A study by the Ukrainian Veterans Foundation shows that the majority of Ukrainian veterans are young, working age adults who, depending on circumstances, are able to study and retrain: 34.5% of veterans are aged 31-40, and 31% are 19-30. 

While the Ukrainian job market prepares for the return of 3 million veterans to civilian life, the majority of veterans (45.4%) believe that the state “does not fulfill” its obligations to former military personnel. Two thirds of veterans want to start their own businesses after discharge from military service, but don’t always have the ability to do so. They say the biggest challenges they face are physical and mental health issues, “societal misunderstanding”, and difficulties around obtaining social benefits.

The Village Ukraine asks veterans of the Russian-Ukrainian war whether it is possible to adapt to civilian life after serving in the military and the efforts civilians must make to get used to veterans living among them.

Цей текст також можна прочитати українською.

 

Before the war, Hlib Stryzhko spent two years working as a mentor in the Ukrainian Leadership Academy. During the full-scale war, he was appointed commander of the 1st Division of a Separate Marine Battalion; defended Mariupol; and survived Russian captivity, an injury, and multiple surgeries. He now works as Director of the Veteran Hub’s Kyiv branch. He was discharged from military service nearly a year ago.

   

   

My brother, who serves in the military, said that my work at the Ukrainian Leadership Academy and my liberal ideas would make it difficult for me to serve in the army

   

I was super stressed when I signed the contract [to join the army]. My brother, who had served in the military for 12 years at the time when I signed my contract, was not thrilled. He said that my work at the Ukrainian Leadership Academy and my liberal ideas would make it difficult for me to serve in the army. He kept trying to talk me out of serving: he said I would be more useful in my civilian role. But once I resolved to join the military, he was really helpful.

The first three weeks – maybe a month – were pretty tough. I’m not a saint – I used to swear before the army – but even I was surprised at how often servicemen use obscenities (the ratio of obscenity to regular speech was about 70:30 for most of our instructors). Swearing was the second official language.

I was also surprised at the number of military personnel who smoke. When a group of 60 of us would go to the dining hall, only I and three other people wouldn’t stop for a smoke break on our way. Same on the way back. I ate a ton of sweets because of stress, but I didn’t put on any weight: I burned off all the calories.

The best thing about the army is the routine. I learned to go to bed at 22:00 and wake up at 06:00 or 05:40 in the army – that wouldn’t happen in my civilian life.

I was at a training center for the first three months. I already knew a lot of what we were taught, because I was curious about those things when I was a civilian. Everyone asked me: “Have you served?” And I’d tell them: “No, I signed my contract three weeks ago, just like all of you.”

After three months, I joined the battalion I was assigned to. No one bothered with decorum there. At first I was super scared to talk to my commander, even though he’s very smart and very cool. I’m grateful to him that I’m still alive. But we needed time to get used to each other.

I didn’t need to undergo any profound changes, because I had conviction and I knew why I joined the army. I saw other people – young men aged 18 or 19 – easily swayed and not knowing things could be any different.

I was lucky to find a group of 5–7 people that I’m still in touch with. I was only 25 at the time and all of those guys were younger than me, so I felt a sense of responsibility for them. We were united in our desire to be better.

When I was able to come back to Ukraine from captivity, my pelvis was broken and no one was sure what was going on with my eyes and other parts of my body. Doctors said they’d fix me in stages. First they inserted a titanium plate and rods, which meant I was able to sit. Then they helped me get up. I was like, wow. I genuinely believed that my blurred vision would go away and I’d be able to distinguish colors again and would resume service after six months of rehab somewhere. A lot of my friends were still taking part in hostilities, so I didn’t want to sit around in hospitals.

During my first visit to the Eye Microsurgery Center, I was told that my left eye has only 4% vision and my right eye no more than 50%. I was destroyed by that. I called my brother straight away, the one who serves in the military. That was the first time I cried – probably the first time since I came back from captivity – and started accusing other people. I knew that I couldn’t effectively serve in the unit where I’d served before any more, but I needed time to process that emotionally.

It’s strange to think about civilian life during the war. I still lived in a different context where downloading new software for my mobile phone or laptop seemed so trivial. I only cared about whether I’d be able to see the [rifle’s] reticle and front sight, and to detect enemy movements.

