Reading. Grade - 11

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala's Eurovision 2016 winning song, "1944," was initially prohibited by Russia.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

The song's lyrics referenced the grief page of the history of Crimean Tatars caused by the Russian regime.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala's ancestor was among those deported in 1944.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala's new album, "Qirim" is a musical reflection of the Game of Thrones plot.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

The songs on the album are based on ancient lyrics.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

The album's recording was interrupted by the Russian invasion of Ukraine.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala hasn't been actively involved in fundraising efforts for Ukraine.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

She can be considered a political ambassador promoting her own culture and her adopted nation's one.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala considers herself primarily a political activist.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

The song "1944" can be interpreted as a commentary on current geopolitical events.

Read a text and do the tasks

Tucked in the margins of the recent Eurovision Song Contest was Jamala’s 30-second cameo of 1944, her winning song from 2016. Recently ranked third by The Guardian in the all-time list of Eurovision winners, her song almost didn’t make it to the contest when Russia tried to have it banned. Jamala’s lyrics referred to Stalin’s ethnic cleansing of Crimean Tatars, which took place over just three days in May 1944, but Russian politicians alleged they were thinly disguised to refer to the 2014 annexation of Crimea.

Whatever the real meaning, I doubt there can have been a more personal song in the history of Eurovision, not least because Jamala’s great-grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains. I met Jamala in London during a brief stopover on her way home to Kyiv and the formidable passion for both her Crimean Tatar ancestry and her adopted nation of Ukraine (she was born in Kyrgyzstan) influenced every aspect of our conversation.

Jamala (real name, Susana Jamaladinova) premiered her new album entitled simply Qirim (Crimea in the Crimean Tatar language) in Liverpool on the eve of Eurovision at a concert with the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra. She told me that the album parallels a famous TV series:

‘In Game of Thrones, the writer created an imaginary culture for the seven kingdoms of Westeros, in art, costume and folk traditions. In Qirim, I’ve done something similar by discovering songs from the different regions of Crimea. Together, they show the beauty and greatness of Crimean Tatar culture, and they express the deep feeling for my home.’

Although Qirim’s 14 tracks are infused with aspects of electronica, garage and even rap, the songs on which the album is based are ancient. ‘Most are centuries old, which puts a lie to the myth that the Kyivan Rus is essentially of Russian origin. Many of these songs have their roots in Crimean Tatar culture that is older than the Kyivan Rus. Tatars were in the Crimean Peninsula long before Russians.’

Jamala was finishing the album in Kyiv just as the Russian invasion began. ‘As the bombs fell, my first thought was for the safety of my children (she and her manager/husband, Bekir, have two sons under six) and then my album because we had put so much work into making it.’

Thankfully, both children and studio recordings were rescued. Since the invasion, with her sons being cared for elsewhere, Jamala has been travelling the world, promoting the defence of Ukraine alongside her music. She met Joe Biden last December and briefed him about the situation in Ukraine. ‘I was deeply grateful to the president and first lady for their unwavering support. Such moments give me the strength to keep going, no matter how hard the road to our victory may be for the whole sovereign nation of Ukraine.’ In June, Jamala commences a ten-city tour of the USA.

Over the last year, Jamala has worked with organisations and foundations that have raised around $90 million (£72 million) to support Ukraine’s defence and give aid to internally displaced people. She was at pains to minimise her personal contribution: ‘I must emphasise that raising this money was a joint effort by a lot of people.’

Nonetheless some of the fundraising has been highly personal. Having been a celebrity contestant on Ukraine’s Dancing with the Stars (the international brand for Strictly Come Dancing), she agreed to repeat her appearance in the Polish edition earlier this year. She did so on one condition: that the funds raised through her weekly telephone vote went to the Polsat Foundation to help victims of the war in Ukraine. ‘Even though I’m a performer, dancing isn’t my strong thing,’ she confessed, but nevertheless – mainly she believes because the Polish people wanted her to carry on raising money – she survived the weekly vote-off for several episodes.

