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‘on Their Tv Screens, They’re At War With Nato. Outside My Window, There’s War Every Single Day.’. Meduza’s Readers In Ukraine And Russia Reflect On How The War Has Shaped Their Lives — And Deepened Divisions
Visitors at a makeshift memorial for Ukrainian and foreign fighters on Kyiv’s Independence Square. February 23, 2025.
Three years ago today, Russia launched a full-scale war against its neighbor, Ukraine. Even as the war rages on, it has already wrought untold destruction, claimed countless lives, torn families apart, and made Ukraine the most heavily mined country in the world. Every day, Meduza asks readers of its Russian-language site to share their thoughts on the war and how it has affected them. Their letters reflect a wide range of experiences and opinions. Here, we share a few, translated into English.
The opinions expressed in these letters are those of the authors and do not necessarily reflect Meduza’s editorial position.
Nataliya
Kremenchuk, Ukraine
It feels like on the evening of February 23, 2022, I fell into a deep and terrible sleep — and I just can’t wake up. In this endless nightmare, all I can do is moan in helplessness, but the dream doesn’t break, and the dawn never comes. I can’t understand how something like this is even possible in the modern world, at this level of technological development. How is it possible when all my relatives on my father’s side are over there, in Russia? In three years, not a single call from them to ask “How are you?” They have all chosen to pretend that nothing is happening at all. How did primitive, cave-dwelling instincts triumph over human reason? I have no answer.
My life has been split into before and after. And everything before now feels like a fog, like a story I made up. Everything after is raw reality — terror, fear, denial, resignation, and finally, the acceptance of the inevitable.
I’m grateful that I’m home, that I have water, food, heat, electricity (even with scheduled blackouts), a job — and that my city is far from the front lines. But I remember the terror of missile strikes on the power plant, the oil refinery, the shopping mall, the hydroelectric station. I remember the fear of daily Shahed drone attacks. The fear of losing my home. The fear of being buried under rubble. But you adapt to everything. Resignation sets in. You accept everything — everything except human indifference and stupidity.
I don’t know if I, or my father — who was born in Russia and whose entire family is still there — will ever be able to forgive them for their indifference and stupidity. For believing the television instead of their own family, who tried to convey the truth, to tell them what was really happening, to describe the full horror of it. I wrote to my brother many times, always trying to explain things as objectively as I could, starting from the Revolution of Dignity. But after just a few of his replies, I realized my letters were pointless. On their TV screens, they’re at war with NATO. Outside my window, there’s war every single day.
Maria
St. Petersburg, Russia
I live with the deep conviction that, for me, life is essentially over. The only thing left is my responsibility to my child — to raise her, to make sure she doesn’t lose her humanity. Not once since this all began have I thought that something good might still happen. I simply don’t believe it. […]
I worry about my daughter constantly. […] Her school is steeped in propaganda — it’s like one of those images where the longer you look, the more horrifying details you notice. The administration fully supports the war and repeats every word Putin says. Many of the teachers are older women who long for the Soviet Union and tell the kids how wonderful it was. […]
My daughter is in seventh grade, and while she’s bright, she struggles in school. She needs to respect her teachers to feel motivated, but after hearing the absurdities they spout, it’s hard for me to convince her that she should listen to them. The worst part is that I have to remind her not to say too much, even to her friends. Many of her classmates [come from pro-war families], and if there are teachers who are against it, they keep quiet.
I keep quiet too. I always have. I only take part in protests that feel safe, and I never speak out on social media. The reason is simple — I value what little freedom I have, because I’m raising my daughter alone. If they take me away, no one will help her. […]
The morning the [full-scale] war began, I told my daughter everything. She asked, “Why haven’t we left?” That question is in my head every single day. We haven’t left because we have no money. No safety net to survive even a month in a new place. I often read the stories of those who managed to leave, and I’m always struck by how little I earn. Running away just to escape — I can’t do that. Not yet.