Maybe I’d have found it easier if I left the army of my own volition. But I felt torn away from it. I couldn’t accept it. Everything I loved, my battalion, was destroyed. Some of my brothers in arms were killed, others are still in captivity. [Hlib shows us three photos of his brothers in arms] For a while I was the only person from my unit who was brought back [in a prisoner swap with Russia].

Initially I’d wanted to argue with the military medical board, but when I realized that there were three different reasons I could have been discharged, I figured I wouldn’t get anywhere with my arguments. And even if I did manage to stay, I wouldn’t be in a marine unit.

I’m the only one from my unit who left the military, and that really weighs on me. People who fought in Mariupol have resumed service and are now fighting to take back the left bank [of the River Dnipro in Kherson Oblast], while I live a civilian life in Kyiv with my dog. My former Ukrainian Leadership Academy student joined the same unit as I did, around the same time. Now he’s 22 and he’s still serving (he was deployed to Mykolaiv in the beginning of the full-scale war), and I’m 26 and I’ve been discharged.

   

It’s strange to think about civilian life during the war

   

 

In the army everything is simple. In civilian life there are a lot of nuances. There’s hypocrisy and other things I don’t like. For example, if I come to the medical-social board [to determine disability status] as just Hlib, they don’t want to talk to me. But if I tell them that I defended Mariupol and was in Russian captivity, they immediately start talking to me differently: “Thank you for your service” and “You’re amazing.” And I’m like: “Fucking hell, I came in two minutes ago and didn’t want to use my social status as leverage.”

Everything in civilian life changes fast. In the army everything is a lot clearer: there is a clear delineation between friend and foe. If you want to transfer to another unit and you can explain why you need to do that, no one treats you like a traitor or says you let them down.

These days I sometimes catch myself realizing that I have fewer and fewer civilian friends, and that’s alright with me. We all have the same passport, but we live in different Ukraines; we have different visions and ideas. I don’t ask them to understand me. No civilian friendship can stand in for the bond you have with your brothers in arms. You can’t find what you find in the military anywhere else.

 

 

Reintegrating into civilian life

My return from the military to civilian life has been stretched out in time, because the war isn’t over yet. When I talk about “the victory”, I no longer know what exactly that word means to me. At times my emotions are heightened, and at others they quiet down. Now they’re heightened: a friend of mine who was deployed to the same positions as me died on Saturday [2 December, with the interview recorded on 4 December]. He was 22. He lived through the defense of Mariupol and Russian captivity, and had three amputations following Ukrainian efforts to retake the left bank [of the River Dnipro in Kherson Oblast].

Here in Kyiv there are so many guys who haven’t joined the military. My question is: Why? Why are they here while people who have gone through captivity are trying to get back to service? That’s a really sensitive issue for me, every interaction could become explosive. Once I lost my temper with a food delivery driver. Another time I was walking somewhere with my girlfriend and some guy didn’t see us as he was reversing onto the sidewalk. He opened the door of his car and spoke to me in Russian, and at that moment I wanted to punch him.

The reintegration of a veteran into civilian life lasts at least 18 months, according to a Veteran Hub study. Sometimes my colleagues track my progress on the timeline we’ve created. But that’s an average term. What’s important is whether you have a sense of closure when you leave the military. I don’t have a sense that I had fulfilled my duty, because Ukraine hasn’t won, and still I’m no longer in the military.

I was released from captivity in April 2022. I was one of the first prisoners to be brought back. At the time, I was surrounded by love and care. Everyone wanted to be part of my story, “my friend has been through captivity” – and I got it – I’d see 8 to 15 people every day. It was difficult, because everyone wanted to know the same things, and I had to repeat the same things over and over, like a broken tape. Sometimes I’d just pretend I was about to fall asleep. Still, I liked the attention.

At a certain point people started paying less and less attention to me, and that was good. With a constant stream of people you don’t always know what’s going on. Eventually, the issues that my brain didn’t have time to process in captivity started to come up. My brain couldn’t figure out what was real and had really happened, and what wasn’t.

At first I was only by myself at night, but eventually I got more time alone. I used to have obsessive dreams. Then I decided to get off painkillers, to avoid getting hooked. That was painful and hard, a fight with myself.

