Amplify Utah supports and facilitates dynamic journalistic storytelling to celebrate diverse points of view. By partnering with traditional media, we cultivate an environment that encourages stories be shared widely and made easily accessible for our communities to read, hear, watch and engage.
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The massive boom didn’t wake Anton Piddubnyi, and neither did the windows rattling.
It was his wife, Valentyna Piddubna, nine months pregnant at the time, shaking him and yelling, “something has exploded!”
Then another boom sounded in the 5 a.m. darkness on Feb. 24, shaking their fourth-floor apartment, and Piddubnyi, 22, reached for his phone to check the news. The headlines confirmed his fear: Russia had begun its attack on Ukraine.
Piddubnyi — a former Utah Valley University student who moved back to Ukraine last summer — looked out his window and saw “so many people out on the streets, just opening their trunks of cars and just loading it with clothes, trying to leave,” he said. “Everybody was so shocked.”
As Russia’s invasion of Ukraine has dragged on — Thursday will mark eight weeks since it started on Feb. 24 — Piddubnyi recalled the harrowing ordeal he and Valentyna, 24, have endured, fleeing their home and having a baby in the middle of a war zone.
At 17, Piddubnyi enrolled at Utah Valley University to study digital marketing and advertising, fulfilling a long-held dream of going to school in the United States.
Celest Rickers and her family in Orem took Piddubnyi in. Rickers had met him two years earlier, while traveling in Ukraine, where he was their tour guide through Kyiv and surrounding cities.
“We invited him to come live with us when he was 17,” Rickers said. “It has been a joy, and we consider him like a son.”
On his first day at UVU, Piddubnyi met Valentyna Kyzym, who also was studying digital marketing and advertising — and also was from Ukraine. She worked in the Department of English Language Learning, processing the paperwork for the new international students. She also was a coordinator for the International Student Council, organizing social events for students; Piddubnyi attended every Friday night.
“We started taking the same classes, started chatting about homework,” he said. They were friends for nearly three years, then started dating in early 2020. They married in February 2021.
Last summer, the couple moved back to Ukraine, settling just outside Bila Tservka, a city about 50 miles south of Kyiv, the country’s capital.
In the months before the invasion, reports of an increased presence of Russian military at three of Ukraine’s borders raised tensions in the region. There had been chatter in Piddubnyi’s community about Russia’s plan to invade, and some residents even set up bomb shelters.
“Until the last minute, I did not believe such a full-scale invasion could happen,” Piddubnyi said.
When the invasion started Feb. 24, the couple sought shelter, along with Valentyna’s mother and grandmother, with members of their local ward of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (According to Piddubnyi, Valentyna’s family was baptized in the Latter-day Saint faith in 1998, one of the first families in Bila Tserkva to do so. Piddubnyi joined the church while living in Utah.)
“They had this old basement where they put this mobile fireplace, and heater and some blankets and pillows and mattresses,” Piddubnyi said. More than a dozen people hunkered down in the unfinished basement.
Before the invasion started, the couple had been preparing for their daughter’s arrival.
The hospital was in Kyiv, 45 minutes away, and staff there at first told them they could begin their stay early. But the couple had to rethink their plans, because they knew Kyiv was likely to be a major target in the Russian attack.
“We cannot go to Kyiv. … We are going to be stuck in hell,” Piddubnyi recalled telling Valentyna at the time.
They could either deliver the baby themselves, or risk the hospital in Bila Tservka. Piddubnyi talked over FaceTime with their midwife, who gave advice on how to deliver the baby. But when Valentyna started having contractions on March 1, the couple went to the hospital, where a makeshift maternity ward was set up in a bomb shelter.
“It was a mess,” Piddubnyi said, adding that non-patients also were seeking refuge at the hospital. “The delivery room was assembled in front of us.”
On March 2, around 3 a.m., hospital staff moved Valentyna to the first floor, so they could monitor their progress. Piddubnyi was down in the underground shelter. As he drifted to sleep, an explosion — from a military airport two kilometers away — rocked the building.
The Russian military, Piddubnyi said, “attacked three or four times with drones and with rockets, with airplanes so it was a massive explosion.”
As the alarms sounded in the hospital, those on the first floor headed for the shelter. In the commotion, Piddubnyi found Valentyna, who was then dilated to 5 centimeters.
The situation was taking its toll on her mental well-being, Piddubnyi said. “It was so hard to watch. … Those were some hard, harsh conditions,” he said.
