The three of us are sitting in the back of a minibus: in the middle, the Hungarian journalist; to his left, the former Montenegrin minister responsible for digital society and media, who now primarily lives in California and has been a leader of the local innovation office; to his right, one of the advisors to the Slovak National Bank, previously serving as a financial state secretary… This may sound like the beginning of an unfunny joke, but the story continues with their vehicle forced to turn back in the middle of the night at a checkpoint on the outskirts of Kyiv during curfew, the reason being that the delegation isn’t on the list of those allowed in.
At least our phones had stopped blaring sirens by then; they had quieted down. When someone enters Ukraine, it’s recommended as a precaution to download an app that alerts users to air raids. In the app, users can mark which region or area they are in, and the device would notify them in case of a Russian attack. After downloading the app and marking the Kyiv region, the first warning came as we were sitting in the car, telling us to take shelter in a bunker. After looking at each other and taking a quick glance at the driver, we continued our journey through the capital. The next night, however, we dutifully went to the bunker set up in the hotel’s parking level – but so much had happened by then.
First and foremost, we finally made it to the Ukrainian capital, our trip made possible by the organisation Friends of Europe. One of the flagship programs of this non-profit association is called European Young Leaders. Each year, the program brings together people under the age of 40 who otherwise would hardly have a chance to meet: people of different nationalities, working in different fields, with different passions and worlds. The program unites people working in the economic, cultural, and political spheres, as well as participants from the media and the world of sports. One of them is Valeriya Ionan, Ukraine’s Deputy Minister for Digital Transformation and European Integration. It’s thanks to all of this that we were able to take this trip, during which we had the chance to meet many Ukrainian government officials, digital experts, leaders from the civil sector, and even visit the iconic institution of the independent press, the editorial office of The Kyiv Independent, during the war.
But how come the war is still going on to begin with? During one of the meetings, a conversation partner of ours summed up with impressive simplicity why Ukraine is making so many sacrifices in this war and why the so-called realism of Balázs Orbán is unthinkable for patriotic Ukrainians:
I don’t want my children to grow up in Vladimir Putin’s country. I don’t want to have to carry them to bunkers. And I also don’t want to live in Italy.
After the war broke out, she stayed in Italy with the children while her husband served on the front lines. They couldn’t bear the distance for long: they returned home, and today the woman leads one of the country’s important programs. With this triangle, she illustrated the fundamental reasons behind Ukraine’s defence: they want to live freely, in peace, and in their own homeland.
These are the things they are fighting for, then, but there is so much more to say about this, much like about how society is enduring the war, how the home front is organized, the challenges of reintegrating returning veterans, and how Ukraine’s digitalisation is progressing at an astonishing pace — something often underestimated from the outside. But first of all, about what it means to be jolted awake from the deepest sleep by the sound of a siren.
“I’d like to sleep for eight hours straight again”
Breakfast is served from six to ten. You’ll find the elevator just over there. And you can reach the bunker via that staircase. The hotel’s system will also alert you in case of an air raid
– such a crash course given by hotel receptionists might be familiar to many; all basic information is provided after checking in, with just one extra detail added during wartime.
I placed my jeans and sweater next to the bed. At 2:56 a.m., my phone started screeching, and soon the hotel’s internal system joined in to ramp up the noise. I dressed and headed downstairs. The hotel being a fancy one, the shelter maintained at the parking level was no different: Wi-Fi, water dispensers, bean bags, beds, tables, and chairs. Most spend their time there in silence; about half an hour passes before the message pops up: it’s over, you can go back to rest. The night after I got to bed after midnight, but had a hard time falling asleep. Even after just one miserable day’s experience, the awareness gnawed at me: I’d have to get up again soon anyway.
This single aspect of the war helps illustrate how much of it is impossible to get used to. Perhaps our limited capacity for empathy is the biggest barrier to truly understanding what it means to live in a war. And to reminding ourselves that
That is, if they consider the triangle mentioned above (no to Putin, no to the bunker, no to giving up their homeland) as the foundation of their lives.
And of course, we’re now talking about a luxury bunker here, located in what’s perhaps the most protected part of the country: what could all this be like for a mother in Kharkiv living on the fourth floor of a building with no elevator, dragging her two little ones downstairs in the middle of the night, while all she knows about her husband is that he could die on the front line at any moment?
In conversations with many, it becomes clear that this is one of the most unthinkable emotional and mental pressures — constantly waking up to the possibility that you might get hit. I asked several people if there might be any specific military reasons behind the night-time attacks, but I heard no convincing replies. Everyone believes that it’s psychological warfare. The aim is to wear down the nervous system through constant alertness and the impossibility of rest. Of course, many cities are well-protected, with bombs and drones not getting through so often, so sometimes you might feel like you can stay put. But then there’s the impossible moral question:
Something slipping past the defences in that one careless moment could result in lifelong, unbearable trauma…
Yet while I’m writing about air raid sirens, Kyiv has a life beyond them resembling peaceful cosmopolitan cities: bustling downtown areas, trendy cafés, young people drinking wine, beautiful squares. Only the military checkpoints and memorial exhibitions remind people of what they all know by nightfall: they are living in a war. This becomes clear from how their sentences become simpler when asked about the terrible times, from how they condense their thoughts in questions that might seem trite in peacetime:
Do you know how important the time is that you spend with your parents, with your father? Do you know how important every moment you get to live is?