The first days
Nataliya
Mykolaiv, Ukraine
Like many others, I had to leave my country, my loved ones, my friends, and my job — all with a small child in my arms. I had a wonderful life in Ukraine. I wrote plays, ran a business, raised my daughter, and planned for the future. Now, I’m building a new life in another country in Europe. And I want to say this:
I understand those who hate everything Russian, and I understand the Russians who don’t understand this hatred. But we all have to come to terms with reality.
When I was a child, I was raped by a man, and for a long time after that, I hated all men. That’s how psychology works. We hate what — or who — has caused us pain. And it wasn’t Putin himself who pulled the trigger. The ones who shot, who killed, who raped, were Russians.
You — Russians — will have to come to terms with this hatred and accept it. Because it is an enormous pain, one that will not pass quickly. Most likely, it won’t pass at all. And this pain isn’t always subject to reason. For many Ukrainians, it is simply too great.
Russians came to our land and killed our loved ones and friends. They changed our lives forever. I was lucky — I was able to leave. But your tanks on my streets, your helicopters overhead, the endless rattle of gunfire, the never-ending sirens, the sleepless nights in the bathroom with my child — those will stay with me forever. And now, my friends and family live without clean water, often without electricity, and because of that, without heat, internet, or cell service. All of this while under constant shelling, with entire cities being wiped out!
And beyond that, a significant number of people in Russia support this war. If you look back at your history, war has always been your thing. Ukraine is far from the only country you have fought — or are fighting again. Trusting a country that has brought destruction, war, and “conflicts” always and everywhere is simply illogical and foolish.
Ukraine was unlucky in its neighbor. And that is why it will strengthen itself militarily — because otherwise, it will not survive. I think everyone understands that logic. The hatred will fade in a generation or two, but we will always have to remain vigilant. This is our fast-approaching new future — and it is inevitable.
Anton
Nizhny Novgorod, Russia
I’ll speak as someone who was born under Putin, who has lived my entire conscious life under him, but has always been against what is happening.
I just want this to be over. People shouldn’t be dying in wars in the 21st century. It doesn’t matter who they are — they just shouldn’t. But right now, it looks like the outcome of this war won’t be one that Ukrainians will welcome. At least not for those who don’t want to “simply end” the war. It feels like Ukraine will be forced into territorial concessions.
At the same time, I have no doubt that Russian propaganda will spin any outcome as a “mission accomplished” and an “absolute victory.” But can you call it a victory when countless people have been lost — whether killed or driven into exile — when the country’s real future has been all but destroyed for decades to come? No. And yet this entire military campaign will be talked about endlessly, glorified in propaganda as some kind of “sacred war.” It’s a deep scar on Russia’s history — one that will never fade.
But I don’t care. I know exactly what each side will say, how they will present the outcome, how those who dislike it — on both sides — will react. And all of it is utterly meaningless. How can we even argue about whether the end will be “just” or “unjust” when, in the process of reaching that so-called justice, people will continue to die? The only just outcome is for it to stop — and for nothing like this to ever start again. And I don’t care who has to make concessions to achieve peace. There must be peace.
I don’t know how I’ll talk about this war in the future. How I’ll speak with friends from other countries, with Ukrainians. But there will be time to figure that out. Right now, I just want this nightmare to end.
Kharkiv
Olena
Kyiv, Ukraine
It’s easy for Russians to sit somewhere in Vladivostok or Ulan-Ude and talk about how Ukraine needs to make concessions.
You don’t feel what we feel, you don’t understand what exactly we are afraid of and what we are fighting for. We are losing our identity. We are being turned back into a colony, into just another federal district. We are once again losing our language, our culture, our freedom.
Maybe from the outside, it seems to you that we’re living the wrong way, that we need to be set on the “right path,” taught how to live properly — or that we won’t lose anything at all.
But we will lose everything — just as we have before.
I don’t want my son to go to school and listen to state-mandated “Important Conversations” every morning. I don’t want to see the Russian tricolor [flag] on our streets or hear Russian voices dominating our media.