Later that morning, Valentyna was taken to another makeshift maternity room. Piddubnyi was not allowed in the room. Waiting by the door, he finally heard his baby daughter, Evgenia, let loose her first screams.
“I was so glad that this whole thing ended,” Piddubnyi said.
After their harrowing 55-hour stay at the hospital, the couple returned to the relative safety of the basement shelter, with their new daughter. A few days later, they heard an explosion, followed by the sound of an incoming jet.
“It was a Russian fighter jet being chased by a Ukrainian fighter jet,” Piddubnyi said. “It was flying so low…, we knew if something launches or falls on this house, even the basement would not be able to handle it.”
So, he said, they started making new plans.
“We just kind of prepared for our fate,” he said. “I remember that Valentyna and [her] grandma covered Evgenia with their bodies.”
During a lull in the siege, the family left Bila Tserkva — joining the estimated 10 million Ukrainians who have fled their homes during the invasion, according to BBC.
“We didn’t want to leave,” Piddubnyi said. “We knew if we left, we might be leaving forever.”
The family packed one backpack per person, and moved to a town in western Ukraine, where they are now staying with the parents of a friend the couple met at UVU.
For their friends in Utah, knowing the young family has moved from the center of the fighting has been a relief.
“We have been in consistent contact since the invasion,” Rickers said. “I am very grateful for generous friends that are sheltering them and their extended family.”
Their new town has stayed relatively quiet, Piddubnyi said, though as of April 16, air raid sirens could be heard from time to time.
Piddubnyi said the claims made by Russian President Vladimir Putin at the start of the war — that Russia was not targeting civilians, and only aimed to demilitarize Ukraine — are not true.
“They are attacking civilian buildings and pretty much anything in their way,” he said.
He points to the horrific images that surfaced on April 2 from the city of Bucha, 15 miles northwest of Kyiv, that showed hundreds of dead Ukrainians. The images have added to the psychological toll on Ukrainians, and brought international investigations of war crimes.
For Piddubnyi, the horror of Bucha carries an added weight, because he and Valentyna had once considered moving there. “I just can’t sleep because of those images of dead bodies on the streets and buried families,” he said.
Since the invasion began, Piddubnyi said, he has seen overwhelming support among the Ukrainian people for their president, Volodymyr Zelensky. He also has seen many Ukrainians take up arms to join the fight.
“[Putin] thought this war was going to divide us, but it only united us even more. We are so united as a country right now. We are so supportive of each other,” Piddubnyi said. “Even though we are not a part of the European Union, we are fighting for [it]. We are at the doorstep to democracy.”
Looking at the damage Russia has inflicted, Piddubnyi said, people around the world should “understand that Putin is hungry for war” beyond Ukraine.
“Intelligent people who think more widely … understand that it’s not a war only between Russia and Ukraine,” Piddubnyi said. “People think it’s so distant, some imaginary thing, [but] it’s not.”
Piddubnyi said he hopes his fellow Ukrainians – whether in their home country or abroad – can find common ground and allow themselves and others to react to this war in their own way.
“There is no perfect way to react to this,” he said. “If you’re afraid, you have every right to be afraid. If you feel happy, don’t be guilty that you’re happy, because sometimes you need those moments of happiness.”
Piddubnyi said he feels blessed that Evgenia won’t remember the war.
“Knocking on the table, she’s just a healthy baby. She’s sleeping, pooping, eating, screaming sometimes,” he said with a chuckle.
Amie Schaeffer wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text :This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Amie Schaeffer wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
Ever since a Loco Burger opened a location less than a block from Salt Lake Community College’s South City campus in January, locals have been eager to try its Mexican-fusion burger.
Before the brick-and-mortar opening at 1702 S. Main St. in Salt Lake City, and the overwhelming support from the community, founder Fernando Cano and his wife, Maria Cano, had a successful food truck that still operates at 5454 S. 4220 West in Kearns.
“On the first three to four days — sold out.” Fernando Cano said about the truck’s opening in 2020. “We were selling around 300 to 400 burgers a day.”
The new Loco Burger is attached to Manny’s a classic Salt Lake City dive bar. It offers a lively environment, nearly always packed with customers ready for a tempting burger. The sounds of sizzling meat from the kitchen accompanies the Latin music coming from behind the counter.
Each burger at Loco Burger has a base of lettuce, tomato, beef patty, avocados, and two cheeses. The crazy twist, Fernando Cano said, comes from the different varieties of pork added to the burger.
“Americans say hamburger, but they don’t have ham on it,” he said.
