the jobs were now open to women. Now hundreds of Ukrainian women work underground at coal mines, part of a wartime drive to keep Ukraine operating. DTEK says women now make up roughly 5% of its workforce. The U.S. launched a similar drive during World War II, as women worked to support the war effort in factories and shipyards.

Coal sisters

Ostanko is the daughter of a coal miner, whom she revered growing up. She recalls how her father would return home from work, the coal dust lining his lids like thick eyeliner.

“I saw how tired my dad was when he came home,” she says. “But it’s also the most important work here. We live in a region where no industry is more stable than coal.”

Still, she says, she was nervous to tell her father when she applied.

“When I called him, I told him in a trembling voice that it looks like I got the job and would start training underground,” she says, “But he said, ‘Great! Well done, my daughter!'”

Ostanko and Medvedenko check in with the mine manager, getting instructions for the day, then go into a women’s locker room, where they change out of street clothes and into protective suits, helmets, goggles, boots and masks.

They walk into a large, sturdy elevator and descend 870 feet. They walk along the mine’s subterranean pathways, which look like narrow subway tunnels, until they reach a miniature train. This is how they get around the mine site.

The women get off at their stations. They’re in charge of coordinating the transportation of equipment and cargo around the mine. Medvedenko climbs into a compartment along the track, checks the dials on a dashboard and turns on an engine.

“Yeah,” she says, smiling widely. “I really like this job.”

Her husband and other miners who have not joined the military or been conscripted have helped her learn the job quickly. She says her daughter, who is 13, is proud of her.

“We are all doing what we can to survive this terrible war,” she says. “This is my part.”

The men working underground say they have now gotten used to working alongside female colleagues. However, Serhii Val, a 47-year-old miner, says he wouldn’t like it if his own wife worked there.

“To be honest,” he says, “I don’t think it’s the place for women. They should stay home and raise children.” Still, he concedes, “The women who work here do their job pretty well, though.”

Val and the other men operate heavy machinery like jackhammers and a combine that digs out coal. Female coal workers focus more on logistics and are not assigned heavy labor. And they are safer underground.

In a village about 60 miles from Ternivka, much closer to the front line, two women working on the surface of a large mine were killed after a Russian attack.

Russian forces have repeatedly targeted Ukraine’s coal country. The industry produced about 7 million metric tons in the past year, roughly a third of what it produced before Russia’s full-scale invasion.

A couple of strikes in eastern Ukraine’s Donetsk region last year trapped miners underground for a few hours but they got out safely.

“This country needs women to rebuild it”

Valentina Riabova, a 50-year-old welder, works at the repair shop at the Ternivka mine. It’s manual labor, but because it’s above ground, it’s been open to women for decades. She adds that in her 30 years on the job, she says she’s often been the only woman at the repair shop.

“Look, I’ve gotten really good at my job and I don’t want to brag, but I think I’m better than the men,” she says, as a male welder, Mykhailo Yasynskyi, nods.

“The thing about her is that she’s focused,” he says. “More focused than the men.”

“I’m happy to see women finally working underground here,” Riabova says. “I don’t know if I would like to do it myself. But I admire them.”

She says she hopes Ukraine keeps underground mining jobs open for women after the war.

“This country needs women to rebuild it,” she says.

Uncertain future

The underground coal workers finish their six-hour shift in the early afternoon. Iryna Ostanko waits in a nearby park for the bus.

Her husband, Andrii, is also a coal miner, though he’s away to assist on another coal mine for a few days. Ostanko says they met in middle school. She remembers how he came to her home when he was 12, his hair styled with gel, and gave her a tulip. Andrii has been working at the coal mine since he was 18. They have a daughter, Sofia.

With a new conscription drive on the horizon, she worries that more miners will be drafted, including Andrii.

“That’s a painful question,” she says, and her voice breaks. “I know that if he’s called up to join the army, he will go.”

Tetiana Medvedenko, meanwhile, is worried about her teenage daughter, who has food poisoning. She runs home after her shift.

Along the way, she passes a giant DTEK billboard celebrating the new face of Ukraine’s coal miners. One of the faces on that billboard is hers.

Hanna Palamarenko and Tania Burianova contributed reporting from Ternivka.