Ukraine at War: Life in a Country Resisting Russian Aggression for Three Years

Today, February 24, marks three years since Russia launched its full-scale war against Ukraine.

Orda.kz spoke with Ukrainians on this day.

Our main interlocutor is Ukrainian journalist Grigorii Pyrlik,  who runs the Ukraine - Central Asia Telegram channel.

Originally from Kyrgyzstan, he now lives in Lviv. At our request, Grigorii spoke with people from various regions of Ukraine, whose voices we will include throughout the article.

Q: Grigorii, How do Ukrainians feel after three years of war?

A: Emotions are very mixed. First of all, it’s important to note that for many Ukrainians, the war at the national level has been ongoing for 11 years, not just three. February 20, 2025, marked 11 years since Russia began its armed annexation of Crimea. Shortly after, the fighting in Donbas started.

Last November, Ukraine launched an information campaign to mark the 1,000th day since the start of the full-scale war. Many commented that it was like a “broken calculator” because this war started much earlier for some. Since 2014, countless Ukrainians have been forced to flee their homes.

I can share the story of a colleague. In the fall of 2014, I started a new job in Kyiv, where I met a journalist from Crimea. When Russia occupied Crimea that year, she left with her husband and child.

At first, they moved to Donetsk to stay with relatives. At that time, clashes between pro-Ukrainian and pro-Russian forces had already begun there, but Russia had not yet started active military operations or fully backed separatist militants. This family had to relocate twice within just one year—eventually settling near Kyiv.

Unfortunately, I don’t know what happened to them in February 2022. Stories like theirs are common — personal tragedies woven into the fabric of this war.

2014

Irakli, originally from Horlivka in the Donetsk region, left Donbas when the fighting erupted in 2014. He now lives in Lviv.

For my family, the war began in May or June 2014. I was 17. My friends and I would walk around town and see soldiers warning us, ‘You shouldn’t be here.’ When we asked why, they simply showed their weapons. Things got worse each month. I still remember when a Ukrainian plane flew over Donetsk, and separatists shot it down. They caught the pilot, tied him up, and spat on him. That moment created a deep sense of confusion. On one hand, he was a Ukrainian soldier defending us, but on the other, people saw him as an enemy attacking Donetsk and Luhansk. Eventually, my parents decided we had to leave. We went to my grandfather's house in Mykolaiv, thinking it would be for a few months. We packed what we could for the summer, expecting to return soon. But here we are —11 years later. Later, we moved to Kharkiv to start over. My parents went back to Horlivka to collect our remaining belongings, but they were terrified. They even argued over who should go — so that if anything happened, at least one of them would survive for my brother and me. In the end, they both went and saw firsthand the Russian soldiers, the gunfire, the chaos.

Q: Lately, Donald Trump’s remarks about Ukraine—particularly his claim that President Volodymyr Zelenskyy is a dictator — have made headlines. How do Ukrainians feel about this?

Grigorii Pyrlik: From what I see on Facebook, people aren’t necessarily in despair, but there’s a deep sense of frustration. Trump’s recent statements reflect a shift in the new U.S. administration’s stance — it seems they are blaming the victim, not the aggressor, for this war.

They are negotiating with Russia without involving Ukraine. Trump claims Ukraine had three years to negotiate.

But let’s remember: Trump himself had four years during his first presidency — when the war was already ongoing— to influence Russia, help liberate Ukrainian territories, and prevent further escalation. Perhaps if his administration had been tougher back then, we wouldn’t have reached this full-scale war.

But here we are.

Trump

Irakli: 

On one hand, we understand that we must rely on ourselves and our European partners. They have more at stake — because if Russia isn’t stopped here, it will come for them next. America, on the other hand, is more focused on money and resources. But what really stings is hearing these dismissive statements when so many have already died —soldiers, civilians. When I read about Zelenskyy, our government, and our people, I think: What the hell? You live thousands of miles away and never experience war firsthand, yet your words and actions impact the lives of people around me. It’s infuriating.

Katerina, a mother of three from the Kharkiv region, survived the Russian occupation of Kupiansk. She is now evacuated near the frontline.

