Russian occupation
Russian occupation
Occupation, resistance, mobilisation.
The morning after I return home from Ukraine, I am always physically sick. I hope this blog will shed light on some of the issues that are making me sick. It’s not meant to provide personal insights into my experiences of the war—honestly, who cares? I choose to go to east Ukraine. Nor is it an academic exercise. Instead, it’s an effort to portray the extraordinary heroism, ugliness and complexity that I witness during this war.
This blog will draw on my experiences in Ukraine, primarily in eastern Ukraine and Kharkiv, where I now spend about half my time. In Kharkiv, I travel across the region, to training grounds, and to the frontlines, speaking with soldiers and volunteers, trying to understand the toll the war is taking and inform strategies designed to address the challenges.
The structure will be straightforward: I’ll share insights from my meetings with Ukrainians, followed by additional resources. Let me be clear—I am not neutral in this war. I want Ukraine to win, and I want Russia to lose. To me, this is not merely a war over territory but a war over Ukraine’s existence and what the emerging global order looks like. Everything I’ve seen, heard, and studied over the past ten years of researching Russia's aggression against Ukraine has led me to believe that it is genocidal in intent. That’s why each blog will conclude with fundraisers, projects to support or launch, and resources where you can learn more about the issues I discuss. Because I don’t want Ukraine to lose, and I don’t want any more of my friends to die. But right now, neither of those wishes seems anywhere close to coming true.
Kharkiv
Kharkiv posters on Freedom Square, near the Victory Tent, Kharkiv. Own photo.
I’ve just spent the past two weeks in Kharkiv. My research focuses on the occupied territories—what happens there, how different groups experience occupation, and how some brave souls resist. On 4th October, the Ukrainian resistance assassinated the head of security at the Russian-controlled Zaporizhzhya Nuclear Power Plant in Ukraine in a car bombing. The resistance fights on, but their cause is largely ignored. I’m not sure why. Perhaps it's because Western policymakers find it easier to believe that those in occupied territories are pro-Russian, which simplifies the argument that they should be abandoned. This allows them to talk about these people not as human beings left to be tortured, but as irrelevant in some bloodless territorial swap. Based on my own experiences, I don’t believe the Western public is disinterested in these stories.
Most of the resistance consists of civilians. I’ve written a report about that resistance for anyone who wants more details, but the situation is becoming more difficult. First, it’s important to acknowledge that occupied territories aren’t a monolith—different regions experience occupation differently. For example, areas of Donbas occupied since 2014 have undergone a different process of integration than the so-called “new regions,” occupied since 2022, where resistance has been stronger. In these newer territories, the conditions have been less anarchically repressive, with more structured persecution. Crimea saw a relatively “soft” occupation in 2014, but since 2022, things have worsened, and there has been an upswing in resistance there, as documented by Crimea Platform and Crimea SOS. Interestingly, in my conversations with the resistance, only in Crimea did they mention receiving significant help from anti-war Russians.
This strikes me as strange. As the division between free and occupied Ukraine becomes more entrenched, there seems to be an opportunity for more coordinated Russian and Ukrainian collaboration in resistance. In free Ukraine, political obstacles remain—some organisations don’t want to work with Russians—but intermediaries could easily resolve this issue. In the occupied territories, this reluctance seems less prominent. Of course, some Russian oppositionists might hesitate to help because of Ukrainians' distrust towards them, but such emotions shouldn’t dominate when Ukraine’s victory is also in Russia’s self-interest. The only way to dismantle the current statist, imperialist mindset—the belief that the people exist to serve the state, and the state’s power is measured by its foreign projections rather than its care for its citizens—is to defeat it and its embodiment: Russian aggression towards Ukraine.
Zaporizhzhia Regional State Administration Building. Own photo.