These same questions may seem light as air in the midst of Budapest’s nightlife, but they weigh paralysingly heavily on the mind when the girl sitting next to you in Kyiv asks them. The same goes for this:
There’s no electricity. You know that without it, there’s actually nothing? You can’t turn on the lights, charge your phone, watch TV, or do the laundry.
The Russians have caused brutal damage to Ukraine’s basic infrastructure, hence the so many dark periods. The Ukrainians organise daily life on the home front so that it’s as predictable as possible. They plan where and when shutdowns should occur, also having developed an app where users can check what awaits them at work or at home that day. What awaits those on the front, however, is another question.
How long can they hold out?
But so many are at the front. We were heading to one of the ministries when we ran into a few women protesting. They were opposing the current conscription rules, which they found unclear, arguing that the logic behind the rotation of soldiers is not transparent, and their loved ones have been away from them for too long.
Behind what seems like a military policy issue lies one of the war’s gravest moral and political dilemmas. Soldiers are rotated so rarely because there simply aren’t enough of them. And the only possible way to replenish the ranks would be to deploy younger generations, potentially introducing general mobilisation. But that would also mean sacrificing their vision for the future. Many are giving their blood to ensure the survival of their homeland, but it can only survive if there are Ukrainian children left — and to ensure that, part of society must be protected from the bloodshed.
This delicate balance can only be maintained as long as society supports it.
This is exactly what The Economist highlighted in a recent cover story focusing on the emerging generational divide in Ukraine regarding the war. Skepticism is on the rise among the younger generations, perhaps unsurprisingly given that their lives could soon be continued on the battlefield.
If we are to end up with this, what was all this sacrifice good for? – the question may follow.
For example, their sacrifices ensured that Ukrainians haven’t lost half of their country. Perhaps the Treaty of Trianon might bring back sufficient memories among Hungarians to remember the pain, consequences and unresolvable traumas of such a national loss. Thanks to the Ukrainians’ relentless bravery, however, they will lose far less than what Putin had planned no matter the outcome. They’ve prevented events from unfolding entirely as the Russian president had intended. Ukrainians are doing everything in their power to ensure that their fate remains determined by themselves only: this is practically what we call sovereignty and the fight to ensure it.
According to the Ukrainians, their success primarily hinges on air defence. President Volodymyr Zelensky has repeatedly stressed that this is what they lack the most, while many have pretended not to understand why he isn’t asking for food or concrete mixers instead. Deputy Minister for Regional Development Serhiy Derkach explained to us that air defence is crucial because without it, everything else may prove futile.
Speaking of bridges: construction is no easy task either. Foreign companies won’t enter the country due to the high risks of losing personnel and equipment. Only a handful of Ukrainian firms are capable of building bridges, and labour shortages in male-dominated fields make things even more challenging. Thousands of drivers are missing from public transportation, and the same labour shortages hinder the rebuilding of physical infrastructure.
Now imagine trying to manage large-scale educational programs during the war, retraining women to become bridge builders, police officers, or bus drivers.
Those who returned
Many have already returned home, but Ukrainian society is just beginning to grasp the long-term effects of the war. For example, perhaps no Eastern European country is prepared for the sudden appearance of tens of thousands of disabled individuals. Beyond the physical toll, there is widespread mental deterioration. Many returnees are suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), which could lead to more weapons appearing in homes, an increase in veteran-related crimes, and a rise in domestic violence. Reintegrating these individuals into society is a massive challenge. As Hungarian author Sándor Jászberényi poignantly writes in his novel ‘Mindenki másképp gyászol’ (‘Everyone grieves differently’): those who return are not those who left.
Still, at least they return. They can see their children again, many of whom may not have even seen their classmates for years: first coronavirus, then war — and three-four years of their lives have slipped away.
However, there are many who have lost their parents in this age. Perhaps the most heartbreaking hours of the program were spent with the leaders of a civil organisation. Their name, “Gen U“, already hints at a generation growing up during the war in Ukraine. They work on the mental rehabilitation of this generation, saving tormented souls. For instance, one child witnessed their parents get shot right in front of them before getting shot in the head themselves – and surviving. The experts at the organisation are working to help these traumatised individuals return to life, the aim being to help them think about the future. Founder and leader Oksana Lebedeva is one of the main characters in a 25-minute film they showed us. The movie, titled ‘Stolen Childhood’ tells the story of orphaned children kidnapped to Russia.
An insane technological competition: yesterday’s drone is not enough; tomorrow’s one is needed
These kidnappings only strengthen the Ukrainians’ resolve, but on the front lines, technology is just as important as determination. And that’s a field where keeping up with developments is difficult.