It’s excruciating to see how, after helping Ukraine, the U.S. suddenly makes our president a scapegoat—blaming us as if we are at fault. What are we guilty of? Of being attacked? Of our children living through horrors in the 21st century? I can’t comprehend the atrocities we’ve witnessed in these three years. I want them to look into the eyes of mothers who have lost their children. Not just soldiers at the front, but the kids who were killed in their sleep — hit by missiles, either dead or disabled.

Q: Russia regularly targets Ukraine’s energy infrastructure. How do Ukrainians cope?

Grigorii Pyrlik: Ukraine has shown an incredible ability to adapt. On February 16, Russia struck a thermal power plant in Mykolaiv, leaving about 100,000 residents without heat. At the time, temperatures had dropped to -10°C.

Yet, within two days, the heating was restored. The authorities haven’t disclosed how exactly — probably to avoid conveying the details to the enemy — but they made it happen. Hospitals and social facilities were quickly connected to mobile boiler houses provided by Western partners.

As for power outages, I can share my own experience.

Last summer, my family stayed in a village in the Lviv region. It was summer, so no heating was needed, but electricity was. There were days when we had no power for up to 13 hours — turned off in cycles of two or three hours at a time. Imagine what this meant for businesses. My relatives ran a small shop there, and they had to wake up at night to switch on a generator so their products wouldn’t spoil.

Q: My friend visited Odesa last year and told me that the city's defining sound was the hum of generators powering coffee shops. Has this become a symbol of the times, not just in Odesa?

A: Yes, absolutely. For example, Lviv has always been one of Ukraine’s major tourist hubs, and it remains so even during the war. There are many cafés, restaurants, and people constantly walking the streets — even now. There's an alley called Kryva Lypa, which is packed with cafés.

When we visited in the summer, the loud hum of generators filled the air. Cafés were bringing them out; pharmacies were using them — people have adapted to relying on them. So yes, this has definitely become a symbol of our time.

The First Days 

Irakli:

Two days before the full-scale war started, I was talking with a friend, and she asked, ‘Irakli, do you think there will be a war?’ I told her I didn’t think so. But on the evening of February 23, a deep anxiety set in. I couldn’t sleep until three in the morning. When we woke up on February 24, I saw that my father had called 18 times. Then we heard knocking on the door — it was my brother’s wife. We opened it, and she said, ‘The war has begun!’ We started packing immediately. Strangely, there was no fear — just the instinct to gather our things, get to our parents, and figure out what to do next. Even though we had already lived through part of the war in 2014, the shock in 2022 somehow felt different. When we reached our parents, we had to decide what to do. The biggest worry was my wife’s parents — they were still in Mariupol. We were in contact with them for three days, and then — nothing. They, like many others, believed this would be over quickly, just like in 2014. They thought they’d endure a couple of months of occupation and that would be it. But as we now know, that was far from the truth.

Elena Tarasova, a Kharkiv resident who first relocated to the Khmelnytskyi region and later to Kyiv:

Around 4:00 AM, we heard the first explosions. My mother, my daughter, and I were in our apartment. My mom said, ‘It’s started!’ But I refused to believe it. I remember it almost as an anecdote now — we were sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to convince ourselves it was nothing. My mom said, ‘It’s just a car exhaust.’ But then reality set in. I started feeling physically unwell — my stomach was in knots, my whole body hurt. And strangely enough, we instinctively reached out to Belgorod, calling my cousin, who we were still in contact with at the time. My mom told him, ‘Lyosha, we hear explosions!’ And he responded, ‘Aunt Valya, what are you talking about? There’s no way we would start anything against you. Brother would never turn against brother.’ That actually calmed us down for a little while. But a few hours later, when I went outside to get water, I saw the truth — massive lines of people panic-buying everything they could.
I stayed in Kharkiv until April, still hoping it would all end quickly.

Q: Is there a divide between people in frontline regions and those in the rear? Do residents of frontline cities feel resentment toward those in western and central Ukraine, where there are fewer airstrikes? Or has the war united the country? What do you think is more dominant?