Cano said his favorite, the “Chapo” burger, is made with a thin slice of pork chop. The name is based on his nickname, a colloquial Spanish word for a short person, given to him by his kids as an affectionate joke about his height.
Cano’s kids also named other menu items, including the Salchi burger (with grilled franks) and the Porky burger (which includes three thick slices of bacon).
Cano said he has told his three children that the business is theirs if they work for it. He acknowledged that his two sons and daughter — ages 14, 12 and 7½ — might have their own aspirations. If they want something different, he said, they need to work for that, too.
The business, Cano said, is family-oriented by design. Even the original recipes for the “Loco” burger and the spicy “Loco” sauce are from his mother. She’s amazed, he said, that her burger is being sold in the eatery.
The yellow storefront in Salt Lake City is the beginning of the company’s brick-and-mortar growth, Cano said. He has two locations under construction and two more in the works. The new locations are in Kearns, South Jordan, Herriman and Salt Lake City’s Rose Park neighborhood.
The new Kearns location, he said, will feature a collection of Mexican hot dogs and milkshakes, Cano said.
Ultimately, Cano said, he would like to see Loco Burger grow into a national chain. His first goal, though, is to open 20 locations across Utah.
“I’ll try to involve my kids in this business because I think that’s good business,” he said. “You have to do something if you want something, nothing is free.”
Maria Cano said she has even bigger dreams for the company.
“My vision of Loco Burger is definitely bigger than just the states, because of its uniqueness,” she said. “We want to share it with everybody.”
The Canos said they believe in investing in themselves and investing in their team. They said they know they couldn’t do it alone, and are grateful for the opportunities they’ve had in Utah and in the United States. Fernando Cano emigrated from Mexico in 2003. He later met Maria, and the two married in 2008.
“I give my life for this country because this country gives me everything,” Fernando Cano said.
Tyffton Bowman wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. It is published as part of a new collaborative including nonprofits Amplify Utah and The Salt Lake Tribune.
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We also request organizations include the following text either at the beginning or end of the story text :This story is jointly published by nonprofits Amplify Utah and [Your Media Organization's Name] to elevate diverse perspectives in local media through emerging journalism. Tyffton Bowman wrote this story as a journalism student at Salt Lake Community College. For more stories from Amplify Utah, visit amplifyutah.org/use-our-work.
On a normal Monday afternoon, customers would flow in and out of the doors of Rancho Markets in Millcreek. But on Feb. 3, the parking lot was barren, and on the locked front door a sign explained the closure in English and Spanish.
“Rancho Markets is supporting this day of protest and standing in solidarity with our entire immigrant community. They provide essential services that make our lives easier and we believe that it’s essential to show our total support,” it read.
The company had joined a nationwide movement known as A Day Without Immigrants. It’s a protest against the treatment of immigrants amidst recent policies championed by the Trump administration. Businesses across the country encouraged their communities to not shop, work or go to school for the day to highlight the role migrants play in the U.S. workforce and economy.
“The movement today, it’s more about being compassionate,” said state Sen. Luz Escamilla, a Democrat and Senate minority leader. “A lot of companies and communities are coming together in the state just to raise awareness of how much this has created a fear.”
Other Utah businesses like La Casa de Tamal, Señor Pollo Mexican Grill, Luna Coffee and Crystals and Pollo Azteca also joined the protest, announcing their closures on social media.
“No school — no escuela. No spending — no comprar. No work — no trabajar,” read the sign on the door of Rancho Markets in Millcreek, Feb. 3, 2025. (Elle Crossley|KUER)
This isn’t the first time the nation has seen A Day Without Immigrants. It also happened back in 2017 when President Donald Trump first took office. Jesus Perez, owner of Prime Auto in West Valley, closed his shop both in 2017 and in 2025. However, he said this year is different.
“Today is feeling more sad,” Perez said. “I see the big impact in my business from last month and this month.”
Perez said he usually has a lot of Latino customers coming to buy cars, but that number has dropped significantly due to fears of deportation. He said his employees are scared, too.
“They have social security number from Venezuela, [and] have driver license [and] have good credit right now. Like, two days ago, [they] received the deportation order. So these guys, these two guys, [are] not coming to work from last week,” Perez said.
“It’s so scary and they prepare, you know. Any moment and any day ICE is coming for these guys.”
Scott Dorland understands Perez’s fear. He was one of the customers met with closed doors at the Millcreek Rancho Markets.
“I’m glad they’re showing support,” Dorland said. “Our new administration is on a tear.”
