"Don't film!" ("Знімати не можна!") The phrase became a meme at the start of the full-scale war. Its author was Col. Nataliya Humenyuk, head of communications for the southern operational command of the Ukrainian Armed Forces. In Odesa, Mykolaiv and Kherson oblasts, journalists had the hardest time working — until recently — because Ms. Humenyuk generally didn't allow the press anywhere.

The 2022 liberation of Kherson, the destruction of the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Power Plant in the summer of 2023 and the subsequent shelling of Kherson Oblast were all covered by Ukrainian and foreign journalists not thanks to her help, but rather in spite of her resistance.

Under Humenyuk's leadership, the communications department effectively blocked all contact between journalists and military personnel, believing that short press releases and her own statements were enough for the media. Not just for our own cameraman Kristjan Svirgsden, but also for BBC, CNN and other international and Ukrainian broadcasters, any request to work with a specific brigade (not even at the front line) would receive the same answer from her: "Знімати не можна!" — "Don't film!"

Fortunately, Ms. Humenyuk is clearly an exception that proves the rule. I personally know dozens of press officers from various brigades. Thanks to them, Kristjan has sometimes captured footage that foreign outlets have later scrambled to air — such as the liberation of Kherson, the battle for Bakhmut, the evacuation of Kupiansk, not to mention more "routine" news segments from the front and interviews with soldiers away from the front line.

Irina, Andriy, Viktor, Serhii, Anastasiia, Oleksandr, Nazar, Yevhen and everyone I know who remembers Anton "Естонське телебачення" Aleksejev and Kristjan Svirgsden — thank you!

The words "Знімати не можна!" came back to me in mid-May this year, when my colleague Vahur Lauri and I tried to produce a news segment on Ukrainian drone operators participating in Estonia's Siil 2025 (Hedgehog 2025) exercise. Their participation wasn't denied, but all we managed to get were two brief interviews with Estonians and a video produced by the Estonian Defense Forces' (EDF) communications department. We weren't allowed near the Ukrainian military personnel themselves and the provided video didn't include a single direct quote from them — no live sound.

A fairly accurate description of what the Ukrainians were doing in Estonia and their thoughts on our drone warfare capabilities was provided by Ilmar Raag in a social media post on May 16. But an "Aktuaalne kaamera" anchor cannot go on air and say, "Ukrainians shared their experience with Estonians, but we weren't allowed to speak with them, so go read Ilmar Raag's Facebook." Yes, in the name of national security, journalists' work can be restricted — even banned. But is it necessary?

Since we're talking about Ukrainian soldiers at the Siil 2025 exercise, it makes sense to look at Ukraine's experience with military-media cooperation. On March 3, 2022 — just two weeks into the full-scale war — then-Commander-in-Chief of the Ukrainian Armed Forces Valerii Zaluzhnyi issued Order No. 72, which spelled out, down to the smallest detail, how journalists were to work with the military. In short, journalists are not allowed to disclose information that could aid the enemy... followed by a list of a couple dozen points.

It's called wartime censorship, and it makes sense. You can't broadcast footage that would help the enemy identify unit locations, command plans, troop numbers or positions.

You can't report losses. You can't air footage from drones or command centers that could reveal drone frequencies or active links — exploitable vulnerabilities in Delta, Ukraine's combat management system. There's a long list of what's not allowed. But ultimately, decisions rest with the press officer of the specific brigade involved.

Disappointed by our attempt to speak with Ukrainian drone operators in Estonia, we traveled to Donbas, to the Rarog regiment, which exclusively uses drones. After a half-hour conversation with a reconnaissance unit commander, we learned about enemy tactics, how many drones are needed to halt an assault by 20-30 enemy soldiers, how different types of drones are used in tandem to destroy concealed enemies and how they've solved issues with fiber-optic-controlled drones, which electronic warfare systems can't affect. That report aired on June 2, on the show "Ukraina stuudio."

If a frontline commander in Donbas can say all that to us, why can't we conduct similar interviews with Ukrainian soldiers in Estonia?

As for visuals, a good press officer always has up-to-date footage that's already been cleared by censors and can be used by journalists.

More than that — last year, Kristjan managed to film a drone operator in Zaporizhzhia hitting a target and capturing his reaction. We asked the press officer for that exact footage. Three hours later, back at our hotel in Zaporizhzhia, while we were editing the piece, the video was already in my WhatsApp. Because a drone warfare segment needs footage of drone launches and operations (which we film), but also footage from the drone's perspective (provided by the press officer). So why didn't the clip sent to me and Vahur Lauri by the Estonian Defense Forces contain any drone footage?

This issue isn't new. On March 1, 2023, I covered a story about Ukrainian artillerymen who trained in Estonia and returned to the front with FH-70 howitzers provided by Estonia.

The Estonian Defense Forces' press team positioned all journalists about 50 meters away from the weapons being fired, forbidding not only closer access but even movement. They cited our safety. Less than a month later, Kristjan Svirgsden was practically inside the barrel of a howitzer actively firing near Lyman in Donbas.

That footage aired on dozens of European channels. And the Ukrainian brigade's press officer wasn't the least bit annoyed — because that's how you film a war story. So why couldn't we do the same at the central training ground in Estonia?

And what if a shot or drone video includes both allowed and prohibited elements? That's what blurring is for — masking or obscuring parts of the frame. A good press officer lets you film everything, then points out what needs to be blurred. It could be a subject's face, the horizon, a type of shell, camouflage technique and so on.

The same applies to interviews. A press officer is always just behind the correspondent. An ordinary soldier can't be expected to know what they can or can't say on camera. For example, they can't name any brigade except their own, assess others' performance, mention how many soldiers are in their unit and more. The press officer will always say what cannot go on air, and if needed, ask the interviewee to answer again. That's what wartime censorship is for.

If there were concerns about what Ukrainian soldiers at Siil 2025 might say, then stand next to us while we speak to them — but don't hide them from our cameras. Especially when their participation in the exercise is not being denied.

All militaries tend to distrust civilians — especially journalists — instinctively. Ukraine solved the television issue simply: before a news story airs, the journalist must send it to the brigade's press officer and receive clearance. This is standard practice, followed by everyone — Ukrainian and foreign journalists alike. When a press officer clearly explains to a correspondent and cameraman what can and cannot be shown — and they comply — the approval process is almost instantaneous.

Occasionally, further blurring is requested, because a press officer can't monitor the operator constantly and the final version only emerges during editing. The standard turnaround for approval is 12 hours, not because of laziness, but because of workload and internet issues. Nothing terrible would've happened if Estonia's strategic comms had asked us for the segment in order to approve it. At "Aktuaalne kaamera," we know how to blur footage.

Sometimes I think that if you gathered all Estonia's PR and communications specialists, they'd form an army larger than our Defense Forces and Defense League combined. But the story about the Ukrainian drone operators at the Siil 2025 exercise shows that it's easier to report on real war in Ukraine than on a military exercise in Estonia.

While the Estonian Defense Forces adopt modern warfare experience — namely drone warfare — those responsible for military press communication behave as if nothing has changed in their field. Perhaps our own stratcom should study Ukraine's experience?

Incidentally, exactly one year ago, Nataliya "Знімати не можна!" Humenyuk was removed from her role as head of the communications department of the southern operational command, following numerous complaints from Ukrainian and foreign journalists, and reassigned to a position "not related to media work."

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