Take, for example, the case when the parliament of a Western country approves a drone shipment as support. In this case, there’s political debate, then voting, followed by notification to the relevant organisations that they can start packing the equipment. Then comes the shipment, followed by unpacking, training, and finally, deployment. All of this, obviously, takes time.
And time is precious indeed, as the pace of technological competition happening on the front lines is unimaginable from an outside perspective. Developers are reaching newer and newer levels to outmatch the defensive/offensive capabilities of the other side, and the enemy immediately tries to respond to these innovations. So, once again, you’re forced to come up with an even more advanced solution:
Given the level at which this battle is being fought, it’s logical that the Ukrainians believe that after the war, they will have one of the most advanced defence industries, due to — much to their pain — every tool being live-tested in combat. At the same time, this also means the Russians are doing the same, and it would be a mistake to underestimate their technological capabilities.
And with defence technology developing at such a frenzied pace, coupled with the increasing capacities of artificial intelligence, it’s natural that solutions developed for the front lines and military objectives will also appear in other areas of society. Historical experience shows that these innovations eventually make their way into other aspects of our lives: just think of this tiny little thing we call the internet…
Speaking of technology: it was astonishing to witness the pace of digitalisation in the war-torn country. Naturally, the reality of war fundamentally shapes and accelerates changes. The air raids, destroyed infrastructure, labour shortages, and the lack of resistance due to the much more subdued political competition present both a pressure and an opportunity to develop.
An example of alternative solutions is the Diia app, which could be described as the local equivalent of a citizen’s portal. The development of this app began before the war, as the country views IT as a strategic sector, aiming to become one of the leading powers in this field. Thanks to this, Ukrainians were able to focus even more on an already established strategy once the bloodshed began. The app provides access to numerous digital documents (from personal ID cards through birth certificates to student IDs), allowing both citizens and companies to manage their affairs. The Ministry of Digital Transformation aims for 100% of public services to be available online. Currently, more than 20 million citizens are registered users, with 70 services being accessible.
When Valeria Ionan talks about their vision, it’s reminiscent of the visionary presentations you might see at corporate conferences: what’s unusual is that this vision is coming from a politician responsible for public services. It’s hard to imagine that this concept won’t be endangered by a potential change in government, and it’s difficult to picture total political unity and societal support behind such radical changes. She also speaks passionately about the quality the app must have if it is to compete for our attention with other content, services, and applications. With unwavering enthusiasm, she even addresses how they plan to bridge generational gaps: there’s no time to stop, and those who don’t want to keep up aren’t forced — they can still use traditional procedures as they wish. However, she believes the quality and convenience of the service will eventually draw the vast majority into the system, regardless of age or education.
The case of Valeria Ionan also highlights how the war is transforming women’s roles and status in society. Of course, we know from history how women took over various jobs during World War II while so many men were away at the front lines. But witnessing the situation first-hand is different. For eyes accustomed to the political sphere of Hungary, it was disarming to see the preparedness of the numerous female deputy ministers, but even more striking was the commitment and passion these women radiated. Some of them had volunteered as early as 2014 – as they believe that’s when the war began – helping in any way they could. One of the women excused herself from the dinner table to call her child before bedtime.
A trial of patriotism
We are unfortunate to have a neighbour like Russia. The European Union is very fortunate to have a neighbour like Ukraine.
This remark was made by one of our conversation partners, reflecting their belief that they are defending the European community as well. After all, had they surrendered, Putin, now a victor with no military losses, would have become the EU’s immediate neighbour. It is thanks to them that this is not the case.
I only spent a few days in Kyiv, but it was a deeply transformative experience. Speaking with leaders and citizens who are at war with what seems to be a much stronger aggressor helps one understand the world better. Sándor Jászberényi’s reports vividly and brutally depict the bloodshed at the front. I could not see that far, but I did get a glimpse into the thinking and motivations of the country’s leading elite. There are still many things I haven’t written about, such as geostrategic dilemmas or the Ukrainian newspaper The Kyiv Independent, but for the remainder of the article, I will only write about that which concerns Hungary.
If there’s one constantly recurring theme in Hungarian public life and politics, it’s the idea that politicians love their country. At the same time, it’s become quite fashionable to speak condescendingly about Ukrainians fearlessly defending their homeland, as if expecting them not to. Would we, perhaps, just hand over Eastern Hungary or Budapest if asked more forcefully?
Luckily, we don’t have to answer that question right now. But I’ve been thinking a lot about such questions. Even as our train was leaving Kyiv, heading toward the Polish border, our phones started blaring air raid warnings again. Continuing on our set track, we just smiled at each other and turned off the app together, preferring to keep the smile.
The truth is that an aggressor has attacked a sovereign nation. In this moral situation, there’s no question about who is in the right.
Perhaps this is the question lingering in my mind the most. Not what anyone thinks about the outcome of the war, or their opinions regarding how to end it, the time the struggle becomes unsustainable, or the terms for potential negotiations etc. Many answers can be given; many outcomes outlined, as if one could argue with ‘realistic’ scenarios why it was rational for Ukrainians to give up. But what really interests me is our answer to the question of who should win the war.
Because what we think about justice reveals a great deal about how we are.
And we must know who we are.