A rehabilitation therapist would pick me up, and I’d go to get injections and undergo treatments for my legs. In August I realized that there are things I just couldn’t handle. I was looking for a psychotherapist, but I had very particular demands: it had to be a former military serviceman – preferably a man, and ideally someone who had been injured fighting. So that him saying “I get it” really meant something.

I found therapists through Veteran Hub and the Ukrainian Veterans Foundation. I registered my request and they called me back the next day and gave me the therapists’ contact details. I met with one of them online, and I took walks in the Hryshko botanic garden with the other one. We would explore a different part of the garden each time.

After I completed rehabilitation in Kyiv, I was sent to Odesa. I spent two months there: September and October. I spent a lot of time by the sea listening to audiobooks and thinking about what I could do if I left the army – my original plan was to serve for at least 10 years, until I was 35. I remember extensive [Russian] attacks on Odesa. People would run around, anxious, while I’d get a hit of adrenalin and feel prepared for action. I thought: “Whoah, my body is still okay, it’s pretty interesting how it responds to danger.” Eventually I decided to look for work in an organization at the intersection of the military and civilian sectors.

When I got back to Kyiv in November, I ran into a friend who was working at Veteran Hub. I was just being discharged from the military, and he advised me to get in touch with Veteran Hub – he said I might be interested in the work they’re doing. At first I went there just to talk to them, but eventually I was invited for an interview and they offered me a position – though now I work in a different position.

The way I move through my life is shaped by circumstances. I recently had a conversation with Emma Antoniuk and she cited Atlas Shrugged, about “the man without purpose” being “the most depraved type of human being.” My purpose was to serve Ukraine, to defend it with arms. At the age of 25, I seem to have achieved that goal, but I haven’t come up with a new one. I struggle to plan ahead, a month is the most I can handle. I got a dog though – additional responsibility.

I still sometimes feel very lonely. I would like every soldier to have a person or a pet that could help them alleviate this loneliness. Each morning I look at pictures of the guys and ask myself: “Why was it like this?” And no one can give me an answer: not religion, not society, not the state. I need to find an answer for myself. If I can’t wear a military uniform and serve my country that way, I need to do my best in my capacity as a civilian.

Sometimes I get calls informing me that someone I served with in Mariupol was killed. I put my uniform on and go to pay my last respects. Their mothers tell me how important it is that the guys their sons fought with come to their funeral. Only then I feel like I’m still needed.

 

How can civilians support soldiers?

Civilians who find themselves interacting with soldiers can ask them what kind of support they need. It’s important that they don’t assume there are similarities between civilian experience and that of soldiers. Their experiences are different, and civilians will never understand why I get frustrated by certain things. Though now I’m a civilian too.

Civilians should also give military personnel more time on their own. The fact that I need time alone doesn’t mean that I don’t love my girlfriend or my friends. I just need to laze around on the sofa or go for a walk and listen to a podcast. Now I’m grateful to the people around me for their willingness to accept me with all of my peculiarities. They just take me for who I am. There isn’t enough of this simple human approach. I also try to teach myself to take people for who they are, regardless of their status.

I don’t have my veteran’s status carved in my forehead. I look like an average hipster from the Podil neighborhood, though I don’t like avocados. If someone says something really cringe, I ask them politely (or occasionally rudely) whether they know what they’re talking about.

These days I only wear my uniform to funerals or official events (which are for the most part non-existent). I like it when people recognize me when I’m just wearing my civilian clothes. There’s a coffee shop that was really tactful about offering me something for free: I ordered a Capuorange, a sandwich, and something sweet, and they said: “Would you mind if the coffee was on us? By the way, thank you for your service.” They let me decide, they didn’t act as if I can’t afford a coffee. So it didn’t hurt my soldier’s pride. I was so pleased, I just couldn’t help smiling.

   

In her civilian life, Yuliia Kirillova studied to be a lawyer and volunteered. She was 20 when she joined the army. Her husband, who also served in the military, was killed in the Russian-Ukrainian war. Kirillova is currently the head of the social department of Ukrainian Women Veteran Movement and the analytics department of the Ukrainian Veterans Foundation. She also teaches in the Kyiv-Mohyla Academy’s management department.

