The Militarisation of Everyday Life

It was Orthodox Easter when I travelled to Ukraine. People celebrate Orthodox Easter by painting eggs (pysanky), symbolising faith, life and remembrance. Such virtues are as important now in Ukraine as ever. That said, in Ukraine, even religion is deeply shaped by the ongoing war. Bernardino church, a historic 17th-century place of worship in Lviv, was struck by an Iranian-made Shahed drone a week before I travelled to the country. And, in Kyiv, the parvis of St Michael’s golden-domed monastery proudly displays destroyed Russian battle tanks, artillery guns and other ruined pieces of Russian military equipment.

As you head further East, it is clear that Ukrainian infrastructure and her civilian population bears the scars of war and is geared towards fighting for the country’s existential survival. From destroyed buildings, curfews, air raid sirens and military checkpoints to the mere language used by people. Indeed, drones were now no longer devices filming creative Instagram montages, but deadly flying machines capable of damage to infrastructure and people alike. Metro stations were now not only central hubs for transportation, but also vital underground shelters utilised by civilians during bombardment. Even the Ukrainian flag, a flag I’d seen so often in bedroom windows and council buildings in the United Kingdom, was to be found almost exclusively adjacent to the Tryzub; the national emblem of Ukraine and insignia for the armed forces.

A Town That Became a Symbol

During my visit to Ukraine, I spent time in the town of Bucha, a feeder town to the capital Kyiv. As a human rights lawyer myself, I was particularly drawn to Bucha given its emergence as a focal point in discussions around violations of international law during the early stages of the full-scale invasion. At the outset of the war, when many analysts believed Kyiv itself could fall within days, Bucha was occupied by Russian forces during their advance towards the capital and they embarked on a policy of “cleansing” (zachistka) in the town. Following its recapture by Ukrainian forces, extensive evidence emerged of atrocities including the killing of civilians, as well as credible allegations of torture and sexual violence. Such barbarism has been documented and verified in chilling phone calls by Russian soldiers back to relatives in their home country. These events have since become central to ongoing international investigations into potential war crimes and crimes against humanity.

This experience framed many of my subsequent conversations in Ukraine. I spoke with leading academics and analysts about the historical and ideological contexts shaping the war, including Dr Christian, a psychoanalytical anthropologist and former US Army officer based in Kyiv, whose work focuses on ethnic and cultural conflict. Our discussion explored Russian propaganda narratives, including the Kremlin’s framing of Ukrainians as “little Russians” and the concept of a “triune Russian people”, which has historically been used to suggest that Ukrainians and Belarusians are not separate national groups to Russians.

I also spoke to internally displaced people in Ukraine, including those who have been forced to move on multiple occasions, from city to city, due to the war. I spoke to a young girl who had moved from Kherson to Odessa and then again to the relative sanctuary of Lviv. I also spoke to Elena, a former resident of Kyiv now living in Western Europe. Elena left for Europe with only a single backpack when the full-scale invasion started. She has endured the hardship of getting married and having a baby without her immediate family, who still live in Ukraine. Elena is proud of her Ukrainian heritage; she is conscious of not losing her identity and so makes sure to wear Ukrainian symbolic clothing, listen to Ukrainian music and cook Ukrainian food. She misses the quality and variety of fresh fruit and vegetables from her home country.

The Displaced Generation

I spoke to others, such as Roman (22), who described longing for the freedoms of pre-war Ukraine, particularly the freedom to travel. For Roman, it was a wish to actually visit Western Europe and watch his beloved Manchester United play. However, Putin’s invasion made sure that this dream has, for now at least, remained as such. Roman told me that it was the small absences, such as the disappearance of commercial flights, that reinforce the feeling that war has meant his youth was slipping away.

For some of course, their youth has been stolen entirely. The Maidan memorial in Kyiv epitomises this. I have visited many war cemeteries and memorials in my life, but seeing the birth-death dates of those who have perished during the war was harrowing. 2002 – 2025. Barely an adult, paying the ultimate price.

Supporting Survival

I was reminded of such loss repeatedly during conversations with Ukrainians and aid workers. Among them was Ruth, a trustee of British-Ukrainian Aid. The charity supports its partners through the provision of evacuation vehicles, ambulances, medical equipment, portable power systems. The charity also provides support for medical procedures and rehabilitation for people with life-altering injuries as a result of the war, while also raising funds and awareness in the United Kingdom.

Ruth is based in western Ukraine. Having arrived in Ukraine for work in 2022, she ultimately chose to remain in the country. As one of the charity’s permanent representatives on the ground, Ruth supports local partners assisting communities affected by the war, including delivering medical and humanitarian aid sent from the UK.

Ruth spoke candidly about the challenges facing Ukraine after years of war, especially given the diminishing international attention. Some challenges are material: ensuring that limited resources stretch as far as possible and helping communities cope with attacks on energy infrastructure during harsh winters. Others are psychological: maintaining morale and hope after years of missile strikes, air-raid alerts and increasingly sophisticated drone warfare is an immense challenge.  This is a stark reminder of how war is fought not only on battlefields, but through networks of volunteers, aid workers and ordinary citizens determined to keep their communities functioning.

Ruth expressed concern that many outside Ukraine struggle to appreciate the scale of the human suffering caused by the war or the pressures faced by those living with its consequences every day. It was a reminder that behind the statistics and headlines are millions of people continuing to adapt, endure and rebuild their lives in extraordinarily difficult circumstances.

The War Next Door

There is seemingly no political resolution in sight to the war in Ukraine, in spite of the fact that some estimates have the total casualty count on both sides now as high as a staggering 50,000 people per month. According to military experts though, the tide is turning. Russia is experiencing recruitment and retention problems and the Ukrainian armed forces have specialised in technological warfare, specifically with the use of drones. Drones are now able to penetrate deep into occupied Ukraine, targeting crucial Russian supply routes.  

For me, my visit to Ukraine carried a particular poignancy. This trip meant that I had now visited every European country, a milestone that I had been keen to achieve for some time. But, arriving in Ukraine, in a nation defined not by tourism, but by resilience, reframed that sense of completion. The experience was less about scratching a map and more about witnessing a country whose present moment commands far greater attention. A country fighting for its existential survival. It was also a reminder of something that those of us in cosy cities in the West often forget; Ukraine is on the front line for the rest of Europe.

Slava Ukraini!