Image source: Bruno Massao via Pexels
By Oleksandra Yaroshenko
When the world watches footage from the front lines, reads reports from occupied territories, or listens to eyewitness accounts of tragedies, there is always someone behind the scenes whom the viewer will never see. Fixers — local journalists, translators, coordinators, guides — have become an integral part of modern war journalism, serving as a kind of conduit between the combat zone and the global audience. They know which roads are safer to travel, who to talk to, where to find heroes for a story, and how to avoid mortal danger. But their work remains almost invisible until tragedy reminds us of the price they pay.
The death of Oleksandra Kuvshynova, a Ukrainian fixer who was killed during the Russian invasion, was a painful reminder: these people risk their lives every day, working on the front lines without bulletproof vests, fame, or recognition. They come under crossfire, become targets for enemy forces, and experience the same trauma as soldiers — but their names rarely appear in the credits. Fixers in Ukraine, like their colleagues in Syria, Afghanistan, or Iraq, do work that is essential to international journalism in conflict zones. They bridge language and cultural gaps, provide logistics, control access to information, and bear the burden of ethical dilemmas and emotional challenges common to all who document war.
The full picture of the profession
Since 2014, and especially after the full-scale invasion of 2022, Ukrainian fixers have become an integral part of the global information space. But their role is not a unique phenomenon, but a continuation of an international tradition where local experts become a bridge between the reality of war and its coverage in the world. To understand who is really behind international reporting from Ukraine, researchers from Switzerland and Ukraine decided to combine two approaches: to analyse what the media writes about fixers and, more importantly, to give them the opportunity to tell their story in their own words. Through a systematic search for keywords in the Ukrainian media, a corpus of approximately 58,000 words was collected — 20 articles and two transcripts of radio interviews. The goal was ambitious: to cover as many different views on this profession as possible, from official media materials to personal testimonies. But the real heart of the study is six semi-structured interviews with Ukrainian fixers: four women and two men found through professional networks, social media, and word of mouth. This approach (personal recommendations) proved to be the most effective in a community where trust is critical. The interview format was deliberately chosen to be flexible: the researchers wanted to hear not just answers to pre-prepared questions, but real stories.
Analysing the collected material was like putting together a mosaic: the researchers deliberately used phenomenological reduction, or “braking,” a technique that helps eliminate personal biases and see experiences as described by the participants themselves. Then began the painstaking work of identifying meaningful statements — moments where each fixer described something important, unique, something that revealed the essence of their experience. These fragments were analysed again and again through reflective iteration until their true meaning became clear. Using Atlas.ti software (a tool for qualitative data analysis), the researchers coded all the materials into 33 categories, and these categories were grouped into seven main themes, which became the basis for understanding what it really means to be a fixer during wartime.
The invisible authors of visible stories
The first and most important discovery: fixers are not just assistants to journalists, but true “gatekeepers” of the information space. They decide where a foreign film crew will go, who they will talk to, what they will see, and, critically, what they will not see. In high-risk areas, where every decision can cost lives, fixers provide not only logistical support but also a cultural and contextual key to understanding events. They fill in the gaps where professional correspondents cannot or do not have time to go, and it is their work that often shapes the narratives that the world sees.
The second theme, the range of responsibilities of fixers, turned out to be much broader than is commonly believed. They don’t just translate conversations, they offer ideas for stories, conduct interviews, and shape perspectives that correspond to local realities. Some of them are officially recognised as co-authors of materials, but most feel under-appreciated. The paradox is that even though they feel unfairly treated, they continue to work because they find meaning in the very opportunity to influence how the world sees Ukraine.
The third conclusion debunks the myth of neutrality. The role of fixers as information controllers is inherently subjective. Their decisions are influenced by personal experience, beliefs, trauma, and social context. What stories will they offer to a foreign journalist? Which characters will they introduce? All these choices shape the final material.
The fourth set of conclusions concerns something that is rarely spoken about openly. Fixers face the same security risks as soldiers: shelling, mines, targeted attacks. But in addition, they experience emotional tension and psychological stress from constant immersion in a traumatic environment.
The fifth finding concerns the role of fixers as cultural mediators. They translate not just words, but entire worlds of meaning: military terminology, idioms, regional dialects, cultural codes. One inaccurate translation can radically change the meaning of a story. Although translation technologies are becoming increasingly accessible, the study emphasises that language is never neutral in conflict situations. The choice of words, intonation, and context shapes the emotional perception of the story by viewers or readers thousands of kilometres away from the front lines.
The sixth conclusion is the most painful for the fixers themselves: their contribution often remains invisible. The report is published under the name of a foreign correspondent, and the credits (if they are lucky) appear in small print: “with the support of a local fixer.” But it was they who found the heroes, organised the filming, ensured safety, and took care of cultural accuracy.
The last conclusion closes the circle: the personal history and emotional attachment of fixers, especially to their homeland, inevitably influence their choice of translation and perception of events. This is not a flaw, but a reality. You can demand neutrality from a fixer on paper, but how can you remain indifferent when translating a story about a mass grave in your hometown? Or when organising an interview with a family that lost a child in a shelling? This emotional attachment influences the formulation of war narratives, and perhaps it is what makes these stories real, vivid, and capable of touching an international audience.
Fixers are often guided by their personal preferences and emotions, which can conflict with their professional duties, especially when it comes to issues related to their homeland or community. This personal perspective can influence the framing of stories, the choice of what to cover or omit.
What the instructions don’t say
The stories shared by six Ukrainian fixers reveal what is not written in job descriptions and what no safety training covers. The study participants described a wide range of challenges they face on a daily basis: from emotional exhaustion due to constant exposure to traumatic stories of torture or violence, which accumulates especially during long periods of work without sufficient rest, to ethical dilemmas when they have to translate intrusive questions from journalists, such as questions to soldiers about killings, balancing between professional duty and protecting people’s dignity.
Fixers also shared their frustration at being assigned menial tasks, such as fetching items or providing simple geographical information, which demonstrates a lack of understanding of their true professional role, although many of them consciously avoid conflict, focusing on the broader mission of conveying the truth about events.
The most frightening stories remain those of immediate threats to life, when they have to evacuate quickly under fire, especially in cases of targeted attacks on members of the press.
In addition, fixers often lack adequate protective equipment, and some receive only basic protective gear such as helmets and bulletproof vests, which may not be sufficient in all situations. Their legal protection remains inadequate due to their ambiguous legal status, as unlike journalists, they do not usually enjoy official international protection or insurance. Many of them work informally, without formal contracts or insurance, making them particularly vulnerable to injury, death, or legal problems if something goes wrong. They also face threats in the digital space, such as cyber threats and digital vulnerabilities, which can compromise their safety even after their physical work in conflict zones has ended. Overall, fixers face life-threatening situations on a daily basis, including immediate physical dangers as well as long-term legal, financial, and digital risks.
This text was first published on: https://ua.ejo-online.eu/ The original article is available here: https://ua.ejo-online.eu/9321/sfery-vysvitlennya/shcho-naspravdi-robliat-fiksery
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