Her name was Alise Perebeynos. She was nine years old. She wore a blue hooded down jacket against the spring chill and carried a small green backpack with her most important belongings. She never stood a chance when the shell hit the street in Irpin, only steps from where she was running for her life, clinging to her mother's hand.
That was 1,431 days ago—March 6, 2022. Alise and her mother Tatiana and brother were killed during what was supposed to be a Russian ceasefire allowing civilian evacuations from Irpin, the Kyiv suburb that became synonymous with early war atrocities.
The anniversary carries particular resonance as President Donald Trump claims Russian President Vladimir Putin "kept his word" about a supposed truce on striking Ukrainian cities. For Ukrainians who remember Alise and the countless other civilians murdered during Russian "ceasefires," such diplomatic optimism rings hollow and dangerously naive.
"If you ever find yourself thinking Ukraine should negotiate with the invaders, remember that this is what a Russian cease-fire looks like," read a memorial post marking the anniversary on social media, accompanied by the haunting image of Alise's small body lying on the Irpin street.
The Perebeynos family was fleeing along an evacuation corridor that Russian forces had ostensibly agreed to respect. They were among thousands of Irpin residents desperately trying to escape the battle consuming their city. Photographs from that day show civilians running across damaged bridges, carrying elderly relatives and children, rushing toward Ukrainian-controlled territory.
Alise wasn't the first child killed by Russian forces, and tragically wasn't the last. But her death became emblematic of the deadly gap between Russian promises and Russian actions. The images of her small body, her blue jacket, her green backpack—these became searing reminders of the human cost when diplomatic language about "ceasefires" meets the reality of Russian military operations.
For Ukrainian families, the parallel to current events is painfully clear. When Trump announced that Putin agreed not to strike Ukrainian cities, when he praised the Russian president for "keeping his word," Ukrainians remembered Alise and the supposed ceasefire that killed her. When Russia launched its biggest mass attack of the winter on February 3, targeting energy infrastructure as temperatures plunged below -20°C, the bitter validation felt grimly familiar.
In Ukraine, as across nations defending their sovereignty, resilience is not just survival—it's determination to build a better future. But resilience requires remembering. Alise's memory serves as a stark reminder of what is at stake when Western leaders express premature optimism about Russian restraint or pressure Ukraine toward negotiations without ironclad security guarantees.
Her father Serhiy Perebeynos survived, having stayed behind to care for elderly relatives. He lost his entire immediate family in a single shell during a supposed ceasefire. His grief, multiplied across thousands of Ukrainian families who have lost children to Russian attacks, shapes Ukrainian skepticism toward any discussion of truces, pauses, or negotiations that don't include enforceable accountability.
The Ukrainian government has documented hundreds of civilian deaths during supposed Russian ceasefires and humanitarian corridors. The pattern suggests either deliberate targeting of vulnerable evacuees or such poor Russian military discipline that promised restraint becomes meaningless. Either explanation undermines confidence in Russian commitments.
Alise should be twelve years old now, finishing elementary school, worrying about homework and friends, not serving as a symbol of Russian perfidy. Her murder—and it was murder, targeting fleeing civilians during an agreed ceasefire—illustrates why Ukrainians react with such dismay when international leaders treat Russian promises as credible.
Remembering Alise means honoring not just her memory but the reality of what Ukraine faces. It means understanding that negotiations and ceasefires carry deadly risks when one side has repeatedly demonstrated willingness to exploit humanitarian pauses to target vulnerable civilians. It means recognizing that for Ukrainian parents, every discussion of truces recalls the small bodies in blue jackets who trusted in previous Russian promises.
