In the early hours of September 5, 2025, the tranquil town of Bohodukhiv in Ukraine’s Kharkiv Oblast was jolted awake by the sound of explosions. According to the Prosecutor’s Office of Ukraine, two Russian 'Geran-2' drones targeted the community, igniting a fire in the main building of a 100-year-old agricultural lyceum. The institution, with its storied legacy of training generations of Ukrainian farmers, quickly became the latest casualty in a growing global crisis: the destruction of historic sites, whether by war or by crime.
While the mayor of Bohodukhiv, Volodymyr Bely, was quick to clarify that the educational institution itself had not been wholly destroyed—"only part of the main building’s foyer was damaged"—the attack left more than just physical scars. Damage to the adjacent dormitory and over ten shattered windows in nearby apartments compounded the sense of loss. Remarkably, as of the morning after the attack, there were no reported injuries or fatalities—a small mercy, given the scale of devastation.
Local authorities, scrambling in the aftermath, began assessing the extent of the damage and the impact on both students and residents. As reported by the Prosecutor’s Office, efforts were underway to collect complaints, provide assistance, and determine how soon the educational process could resume. The region’s officials prepared to issue safety recommendations and official notices, striving to keep the community informed and safe amid the ongoing conflict.
This latest incident is part of a broader, troubling trend: the increasing vulnerability of historic and culturally significant buildings to both targeted attacks and criminal acts. In Ukraine, the war has placed countless such sites in the crosshairs, with drone strikes and artillery fire erasing centuries of history in moments. Yet, as the BBC recently reported, even in peacetime, the world’s heritage is far from secure.
Take Wales, for example, where Cadw—the organization tasked with preserving Welsh heritage—has sounded the alarm on a sharp rise in criminal damage to listed buildings and ancient monuments. This year, Cadw warns, could see the highest ever number of reported crimes at some of Wales’ most treasured sites. Jon Berry from Cadw put the scale in perspective: “There are 40 to 50 incidents a year of heritage crime at our sites and in the low hundreds across historic environments in Wales.”
From the ruins of Neath Abbey, where new signage has been defaced, grass torn up for bike tracks, and a Tudor exhibition vandalized, to the graffiti-scarred stones of Bryn Celli Ddu—a neolithic passage tomb on Anglesey dating back 5,000 years—the damage is both widespread and deeply felt. At Caerleon’s Roman Amphitheatre and Barracks, anti-social behavior has left graffiti, barbecue heat damage, and even a burnt-out motorbike among the ancient brickwork. Blaenavon Ironworks’ Cast House, another cherished site, was recently closed to the public after a visual display was vandalized and bricks were flung from a tower. The theft of lead roofing, replaced with a lookalike material after repeated incidents, underscores the persistent threat posed by heritage crime.
But why does this matter so much? As Jon Berry explained to the BBC, “There’s a cost to the public purse. At Neath Abbey it was mostly modern infrastructure that was damaged and the wonderful thing about these sites is they are authentic fragments we've inherited from the past, and once it's damaged or destroyed we've lost that so the community and all of our visitors lose out as that archaeological source is eroded.”
Heritage crime, as defined by Cadw, includes a spectrum of illegal activities: theft of historic metals such as lead from church roofs, deliberate damage like graffiti or vandalism, unauthorized works on scheduled monuments, illegal metal detecting (or "nighthawking"), and anti-social behaviors such as littering or climbing on walls. The consequences for damaging a scheduled monument in Wales can be severe, ranging from hefty fines to prison sentences. Yet, as Berry and others note, much of this crime goes unreported—and the losses, once inflicted, are often permanent.
Rob Taylor, Wales’ wildlife and rural crime co-ordinator, points out that ignorance plays a role in some of these acts. “People are coming to sites which they might not realize are ancient sites like burial grounds which can just be a grassy mound,” he said. Efforts to combat the problem now include police cadets patrolling sensitive areas and even the appointment of a special constable who is an archaeologist. Education, Taylor insists, is crucial for both the public and law enforcement.
Education is also a tool for healing and prevention. At Bryn Celli Ddu, Ffion Reynolds from Cadw recounted discovering more than 40 marks—fingerprints, handprints, and large symbols—painted inside the ancient chamber. Instead of simply cleaning up, Cadw involved young volunteers, some of whom had been in trouble for graffiti themselves, in the restoration process. “A lot of them found the experience to be quite a privilege, so hopefully they went away and told their friends to make sure not to do this to other monuments across Wales,” Reynolds reflected. The hope is that fostering respect and a sense of stewardship will protect these sites for future generations.
Rhys Mwyn, an archaeologist who leads tours at Bryn Celli Ddu, captured the emotional resonance of these places: “We all feel a connection with historic and prehistoric monuments and it’s something hard to explain because it comes from the heart, so we do like to feel a connection with ancestors from the past. The real question is when does that connection turn into something else and we start to interfere or disrespect the monuments, or worse, add graffiti.” His advice is simple but profound: "Leave it as it is, it's done well for 5,000 years, we do not need to add graffiti to them today."
Wales, with its 30,100 listed historic buildings, over 4,000 scheduled monuments, and four world heritage sites, is a microcosm of a much larger issue. As the destruction in Bohodukhiv shows, heritage sites are vulnerable not just to neglect or petty crime, but to the ravages of war and occupation. The loss of a century-old lyceum in Ukraine is a stark reminder that history can be erased in an instant—whether by a drone strike or a careless act of vandalism.
As communities in Ukraine, Wales, and beyond grapple with these challenges, the message from those on the front lines is clear: preserving the past is not just about bricks and mortar, but about safeguarding the stories, lessons, and identities that bind us together. Once gone, these treasures cannot be replaced.