   

   

That winter I could feel the cold in my bones, I still really hate the cold

   

I’ve wanted to fight injustice since I was school-age. Yes, some books we covered in school mentioned that the moskals attacked Ukraine, but they didn’t talk about it directly, so I read a lot of things that weren’t part of the curriculum. [“Moskal” is a derogatory Ukrainian term for Russians - ed.] The Russian embassy was on the other side of the fence when I studied at the  National Academy of Internal Affairs. I wanted to throw my cigarette butts there. (It was 2010.)

I spent as much time as I could at the Maidan [during the Revolution of Dignity] given my work and studies. For a while I felt guilty for being there less than my friends. I didn’t know what to say when everyone started sharing stories of their time at the Maidan. Yes, I helped build a barricade. Yes, I went with some people to Viktor Pshonka [former Prosecutor General of Ukraine] and Viktor Yanukovych’s estate in Mezhyhiria. Yes, we were chased by police cars on a few different occasions.

My husband joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine first, in March 2014. He served in the 30th Mechanized Brigade. I was just starting to volunteer. In August 2014, my husband was killed. That was a turning point for me. At times like that you just wonder whether it’s worth doing anything at all.

I remember someone calling the office of the volunteering center where I worked around the time when the Ilovaisk encirclement took place. Several soldiers’ relatives were looking for them and we knew for sure that they were captured by the Russians, but I couldn’t tell their relatives because talks about prisoner exchange were being held right around the same time. I didn’t say anything, but I thought: those people are alive, so there’s hope. I just needed to get myself together and keep working.

I chose tactical medicine and organized supplies for frontline hospitals and combat medics. I completed a Red Cross course in tactical medicine myself. During the fight for the Donetsk Airport a colleague and I took tactical medicine supplies to Debaltseve; we had a lot of requests from there. Ihor Ilkiv from the Pyrohov Medical Company told me: “Sweetie, let’s go. I need you to come with us in an ambulance.” I told him I couldn’t do it because I didn’t have the right skills, but he said we did the training together, so I’ve got what it takes. We drove there at night, when [the Ukrainian troops] were already almost completely encircled.

When you’re 20, it’s really scary to be driven god knows where, to do god knows what – something that I’d only seen in movies or read about in books. The first winter was extremely difficult. My clothes were constantly wet from snow and blood, I was constantly cold, there was nowhere to warm up. I was consumed by despair: Why is this happening? You’re barely surviving, trying to save people’s lives, but only 300 kilometers away life goes on and bars and clubs are open as usual. This dissonance was unbearable.

That winter I could feel the cold in my bones, I still really hate the cold. Doctors told me that bones can’t hurt, that that’s a phantom pain, but other men and women who were there at the time also felt that. Now I know that what was happening then was nothing in comparison to what’s happening today.

It’s painful to hear that people aged 18-19 are joining the army. I wish no one younger than 25 – the age when people become mature psychologically – had to do it. It’s an extremely traumatic experience, not everyone can cope with it. I know people who just couldn’t adapt. When they were discharged from service back during the Anti-Terrorist Operation, they started looking for some other war to fight, for a source of adrenalin. A guy I knew loved racing his motorbike. He died in an accident.

[The Anti-Terrorist Operation, or ATO, is a term used from 2014 to 2018 by the media, the government of Ukraine and the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE) to identify combat actions in parts of Donetsk and Luhansk oblasts against Russian military forces and pro-Russian separatists – ed.]

   

I nearly died from doctors’ efforts to save me

   

 

I had no military experience, only a law degree, so I was drafted as a clerk. Everyone’s paperwork says they have been drafted in accordance with the presidential decree – mine says that I volunteered to be drafted. I was a clerk at a military unit for a while, then I was transferred to a position of intelligence scout and grenade launcher operator. I completed training at a military training ground, then was deployed to the front for several months.

A tragedy had occurred in a unit that was based nearby: Ukrainian soldiers shot a servicewoman who somehow ended up at a position where she wasn’t supposed to be. It was 2016. The General Staff issued a decree that women ought to be transferred to positions suited for women. That was why another woman (a sniper from a different company) and I were transferred to medical service.