During a trip to Zaporizhzhia, resistance co-ordinators and officials told me they haven’t received any help from Russians and are sceptical of the possibility of cooperation, or even of anyone, Russian or not, being able to do much to help the resistance in the occupied part of the region. The FSB regularly conducts phone searches to check for pro-Ukrainian Telegram subscriptions or VPNs, while cyberintelligence units disrupt systems used for Ukrainian children in occupation to access Ukrainian universities and schooling. Men are relentlessly targeted, and merely possessing a Ukrainian passport can mean being ‘sent to the basement’ (a euphemism for torture).” Due to these basements, combined with mass forced conscription and summary executions, the once large base of resistance agents in Zaporizhzhia has dwindled, leaving mostly teenagers and women.
Understandably, many try to leave the occupied territories, with mixed results. Back in Kharkiv, I met with Helping to Leave, an organisation arranging free evacuations from the occupied territories. They coordinate everything on the "other side" and then meet evacuees at border crossings and set up a ‘reintegration programme’ for them to find accommodation, relatives, work and food. Many people who make it to free Ukraine are hungry for information, often because Russian propaganda has convinced them that Ukraine no longer exists, or has no food or energy, making their decision to leave all the more poignant.
Until Ukraine’s incursion into Kursk, there was a border crossing in the Sumy region where Russian soldiers allowed some people to leave. All that was required was an original passport or even a birth certificate. There is also a border crossing in Volyn/Belarus, primarily used for medical evacuees, as it has a tarmacked road suitable for ambulances—unlike the Sumy/Kursk crossing. Now, only this Belarus crossing remains open. Where previously around 30 to 40 people crossed monthly, in August, the number surged to 500, most of them children. However, unlike Russia, Belarus only permits crossings for those with original passports, not birth certificates. For those who lost their passports in bombings, Ukraine’s consulate in Minsk can issue replacements. But for those who never had passports—children in 2014, when Russia first occupied their homes—they are now in limbo. This group—born into Ukraine, raised under occupation, often by pro-Russian parents, yet identifying as Ukrainian despite the brainwashing—is a powerful testament to the resilience of Ukrainian identity. I want to study them, honestly, but first, they need help. The Ukrainian consulate in Minsk cannot issue first-time passports, and they are stuck. Any assistance in raising awareness of their plight would be invaluable, in my opinion.
In my conversations about how to help Ukrainians in occupation, everyone wearily responds the same way: help the ZSU (Armed Forces of Ukraine) liberate the territories. Ukrainians are tired and there is an increasing sense of hopelessness, at least out East, as everyone knows all too well what is happening on the front lines. Last weekend, in Kharkiv, authorities raided an Okean Elzy concert and a flashy new bar located across from a memorial to Kharkiv’s dead children, looking for men avoiding mobilisation.
The memorial to dead children in Kharkiv. It reads: ‘To the little angels, who met with man’s cruelty so early and, sadly, will never grow up’. Every day people bring new toys, teddies and sweets there.
The question of mobilisation is a painful one, and frankly, as an Englishwoman at no risk of being mobilised myself—or seeing my son conscripted—it isn’t my place to have a firm opinion, only empathy.. What concerns me more are some of the reasons people wish to avoid fighting. The most common reason that comes up in my conversations is related to commanders and the concept of Sovok.
Sovok refers to a Soviet-era mindset—rigid, devaluing human life, prioritising bureaucracy over innovation, and clinging to the idea that “this is how we’ve always done it.” Sovok is when a friend’s husband is sent to Avdiivka without training and dies, and his commander tells the grieving wife she can "find another man." Sovok is when drones, which were fundraised for, sit unused because the commander’s response to a request for them was, “Why send drones when you have legs?”
This Sovok mentality is why even the most patriotic friends, who dedicate their lives to supporting the armed forces on minimal salaries, fear the conscription office. They worry they will be sent to die in a futile assault somewhere in Donbas. They don’t trust the commanders. Under Zaluzhnyi, the situation seemed more balanced, but now, under Syrskyi—whom many view as the embodiment of Sovok—this distrust feels widespread. Zaluzhnyi remains incredibly popular, especially for his advocacy of a technological shift in warfare. His argument, which you can read here, boils down to this: it’s better to have technology fight than men, especially given Ukraine’s smaller population. Anyone walking through Kharkiv’s Cemetery No. 18, searching for the graves of newly fallen friends among the ever-growing rows of heroes, will find it hard to disagree with him.