Your desire to “do good” for us makes me sick to my stomach. I am sick of your ideology, your culture of fear, informants, hostility toward your neighbors. Sick of your great-power chauvinism. I just want our country to be left alone — with real security guarantees.
That is exactly why every sane person here is against these negotiations about Ukraine without Ukraine. This isn’t diplomacy — it’s a land grab. A division of our resources. An attempt to erase our country and tens of millions of people from history, to wipe us off the map.
You can’t understand this. You simply aren’t capable of understanding it, because you’ve never known anything else.
Anna
Smolensk, Russia
I’m sick of everything. Sick of the war, the news, the false headlines, the relentless patriotic propaganda. Sick of Putin. Sick of the fact that anyone can now point at Russia and call it a terrorist state.
My grandmother supports the war — even though she spent more than 30 (!) years of her life in western Ukraine. That’s where her whole life played out, but after returning to Russia (before all of this began), she watched too much state TV and became a believer in “nationalists.” There’s no point in arguing with her, no point in even talking. Thankfully, my mother is against the war and isn’t afraid to say so.
A just peace? Will the war ever end? No. The war will end when the vile politicians and propagandists are gone — along with those who profit off Russia’s disgrace, stuffing their pockets before running off… Ah yes, running away — that’s now the sacred dream of Russians, too. To become a hero by escaping the country. But for what? To come back once it’s been cleaned up? And who will clean it up if everyone flees like rats from a sinking ship?
There’s no one to follow. No one left to give us hope for a life in a country that hasn’t been disgraced. No one capable of organizing real change. So what now — just wait for Putin to disappear? But they’ve already broken us. Everyone is afraid. At least we had [Alexey] Navalny — and now they’ve buried him, too.
They’ve ruined this country. Ukraine shouldn’t have to give up any of its land — that would be nonsense, not peace. I don’t want that kind of peace. Give me my 2013 back.
Life under occupation
Ivan (name changed)
Russia
I am a man with shame in my soul and a target on my back. I work in Russia’s defense industry — an engineer with second-level security clearance. I design radio receivers. I’ve been doing this since before the pandemic. My receivers don’t kill people, but they are made for the military, and now they are being used to kill, to destroy Ukrainian cities, to transmit inhuman orders. Before the [full-scale] war, I even felt a little proud of my work. It’s complex, intellectually demanding, not just anyone can do it. And it was meant to protect the country, my loved ones, and myself.
I always hated Putin — I went to every protest I could. And yet, with my degree, I ended up in the defense sector. I convinced myself that Putin and his gang were one thing, and [national] defense — protecting lives, health, and a way of life — was another. And, of course, you need money.
But since February 24, 2022, I have understood that I am now complicit in a massive crime. I thought about quitting — but what’s going to happen to the economy? Where would I work? I can’t leave the country, and I won’t be able to for years. I am more dependent on Russia’s economy than most. And after mobilization began, quitting became life-threatening.
So here I am, settled in, feeding from the hands of criminals. [...] I think that one day, I will have to answer for this. When that day comes, at least I will know that I am paying for something I deserve. Maybe then, I will dare to ask for forgiveness.
Kostyantyn
Kyiv, Ukraine
Do I think Russians are guilty? Yes! Every single one of them who was over 16 in 2012, during the Bolotnaya protests — every one of them is guilty! Those who cowardly betrayed their ideals, those who backed down, those who from the start held far-right, imperialist views (essentially supporters of Russian Nazism), and those who told themselves, “I stay out of politics.”
In general, every citizen of the territory that, for now, is called the russian federation is guilty. Everyone bears responsibility — and not just moral responsibility. […]
You ask about normalizing relations? Ask yourself this: when my son grows up, will he be able to engage constructively with Russians — whether in culture, science, business, or any other field? I already can’t. Will he? Anything is possible, but I’m not sure. And I’m afraid that by the time my younger son grows up, he too will have absorbed this hatred, poisoning his soul against everything tied to the word “russia.”