I was hospitalized with an injury right as my contract was about to expire. I spent several days in emergency care. I nearly died from doctors’ efforts to save me. I developed type 2 diabetes because of the treatment I was getting. That was the most important experience in my life, it was physically extremely difficult. I realized I needed to rest before I could think about the rest of my life.

At first I really did rest and tried to recover my health. The worst thing is when you get so tired of sitting around there’s nothing that you want. I remember weeks being depressed. My therapist explained that some people develop “white depression”: everything seems to be alright and you smile as you walk around – others would never say you’re depressed. But you hit a moment when you just can’t – or don’t want to – get up from the bed. You spend the entire day in bed, you’re not even hungry. I could only sleep, read books and watch films – just to escape reality and distract myself from my issues. I had those depressive episodes for about a year.

Then I realized I needed to do something about it, to move forward. To use both my pain and my strength to reach for new horizons. I didn’t want to be a lawyer anymore, so I enrolled to study. It was the same as it is with sports: the first few weeks you have to force yourself to do it, but then you get used to it and without realizing it you find yourself rushing to work, classes, or to meet friends.

 

   

Women won’t be ‘equal’ until women are given opportunities to achieve this equality

   

 

 

I joined the Women Veteran Movement in late 2018. It was the second substantial meeting of women veterans; it was held in the village of Pukhivka. We started to formulate our organization’s mission, vision, and values. I liked the idea, I wanted to implement everything we talked about straightaway. We were told nothing would come out of it, everyone would laugh at us, that we’re just wasting grants, that no one would want to listen to what we had to say. But we were able to make it work through our personal contacts.

We used to joke that we’d work for food – and that’s more or less how it was. None of us ever got paid. Sometimes we’d get paid in coffee and sandwiches during a coffee break at some event. But we were – and still are – so passionate about our mission. Now the organization is different though. We were able to achieve so much: 63 combat positions are now open for women in the security and defense sector. This is a major breakthrough.

Each one of us has faced discrimination. I was transferred, against my will, from my unit and banned from doing what I wanted to do. Andriana [Arekhta], who was serving in an assault unit, was officially employed as a seamstress. Then a military enlistment office would question what a seamstress was doing at frontline positions, and would reprimand her instead of issuing her insurance and compensation for her injuries.

We have de jure helped open up certain combat positions to women, but de facto we continue to see that no one wants to allow women to take up those positions. The change has to begin with the people who are making decisions in the security and defense sector.

Women are in no way inferior in combat. Yes, they often join the army after having had a civilian career, or after graduating from university or from school; they often have no relevant skills. But they can’t acquire those skills unless they’re given training. Women won’t be “equal” until women are given opportunities to achieve this equality – opportunities to study and to train abroad.

There were many occasions when I wanted to go back to the army. On 26 February 2022, I came back from the US with suitcases and boxes full of tactical medicine kits, even though I was offered an opportunity to stay there. Military enlistment officials didn’t want to hire a woman with limited ability, so they did what they could to avoid hiring me. When they needed paramedics it suddenly turned out I needed to have a diploma proving I had medical education.

I was helping at a medical facility on the Makarivka front in the spring of 2022. We organized evacuations of military personnel and civilians. I wasn’t mobilized but we coordinated our actions with the Armed Forces of Ukraine and territorial defense. After the liberation of Kyiv Oblast, I came down with strep and was hospitalized. When you experience a period of relative calm after being under constant stress, your body immediately surrenders.

I went to the military enlistment office several more times since, but they wouldn’t hire me. I started teaching at a university and was given a lot of work in the autumn of 2023. So when I got a call from a military enlistment office telling me that they wanted to mobilize me, a year after my initial attempts to join the army, I didn’t agree. I had a spine injury and was using crutches – I was no warrior.

The biggest barrier to finding a job was in my own head. Working a civilian job felt like betraying myself – as if I could no longer be useful in ways that I was useful before. Your life is no longer in service of your Motherland’s defense; you feel like you’re no longer part of it.

You also lose skills and experience while you’re serving in the army. It’s extremely difficult to catch up with several years of absence, especially when you’re gripped by either stupor or depression. Everything depends on whether you can motivate yourself and are able to kick your own butt to get going – or whether you have someone who could help you do it. For example, a friend of mine who had an amputation struggled to overcome his fear and even just write a CV. I’d already talked about him [to employers], we just needed a CV for the HR department and their formalities. He said he’d do it, but he didn’t – that’s also a barrier.

