adam zivo: ukraine stands steadfast after 1,000 days of war
amid all the loss and violence, ukrainians forge a sense of normalcy in daily life
4 minute read
people visit the makeshift memorial paying tribute to ukrainian and foreign fighters, on the 1,000th day of the russian invasion of ukraine, at the independence square in kyiv, on nov. 19, 2024.
roman pilipey/afp via getty images
a thousand days have passed since russia’s tanks crashed through ukraine’s borders, manned by soldiers who naively believed that they would be welcomed as liberators. many expected that kyiv would succumb within days, followed by the rest of the country only weeks thereafter, but their predictions did not materialize. at enormous cost, the ukrainians persevered and have continued to resist moscow’s imperial aggression, despite their exhaustion and sorrows. in the east and south, piles of rubble lie strewn where cities and towns once stood. the countryside near the frontlines, previously lush with sunflowers and watermelons, is now sown with mines. the forests, too, are littered with munitions: war has made the land itself sick and maimed.
in the trenches, conditions are often hellish and many soldiers feel depleted. slice after slice of territory is being abandoned in some areas, yet the fighting continues: everything must be done to stop the slow, seemingly inexorable maw of the russian war machine. the cruelties of occupation — mass graves, arbitrary executions and cultural subjugation — necessitate resistance.
tens of thousands of ukrainian soldiers are dead. hundreds of thousands have been wounded. in the centre of kyiv there is a lawn carpeted in blue and yellow flags, each representing a lost soldier. they are crowded together tightly, a hurricane of colour: the scale is bewildering. nestled among the flags are portraits of the dead, still beloved. each face here once held a private universe filled with ambition and memory, and now they silently fade in the sun.
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what has their sacrifice bought? precious freedom.
beyond the frontlines, civilian life persists — as it must. the cafes and bars have been open since the first summer of war, diminished but lively, providing economic continuity despite repeated blackouts and missile strikes. families promenade through the parks, passing by couples sharing small intimacies. electrical shortages, though still devastating for many, have become familiar and surmountable. in every city, the roar of portable generators, and their perfume of gasoline, is well known. the air sirens have long been almost entirely ignored.
in the port city of odesa, ballistic missiles occasionally tear apart ships in the harbour, or apartment buildings filled with innocent civilians, yet the streets still heave with activity. in the summer, sunbathers flock to the beaches and swim in the black sea to the occasional percussion of explosions. on weekends, some youth, not yet at conscription age, dance under shrouds of neon and fog, before military curfew smothers the city in stillness.
even in kharkiv, a city regularly pulverized by glide bombs, one can find artists and book readings. in underground bunkers, they uphold the culture of their nation.
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there is a certain freneticism to wartime life: with the future so uncertain, and the possibility of oblivion always on the periphery, the present becomes particularly vivid. many ukrainians say that it is impractical to live in despair: tears cannot undo the war, and crying is a concession to the invader. salvaging some sense of normalcy, ersatz as it may be, is an act of resistance. it is this obstinate dignity that allows the ukrainians to survive, year after year, as the war drags on and casualties accumulate.
but everyone is fatigued. cherished friends have aged considerably over the past year. grey hairs have miraculously multiplied, and wrinkles abruptly deepened. their eyes brim with thinly concealed anxiety. the war tightens around them like a vice.
this stress is particularly acute in the men, who bear the greatest burdens of war. many of those who have not yet been conscripted are afraid to fight, and avoid going out in public lest they be apprehended by a recruiter and sent to the front. their reluctance is understandable because they are not the cinematic superheroes that some foreigners, who know little of war, want them to be. they are simply human beings — nothing more, nothing less — trapped between duty and survival.
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their reluctance is often compounded by the belief that the west has betrayed them. for almost three years, ukrainians have begged for assistance only to be given too few weapons, often belatedly and with onerous restrictions. they have watched the world slowly forget them: the regular murder of ukrainian children no longer merits much coverage. as russia escalates and imports north korean troops, allies dither.
it is harder to be strong when one seemingly stands alone.
how this war may end is yet unclear, as are ukrainian attitudes on the matter. a recent gallup poll suggests that half of ukrainians support a quick peace deal, but more detailed data, gathered earlier this year on behalf of the carnegie endowment for international peace, tells a more complicated story: yes, ukrainians want a negotiated settlement, but only if this does not leave their country vulnerable to dismemberment.
only a fifth support freezing the current frontlines or abandoning nato membership (two key russian demands), while roughly half support russia retreating to its 2022 occupied territories (something which moscow is unlikely to accede to). an overwhelming majority (91 per cent) believe that russia only wants a temporary peace to buy time for a future attack.
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had the west been decisive and provided greater aid earlier in the war, perhaps everything could have ended soon — but this did not happen. now, kyiv’s allies must provide the support needed to negotiate favourable terms. otherwise, the days of war will continue and, though the ukrainians may once again exceed the world’s expectations, the cost will be immeasurable.
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