When the gap between reality and television grows too wide, propaganda loses its grip.

That is why, in 2014, when wounded Ukrainian soldiers fighting Russia's attempt to seize the Donetsk region were brought into the operating theatre at the hospital where she worked, she began to hate them.

Today, Oksana hates the Russians who stormed into her native Mariupol in 2022 with the same intensity. Instead of bringing the happiness and prosperity she had expected, they destroyed everything she held dear.

'My entire life today is one of despair. I now work at two hospitals, nearly 16 hours a day, simply so that I do not have to see what is happening around me. I exhaust myself, come home, enter a building whose windows are still boarded up with plywood, where there is no electricity and the water supply is unreliable, then go to bed and sleep until morning. This is how I have lived every day for the past few years. It is a "Groundhog Day", and I see no way out of it,' she says.

Many similar stories can be heard in Russian-occupied Mariupol. People do not share them in the street; it is too dangerous. But they discuss them behind the closed doors of their damaged flats.

'We now live in conditions where we are afraid to say anything out loud. I do not even speak to my neighbours because I do not know what they really think. I agreed to speak to you only because we have known each other for many years,' Oksana tells us.

She does not watch television or read newspapers distributed free of charge by the occupation authorities. They present a distorted version of reality that differs so drastically from the truth that, at times, it provokes not even irritation but laughter.

"Reconstruction"

In the first months of the full-scale invasion, Detector Media - Ukrainian public organization that monitors the quality of media content - identified 88 new local Telegram channels used by Russia to legitimise its occupation of Ukrainian cities. One of the network's central narratives was the supposed 'reconstruction and return to normal life'. Mariupol featured prominently in this narrative.

Alongside Telegram channels, YouTube channels began appearing on a massive scale. Dozens of bloggers from across Russia travelled to the occupied territories to show the world the 'joy of reconstruction'.

'These channels were made for Russians, not for us,' Oksana says. 'Perhaps it was easy for them to believe. But we see the reality: Russia demolished 640 blocks of flats and built only 70, leaving countless people homeless. Of 43,000 private houses, it repaired just 1,000. These are the occupation authorities' own figures.'

Oksana herself owns a house in Mariupol's Prymorskyi district. It was badly damaged during the fighting. The roof was punctured, and the windows were blown out by a blast wave. Oksana did her best to board up the windows with plywood. Her younger son helped her repair the roof.

Her elder son, who studies abroad, inherited a flat in Mariupol from his grandmother. Oksana cared for it throughout the occupation, but a month ago found a stamped notice declaring it ownerless and subject to confiscation.

'I filed a court claim, but the hearing is not for three months because the courts are overloaded. Meanwhile, the flat is already listed as "ownerless". It is our family home, which I renovated myself, yet they are telling me to leave. How can they treat people this way and claim to have rebuilt Mariupol? It is only a façade; behind it, everything is burnt to the ground,' Oksana says painfully.

"Normal Life"

Another woman we spoke to, Maria, remained in occupied Mariupol because of her elderly mother, who is 87 and categorically refused to leave the city. She says she wants to die in the place where her parents are buried. Maria's husband also refused to leave their home.

'I do not want to remember what we went through in the spring of 2022. My husband was wounded. We both lost our jobs because we worked at Azovstal. The plant no longer exists. I still cannot find work. My husband, a skilled steelworker, now works as a general labourer on construction sites. He works 12 to 14 hours a day, with only one day off a week - like a slave - just to feed our family. That is what "liberation" has meant for us. Meanwhile, Russians appear on every television channel telling everyone how happy we are to have them here,' Maria says.

She claims that during the first months of the occupation, Russia tried to literally buy the loyalty of the local population.

"They increased pensions, they gave additional payments and compensation. The additional payments have now stopped, and some people have started to have their pensions reduced. But they don't mention this on TV.

The Russians promised to rebuild Mariupol within three years. Then we saw on TV that Pushilin, the head of the Kremlin-appointed occupation administration, had already reported to Putin that the city had been rebuilt. In fact, they had only painted the outside of the buildings. There is still no housing. Private houses remain in ruins; no one has ever rebuilt them. Factories are destroyed, and apart from the service sector, there is no work. This is what they call normal life."

'The level of alcoholism here now is shocking. In the evenings, men and women close the doors of their own - or somebody else's - flats and start drinking because there is nothing else to do. Everyone who survived the siege is suffering from psychological trauma, yet there is not a single psychiatrist in the city. For many people, alcohol has therefore become the only remedy for every illness. It is difficult to judge them,' she concludes.

It seems that the propaganda machine is not working when reality contrasts so much with what is being said on TV. People are increasingly becoming desperate.