Mariupol
Darina
Originally from Russia
This world will bring nothing good to Russia — it is a world of “endless hatred” and “hypocrisy.”
For three years now, so much hatred has been poured onto Russians simply for the fact of our birth that it has gone beyond all limits. All this time, I have lived with an unrelenting sense of guilt — while those who are truly guilty, of course, feel none at all. And this world will not help us make things right.
Ukrainians believe that, compared to them, we have lost nothing — but I completely disagree. I have lost almost everything. My husband and I lost our jobs, we live in a foreign country, we lost nearly all our savings, and neither of us was able to be with our parents in their final days. Every day, I fear losing my relatives to the bombings — some are still in Ukraine, while only a few managed to escape. I don’t feel safe at home or anywhere else. […]
But the suffering of the Ukrainian people will be repaid: they have truth on their side, moral superiority. Sooner or later, they will be fine. We will not — no matter how this ends. If peace is reached on the terms of Russia’s current leadership, the Russian people will be plunged into years of horror. Ukrainians will be free, and we will be living in a dystopia. […] We are fighting with everything we have to hold on to some shred of our humanity, but we are still seen as scum.
For three years, the world has refused to do anything. It wants to keep receiving gas, oil, and money. Every brand has returned to Russia under a different name or through back channels. The so-called sanctions are a joke — the people making the decisions feel them only in the mildest way, like the inconvenience of having to make an extra stopover on a flight.
There’s no need to pity us. I am ready to take responsibility, to pay reparations. I am ready to survive in the terrible Russia of the future — because it is my home. But I am tired of being guilty. Neither I nor my little son — we have killed no one, we have harmed no one. We just want to live at home and live in peace. We need a real peace — a peace that would give us the moral right to return to a normal life.
Andrii
Kharkiv, Ukraine
What difference does it make to me, under the bombings in Ukraine, whether or not Russians bear collective responsibility? What matters to me is what they have done, are doing, or will do to ensure this never happens again — when they once again have a chance to influence something in their own country. And to understand that, I consume even more Russian content than I did before the war.
And what do I see? I see Russians returning to Russia. I see homophobic and racist jokes in the chat groups of Russians who have left. I hear Ivan Yamshchikov, an incredibly smart person, a professor at a German university and host of a great podcast, talking about how Russians supposedly invented everything before everyone else. I see [Russian YouTuber Yury] Dud shrieking at [Navalny ally Leonid] Volkov, accusing him of failing to defend some provocateur with a Russian flag. I see the Anti-Corruption Foundation, which, in the middle of a war, is still focusing on anti-corruption investigations into the army. I see [former oligarch turned Russian opposition figure Mikhail] Khodorkovsky and [former Yukos executive Leonid] Nevzlin, who look more like a 1990s organized crime syndicate.
And I realize that nothing has changed. If tomorrow Russia regresses to the 2000s, and the day after to the 2010s, and then, once again, the question arises of “defending Russia from radioactive mosquitoes from Ukraine,” everything will play out exactly the same way. No lessons have been learned. Everything happening now is just an attempt to justify each individual’s current position. […]
I don’t care about your past guilt — that already happened, and it can’t be undone. But all of these people I’ve just described (and millions of others) will, in the next war, once again say, “We’re not to blame, it just happened this way.” Forgetting all the little imperial bricks they’ve laid in the chain of “Russians created everything — I’m proud — cue the resentment — let’s do it again.”
Nataliya
Kremenchuk, Ukraine
Unfortunately, no matter how this horrific bloodshed ends, there will be no just peace for Ukraine. No one can bring back the dead, the wounded, or the missing. No one will return what was stolen — our homes, our possessions, our shattered lives. No one will restore the land scarred by war. It will take billions of dollars and decades for nature to recover, for the ecosystem to regain its balance.
Compensation can be paid, but no amount of money in the world can heal the pain of loss, displacement, and grief. The wound in our hearts from everything that has happened will stay with us for as long as we live.