On the other hand, those who take control of their own recruitment, often through using personal connections or the recruitment centres, have more flexibility in choosing their units. Moreover, while mobilisation could and should be done better, the situation is such that there isn’t much choice. Take, for example, one man who recently called my friends, asking to be evacuated from Pokrovsk. They didn’t have any volunteers willing to risk it. He had called for evacuation three months earlier when it was much safer, but then changed his mind. As he was hiding to avoid mobilisation by the Ukrainian army, he didn’t want to use official channels for evacuation. His sister later contacted a soldier who worked with the volunteers, desperately asking what would happen to her brother. The soldier told her he would likely be shot or forcibly conscripted into the Russian army, only to be sent as cannon fodder to die in an assault. She broke down, saying, “It’s not his fault there’s a war.” The soldier, frustrated, replied, “It’s not my fault either, but this is where we are.”
It’s easy to understand all sides of this situation, but in the end, there’s a clear line of evil that caused it all. Whatever one thinks of the man’s choices or the soldier’s blunt response, neither should be in this position. Ukrainians should be able to live in their homes without bombing, without fear of mobilisation, and without war. The fact that they can’t is because Russia has invaded, seeking to kill and subjugate them. The only real way to help anyone in Ukraine is to stop Russia.
Victory Strategies
Many in Ukraine are eagerly awaiting Zelensky's proposed "Victory Plan." Some are frustrated that foreign leaders have seen it, while Ukrainians have not. Personally, I remain sceptical. I don’t believe there can be a unified international vision of victory for Ukraine at this moment, and I question the usefulness of such an exercise. The West simply doesn’t have the political will for Ukraine’s victory. While various military figures and analysts propose feasible strategies, Western governments aren’t committed to enacting the necessary policies.
The harsh reality is that Western strategy isn’t geared toward Ukraine’s victory, but its survival—and it is not doing a great job at ensuring that survival either. The war has exhausted eastern Ukraine, the economy is wrecked, and refugee outflows are compromising Ukraine’s demographic future. Meanwhile NATO membership remains out of reach and EU accession distant. A negotiated peace remains unlikely, unless it involves Ukraine’s capitulation or gives Russia time to regroup and use hybrid methods to destabilisce Ukraine from within, in pursuit with Putin's broader goal being to erase Ukraine's independence and restore Russia's status as a great power.
And so, Ukraine fights on, supported but alone.
That is why, with a viable victory plan elusive, we need an intermediary strategy—one that stops the bleeding and prevents Ukraine's defeat. Instead, Western leaders seem complacent, leaving Ukraine without the means to fully defend itself. I’ll write more about this in my next post.
In the meantime, one mustn’t despair. After all, on 24th February 2022, I believed I would never see Kharkiv again, and yet here I am in the wonderful Krendel cafe enjoying chocolate cheesecake in the centre of the city. That’s because countless Ukrainians made the choice to defend their homes. Their spirit of collective resilience is summed up by a saying: There are no small deeds in the Big War. One such small deed is to support Ukraine’s heroes.
Fundraiser
Right now, my friends are raising funds for a medical evacuation unit to save wounded soldiers. They've secured the vehicle, but need help raising 420,000 hryvnia (about £8,000) to be able to pick it up. If you’re able to contribute, here's the Facebook link and the donation jar.
Projects
One of the current projects I’m involved in is bringing more international attention to the resistance in occupied territories. I’m working with various organisations, including Helping to Leave, to amplify their stories of bravery and resilience. This advocacy has been directly requested by resistance figures, including an ATESH soldier I interviewed for the CSIS report linked above. I’m currently compiling a list of interested journalists and media outlets, but organising isn’t my strength—so if you have suggestions or ideas, I’d love to hear them!
Learn More:
Helping to Leave: This NGO provides free evacuation from the temporarily occupied territories of Ukraine and parts of Kherson, Kharkiv, and Zaporizhzhia. Their heartbreaking video series My Home Fit in a Cup tells the stories of men and women who escaped Russian occupation. You can find more information here.