The president has quickly advanced his promises to crack down on immigration during his first two weeks in office. He has issued orders to speed up the deportation of people in the United States without legal status, as well as removing policies that limited immigration enforcement in sensitive locations like schools and churches.
Utah has an eye on immigration, too. Gov. Spencer Cox announced statewide support for Trump’s deportation efforts in November. GOP lawmakers have also expressed their commitment with proposals lined up for the 2025 Legislative Session.
They’ve introduced bills that would require employers to verify their employees’ legal working status, drop health care eligibility for children without legal status and call for the deportation of those in jail without legal status upon their release.
Asked about the day of protest at his Monday media availability, Utah Senate President Stuart Adams, a Republican, defended Trump’s immigration policies and said law-abiding immigrants should have nothing to worry about.
“The only people that are being talked about being deported (are) those that are criminals, those that are on probation, those bad people who have committed difficult crimes,” Adams said.
The Associated Press contributed to this report.
Elle Crossley is an intern with Amplify Utah and KUER covering the Utah State Legislature and other local news.
When Ya-Ya Fairley first saw the job listing for womxn’s coordinator at Salt Lake Community College, the deliberate spelling caught her eye.
“I saw myself,” Fairley recalls saying in her interview for the position. “My response was, ‘This is one of the first times I can see that a job is for me.’”
Fairley got the job, a newly formed position within the school’s Gender and Sexuality Student Resource Center, and started in February. The center was established in 2019 following a push from students and staff for a physical gathering space dedicated to gender issues and the LGBTQ community. It is currently supported by student fees.
Student Thonda Lillian Naluyima said the center has been purposeful in its inclusion of people of color, and women of color in particular, who fall under the umbrella of LGBTQ.
“The center has been a safe space for women, women of color, and LGBTQ folks. Intentionality is very important for these groups of people,” Naluyima said.
Student leader Patricia Salgado agrees.
“With people of color, it can be more challenging to express themselves and accept their identity. The center has done a great job of including these individuals,” Salgado said.
The GSSRC team — comprised of staff and student leaders who are almost exclusively trans, nonbinary, and women of color — agreed on the addition of a womxn’s coordinator position.
“We felt it was important to have a woman coordinator lead the women’s initiative for the center,” said GSSRC coordinator Peter Moosman.
But the term “women,” Moosman noted, encompasses more than cisgender women — a term used for people who identify as the gender they were assigned at birth, according to the Trans Journalist Association. The position for a womxn’s coordinator was created with the “x” spelling, he said, to include all people who identify as women or are affected by women-related issues.
While the position received broad support from the college community, the spelling of “womxn” caused confusion.
Heather Graham has followed the creation of the womxn’s coordinator role since it was announced. Graham, an SLCC student who is also majoring in writing and rhetoric and minoring in gender studies at the University of Utah, said the spelling originates from feminist movements that tried to separate “women” from patriarchal language by using terms such as “womyn” instead.
“The ‘x’ was born from queer people of color looking to signify that it was more inclusive than just the white narrative of feminism,” she said.
However, some say “womxn” is used to exclude trans individuals.
“There is an assumption made with the different spelling that it makes it so trans women are not women,” said Graham.
Moosman explained this is not the case at the GSSRC.
“The spelling here is intentional in being representative of all women, whereas not all women are included with the spelling of w-o-m-e-n,” Moosman said.
Fairley echoed that view.
“When we say ‘womxn,’ that includes all women. White cis women; Black trans women; disabled queer women,” she said.
Confusion about the spelling prompted the GSSRC to post an open letter elaborating on its decision to use the spelling as well as acknowledgment of the discourse surrounding it.
While Fairley’s new position is meant to help anyone who identifies as a woman or is affected by women’s issues, she said her hope is to support groups and individuals with histories of marginalization.
“There’s an emphasis on highlighting marginalized experiences we don’t typically see illuminated at the college. Women of multiple marginalities including, but not limited to, of the queer and trans experience,” said Fairley, who received her bachelor’s in gender studies and focuses on Black, queer, womxn/femme identities in higher education.
Fairley’s goal is to enable women at the college and help amplify their voices. For example, during Womxn’s Heritage Month at the college, Fairley helped schedule March events that included the Unsung Sheroes Awards Ceremony, which honored women involved with SLCC’s Black Student Union.
“I want to be that bold light of advocacy and support for students who are oftentimes silenced,” she said. “As a coordinator, I would love to impart empowering knowledge onto students so they can also advocate for themselves. That would bring me so much joy.”
