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I’m 76, I walk with a cane and I like my own bed. But I’ll be in Ukraine for two weeks in Kyiv, Dnipro and some other places near the front lines. I’m answering a call from my longtime friend, Andrew Bain.

Andy and I first met back in 2001, when we started an animation company together. Andy had purchased an animation studio in Ukraine after the dissolution of the Soviet Union. Our plan was to outsource much of our production work to Ukraine, tapping into the immense talent there. Along the way, I built real relationships with the Ukrainian artists and animators we worked with. I grew to know them, to admire them and, ultimately, to love them.

When war erupted, many fled Kyiv, but Andy stayed. He remained, determined to help the Ukrainian people resist the Russian invasion. Drawing on his military background, he founded the Ukrainian Freedom Fund (UFF), a charitable organization aimed at providing critical support to those affected by the war. Concerned for his safety, I stayed in touch with Andy as the war turned into the worst European conflict since the Second World War. This month, Andy reached out to me with a request I could not turn down: he asked me to come to Ukraine to create a video that would raise awareness of the Ukrainian people’s plight during this terrible conflict and also help inspire Canadians to donate.

This is not the kind of project I ever imagined I’d take on. I’ve spent most of my career in entertainment and, frankly, I’ve always been skeptical of celebrities and entertainers inserting themselves into political causes. But this, to me, transcends politics. This is about human suffering on a massive scale, and when Andy asked for my help I knew I had to say yes.

This trip isn’t about publicity for me. The truth is, my career is mostly behind me now. What drives me here is the chance to do something that matters — to shine a light on the resilience and humanity of the Ukrainian people, and to support an organization that is truly making a difference. The UFF provides food, medical supplies, training and evacuation services for children and the elderly trapped on the front lines. They’re even working with Canadian experts to defuse unexploded bombs in civilian areas and providing Canadian military advisers to train Ukrainians to survive drone attacks.

More than 12.5 million people inside Ukraine urgently require humanitarian assistance. The scale of displacement, disruption and trauma is staggering. And while it’s easy to be overwhelmed by statistics, it’s the individual stories that reveal the true cost of this war.

That’s why I’m going. I want to meet people one-on-one, to listen to them, to learn from them. I want to understand how this war has affected their mental health, how it has torn apart their communities, how it has upended their lives. I want to find out if they can still laugh, still find joy amidst the devastation. And I want to hear what support from countries like Canada and the U.S. means to them.

This war isn’t just a distant tragedy for Ukrainians. There are over a million Ukrainians living in Canada and another million in the United States. Their extended families are living through this nightmare, watching the news with aching hearts, desperate for signs of hope. Every life touched by this war ripples outward, affecting communities across the world.

In addition to documenting the experiences of civilians and soldiers in Ukraine, I also want to ensure transparency and trust in the UFF itself. Donors want to know where their money is going. So I will interview all the members of the UFF board to show there are no fat-cat board members taking big salaries here — every dollar is directed toward the stated goals of the organization, helping those who need it most.

The Ukrainian Freedom Fund is a registered tax-deductible charity in the U.S. Their Canadian legal advisers are setting up something similar for Canadian donors. The work they are doing is critical and I am honoured to play a small role in helping amplify their mission.

I know I can’t fix what’s happening in Ukraine, and I know I’m not a journalist or a trained humanitarian. I’m just someone who was asked by a friend to help and who couldn’t say no.

As I prepare for my trip, I’m filled with a mix of emotions: anxiety, excitement, humility, fear and a deep sense of responsibility. I don’t know exactly what I’ll find when I get there. But I do know that being a witness matters. Listening matters. Telling the story of these brave people matters.

At this stage in my life, I’m grateful for the chance to do something that feels real, something that feels necessary. And I hope, in some small way, that my effort will help raise awareness and inspire donations to ease suffering, inspire compassion and remind people that, even in the darkest times, we all share the space on this little blue ball called Earth and it’s up to each one of us to try to make things a little better.