It is 80 years since Lavrentiy Beria engineered Stalin’s forced deportation of her great-grandmother amongst the Crimean Tatar people, with the loss of 8,000 lives, and the resettlement of Ukrainian children in Russia after the 2023 invasion shows history repeating itself. Jamala is coy about the real message in her Eurovision-winning song, but the deliberately ambiguous lyrics seem as relevant to Russian aggression in the age of Putin as to Stalin’s atrocities.

Her husband showed me photos of Jamala with presidents Biden and Zelensky (alongside others with George Clooney and Julia Roberts) and I suggested that in her fight to defend Crimean Tatars and Ukraine she has become a formidable politician. A description that she emphatically denied. ‘I’m a singer, not a politician, but if I can achieve any influence through my songs, telling the world that the fight for freedom is not over, then all the stress, including rarely seeing my children, is worthwhile and I’m happy.’

Jamala’s grandmother was amongst 191,000 Tatars deported from Crimea in cattle trains.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The game Stalker 2 is a direct sequel to a popular 2007 game.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The game's setting is inspired by a fictional nuclear disaster in Ukraine.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The development of Stalker 2 was significantly impacted by the ongoing war in Ukraine.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The GSC Game World team evacuated their Kyiv office just before the Russian invasion.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The team has established a shelter in Prague for employees and their families.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The game's development has been completely halted due to the war.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The team believes that creating the game can help raise awareness about the situation in Ukraine.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The game's release date has been indefinitely postponed.

Read a text and choose the correct answer.

‘This game can reach a lot of people – and show them that Ukraine makes world-leading products’ … Stalker 2: Heart of Chornobyl.

It’s important to bring everyone back to reality. If we ignore the fact that evil is happening then that evil will win.

As the 400 employees of GSC Game World, creators of the hit video game Stalker, filtered into their Kyiv office in January 2022, most didn’t even notice the strange buses parked around the corner. While tensions were growing with their neighbours across the border, the frost-coated shlep to the office felt almost normal. Routine. Or so they told themselves. As whispers of war spread throughout the country, regular reassurances from their business partners – and President Zelenskiy – made it seem foolish to worry. Life, they were told, would carry on as usual.

For the last 13 years, GSC has been diligently working on the globally anticipated direct sequel to its 4m-selling 2007 cult classic Stalker: Shadow of Chornobyl, an apocalyptic survival game depicting the aftermath of a second Chornobyl disaster in a war-ravaged Ukraine. It’s an alternate history, yet for Ukranians it has veered harrowingly close to reality. In March 2022, Russian forces captured the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power station, which they still hold today, prompting very real concerns about a combat-related nuclear disaster. GSC’s fiction had begun to blur with real life.

“We were preparing for [the war] for about a month and a half,” says Evgeniy Grygorovych, game director and CEO at GSC Game World. “The drivers were sitting there 24 hours a day, each day – but no one really noticed.”

Families included, GSC have relocated around 700 people, with the last office run completed just a day before Russian troops hit the ground. With one suitcase allowed per family, and only three hours to grab essential tech from the office, there was little time to take stock of what was happening. One member of the HR team gave birth during the active stage of the invasion, and other staff were already grieving dead loved ones before they’d reached their destination. “Luckily we had a chance to start moving before the war started. But we didn’t expect that everything was going to be.

‘It’s really hard to make a game during a war’ … GSC team members in Prague.

“We made it a shelter and tried to make it look as beautiful as possible – for people to feel that they’re as OK as possible,” says Grygorovych. “They play music, they have guitars, we have books there. We had one big floor for our motion capture studio and we’ve turned it into a place for children. It’s very soft because of all the mo-cap equipment, and now it’s a place where they bring toys.

“This winter, when there was intense shelling and fighting, there were often power cuts. So we made big generators. We’ve also made a corner where everyone can bring their relatives because there’s always electricity in our office, always hot water, so it’s better to be there than stay at home.”

Going back to the office helps, because for those eight or nine hours you are not thinking about the war.

The team has experienced significant losses and hardships due to the war.