Ukraine has a secret weapon. Not a Flamingo cruise missile or a Baba Yaga hexacopter – but a woman with short green hair, a social media following, and a knack for getting things done.
Her name is Anastasiya Paraskevova – “Ukrainian Ana” on Twitter – and today, she’s telling Kyiv Post about a food pantry: “I just need to get $16,000,” she says.
We’re sitting in an underground cafe in Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second-largest city. That is, literally underground: since Russia’s 2022 full-scale invasion, basement bars, cafes, and even schools have become the new norm.
Paraskevova talks fast. She can leap from Balkan history to Baldur’s Gate 3 in a single breath. She’s got tattoos on her arms, the most striking being an apricot – a tribute to her father, who planted apricot trees before a Russian Grad rocket took his life when he was sitting in the yard.
Now, Paraskevova channels what appears to be an endless well of energy into Ukraine’s war effort – and tries to keep other yards safe.
While she may not hold an official title, social media-savvy and trusted individuals like her are crucial, delivering funds and supplies where they’re needed most – from drones and vehicles to thermal gear and generators.
Kharkiv’s Euromaidan
Paraskevova cut her teeth during the 2013-14 Euromaidan protests, which grew into the Revolution of Dignity and solidified Ukraine’s Western democratic aspirations. While Kyiv was the epicenter, Paraskevova spent most days in Kharkiv’s Freedom Square, witnessing both grassroots courage from protesters and complicity from local authorities.
“At first, people were not very receptive, and then people naturally started flocking to us. It grew to 3,000 regulars, then 5,000, 10,000, and more. We became much bigger than the ‘opposition,’ quote unquote. It was really difficult to do anything with us, although they still tried to attack us,” Paraskevova said.
You could tell who the Russians were, Paraskevova said. They were mostly impoverished people – bused in from Belgorod and other regions to make it seem like they were organic anti-Euromaidan protesters. Russia’s FSB likely paid them with little more financing than a bottle of vodka, Paraskevova muses.
According to Paraskevova, most of the local police either didn’t care about the Euromaidan protesters or they actively supported the Russian provocateurs, as, at the time, Kharkiv had a pro-Russian mayor.
“They will be like just ignoring it and just letting them through. I personally saw, multiple times, they just would pass to the side and let them walk in, with bats… We also – me and my sister – asked one policeman, because there was this guy with a gun, with a pistol, and we were like ‘do something,’ and that guy took the pistol and then gave it back to this guy. Yeah, that was next-level cringe,” Paraskevova says, now laughing at the memory.
Over several months, Euromaidan protesters in the capital, armed with sticks and slingshots, makeshift protective gear like ski goggles and motorcycle helmets, and improvised shields of wood and metal, were able to overwhelm the Berkut special police force and Interior Ministry troops, successfully ousting President Viktor Yanukovych, who fled to Russia.
On that day, Feb. 22, 2014, Paraskevova guesses that nearly 100,000 people had rallied in Kharkiv.
It was a moment of triumph for Paraskevova and those like her – citizens who rose against authoritarianism and helped redirect Ukraine’s history. It was a major victory for a young, independent Ukraine – but one that would soon be challenged.
When a battalion loses its last vehicle, or a soup kitchen teeters on the brink, they turn to Paraskevova. And she turns to her X account. And somehow, the magic happens.
Civilians step up again
Shortly after Yanukovych fled, Moscow struck. Within five days, Crimea was invaded by unidentified “green men.” Weeks later, it was annexed. In Donetsk and Luhansk, Russian forces and Kremlin-backed separatists seized control. The Ukrainian military was caught off guard, scrambling to respond.
But Ukrainians didn’t wait for orders. Civilians and veterans organized themselves into militias, holding the line even as the formal army got on its feet. The Revolution of Dignity had taught them how to act from the ground up.
The defense of Donetsk Airport was emblematic. Soldiers, many of them volunteer fighters, endured relentless shelling, sniper fire, freezing temperatures, and scarce supplies, earning the nickname “Cyborgs.” One, callsign Makhno, currently commands the “Phoenix” Squad of the 113th Brigade – a unit Paraskevova now supports.
“This isn’t just our personal war, or the war of our unit…This is the war of the Ukrainian people,” Makhno says. “This isn’t just about territory. It’s about survival.”
Delivering drones, vehicles, and morale
“The day someone doesn’t deliver a drone might be the day someone dies,” Makhno says.
And Paraskevova has delivered a lot. Devin Woodall, a journalist and friend who often hires Paraskevova as a fixer, says she’s raised “a f*ck-ton.”
We accompany Paraskevova to a Phoenix Squad position, 30 kilometers (18.6 miles) from the Russians. The soldiers there pose by a pickup with a chain gun mounted on the back, ready to hunt drones over battered roads.
The gunner, Zhenya, declines to be interviewed; his ears are still ringing from the previous night’s blast.
“It was scary,” said another soldier, callsign Artist. “Explosions from the anti-air weapons were right above us, and we didn’t bring any umbrella. But yeah, it was a typical working day.”
This unit, made up of volunteers, is one that Paraskevova regularly supports because state funding simply can’t cover all their needs.
“On a regular basis, I work a lot with 43rd Mechanized Brigade, with 138th, with Kraken, with 116th. Recently, mostly with the 113th Territorial Phoenix guys,” Paraskevova says. “Sometimes other units as well… But these are the ones I primarily support monthly.”
Feeding a city under attack
The next morning, we visit the Dusha Kharkiv (Soul of Kharkiv) volunteer center – the food pantry Paraskevova is raising $16,000 for. The entrance bears shrapnel scars.
“In 2022, there was a strike that killed a guard,” Paraskevova says. “Volunteers are always targeted.”
Inside, volunteers chop beets and onions for borscht in a giant vat; flags of supported military units line the walls. A giant blow-up of the Snake Island stamp – where a Ukrainian soldier flips off a Russian warship – watches over the kitchen.
Paraskevova records a video appeal for her followers: “These people cook for displaced families every day. They’ve been doing it since day one of the full-scale war. I got to know them personally and unfortunately they’re in a bit of a situation…”
Then, “One take!” she exclaims, grinning.
After, we pile into a van with pantry organizers and deliver food to two schools, including one for children and adults with special needs. The head of the school greets all of us with hugs.
Kharkiv’s magician
Kharkiv lives under constant threat – drones, missiles, glide bombs. But when a battalion loses its last vehicle, or a soup kitchen teeters on the brink, they turn to Paraskevova. And she turns to her X account. And somehow, the magic happens.
When Russia launched its full-scale invasion in 2022, Ukrainians’ grassroots organizing surged. Some lined up to fight on the front lines, some drove into hot zones to evacuate citizens, others joined cyber defense or offered psychological support. Paraskevova found that the best way she could contribute was through fundraising and advocacy – efforts that, she estimates, have now raised some $600,000 in total for her various causes.
For Kharkiv, Paraskevova isn’t just raising money – she’s raising the odds of survival, one drone, one meal, one miracle at a time.