I also head the analytics department at the Ukrainian Veterans Foundation, I go on a lot of work trips and do a lot of research. Another project I lead is the 24/7 support hotline. I also still work for the Women Veteran Movement – it’s like our child, and it has a lot of different branches: charity, a humanitarian headquarters, a sewing workshop… And we’re planning to launch several others. I’ve also registered as a sole trader; I offer consultations and pay tax.

   

I experienced switching to a civilian profession as self-betrayal

   

 

The Ukrainian Veterans Foundation conducted in depth interviews with veterans and employers about barriers to employment. Some employers worried about veterans’ physical and mental health, the risk of addiction and aggression, but the majority of them believed that veterans don’t lose their skills even during service; in fact quite the opposite, they thought that veterans gain a unique experience.

Talking to veterans we realized that the majority of fears are in their own heads. We all remember the time when veterans would be chased off public transport with words: “We didn’t send you there.” Only a handful of people supported veterans then. Today’s veterans’ fears date back to that time.

One veteran focus group told us they needed only rehabilitation and retreats. It’s important not to give them only social benefits; it’s important not to make them dependent on welfare. Unemployment brings with it a risk of depression, addiction, aggression, anger, and dissatisfaction.

An average veteran is a young, working age person willing and prepared to grow and develop after being discharged from service. Helping veterans with employment should go hand in hand with medical support and rehabilitation. Everything should be working together.

   

Reintegration won’t truly begin until we realize that our insane questions can hurt others

   

 

The most important thing civilians can do now is stop asking stupid questions. “So when will the war end?” That makes you wonder whether you should punch that person or just turn around and leave. Reintegration won’t truly begin until we realize that our insane questions can hurt others. No law and no strategy exists without people upholding and abiding by it. If those people have no values, then nothing will change.

It’s incredibly important to show empathy and talk to each other despite our different political and religious views or our wider worldviews. We have to unite around a shared goal; that’s  what happened in the Women Veteran Movement. It was formed by women who were so different from each other, women who were unlikely to ever meet one another otherwise. But these women share a vision of the future.

We want to save as many of our defenders’ lives as we can. We’re buying tactical medicine, armored vehicles, drones, night visors; we’re helping our troops stay warm – because you remember the winters that have chilled you to your bones forever. We’re defending soldiers’ rights, because they often don’t know who to turn to or what their rights are. We are also supporting veterans and their families. We’ve just had a few more of our projects funded. These are projects for people who have lost their relatives in this war. We have to create the right environment and opportunities for them as well.

I was one of the first people to start talking about the need to prepare civilians for living alongside veterans, and not the other way round. But you need a systematic approach, you need to always keep in mind the soldiers’ needs. Yes, ours will be the country of veterans. There are already 1.5-2 million veterans – as well as their families, and the families of those who were killed or are missing. We will quickly run out of space in our country if we give every one of those people a plot of land, unless the katsap federation pays reparations – but what do we need the land that stinks of katsaps for? [“Katsap” is a derogatory Ukrainian term for Russians - ed.]

Reintegration in a country of veterans is an enormous undertaking. It’s not a job for one or two ministries. Each person has to change something inside their own head. Everyone has to understand that it concerns them and they won’t be able to avoid it rather than saying that they are paying taxes and holding up the “economic front” or just donating.

I hate moskals for what they did to the Ukrainian people’s consciousness, for having spent years morally destroying us, for this principle of theirs that everyone should mind their personal wellbeing instead of collective wellbeing. If we don’t make an effort to change ourselves and others around us, we will simply be destroyed. If you can’t change the way you think, at least try to instill a different sensibility in your children – that’s the best contribution to reintegration you can make.

 

   

 

Interview: Iryna Vyhovska, Viktoriia Kudriashova

Text: Viktoriia Kudriashova

Editor: Yaroslav Druziuk

Copy editor: Nika Ponomarenko

Design: Daryna Lysak, Yuliia Lopata

Translation and editing: Olya Loza and Sam Harvey