Grigorii Pyrlik: In my view, it’s a mix. There are definitely some tensions. When soldiers come to rear cities and see cafés open, streets full of people, and many men walking around, it’s natural for them to ask: ‘Why aren’t they at the front?’ It’s a logical question.

But at the same time, for those living in the frontline regions — or even in Kyiv, which Russia targets almost every night — rear cities provide a place to recharge. It’s a chance to take a walk, get some rest, and sleep without fear.

Because in Kyiv, with constant air raid sirens, drone and missile attacks, and the sounds of explosions, uninterrupted sleep is almost impossible.

There’s also no region in Ukraine untouched by this war. Yes, if you compare Lviv to Kharkiv, Lviv is clearly a rear city. But even here, the war is ever-present. My own experience proves this. We moved to Lviv at the end of August 2024, and on September 4, a massive Russian missile strike hit the city.

The historic center was damaged, including residential buildings. This attack gained international attention because of the tragedy of Yaroslav Bazilevich’s family. After the air raid siren went off, the whole family took shelter in the stairwell of their apartment building. But Yaroslav went back inside to grab some water. That’s when the missile struck. The entire building, including the stairwell, was destroyed. His wife and three children were killed. Yaroslav survived.

This happened in what was supposed to be a ‘rear’ city like Lviv.

Beyond that, in Lviv’s central Rynok Square — a popular area filled with cafés and tourists — funerals for Ukrainian soldiers take place every morning and afternoon.

The garrison church nearby holds the services; then, the funeral procession moves through Rynok Square, where city officials come to pay their respects before the burial. So, while some parts of Ukraine may be safer than others, there is no place entirely untouched by this war. All of Ukraine is suffering from Russian aggression in one way or another.

How the War is Perceived in Different Cities 

Katerina:

The occupation felt like a nightmare. It was a constant fight for survival, just trying to get food. My husband managed to send us money through money changers so we could buy food, but everything was insanely expensive. After we were liberated, we believed the Russians would be pushed back further — after all, Kupyansk is a border town. We thought they’d be driven beyond our border and sent home. But instead, Kupyansk came under heavy shelling. I didn’t want to leave, even when the city had no gas or electricity. We had a stove and could still cook. But when the shelling became too dangerous, we had no choice. Even then, we didn’t go far — just close enough to Kupyansk so we could return home someday. Leaving is incredibly difficult. Walking away from everything you have is painful. The drivers who evacuate people charge a lot of money, so most people can only take what fits in a single bag. But when you have a husband, three kids, and a mother-in-law, that’s an entire busload. Now, as the front line shifts, every family with children is on edge. If a forced evacuation is announced, no one knows where to go. Some days, we hear the ‘exits’ and ‘arrivals’ of artillery, and rockets have hit our village more than once. So, to say the situation is calm would be a lie.

 Elena Tarasova:

I'm on medication now. I’ve been officially diagnosed with an anxiety disorder. I still can’t believe I lived in Kharkiv until April 2022. The sound of ‘Shaheds’ terrifies me. The air raid sirens make me panic. I'm instantly transported back to that February morning whenever I visit Kharkiv and see Telegram notifications saying ‘Zagroza balistyky’ (threat of a ballistic missile attack – Ed.). My stomach cramps, my hands shake, and I feel like everything is crashing down on me. And no amount of rational thinking can calm me down. I moved to Kyiv in April 2024, but even here, I haven’t found peace. There were nights we had to sleep in a shelter. My child is terrified of ‘Shaheds’ (Drones - Ed.) too. And we’ve already been caught in ballistic missile attacks more than once. What I feel now is hopelessness. Even running to an ordinary basement for shelter is impossible. I’ve timed it — if the alarm goes off at 29 minutes past the hour, by 32 minutes, the first missile has already landed. By then, there’s nothing you can do.

Almagul Kenzhebaeva, a citizen of Kazakhstan living in Kyiv:

Initially, we took every air raid siren seriously and went to the basement. Now, when the alarm sounds, I check different Telegram channels and try to figure out what’s flying and where it’s headed. I’ve learned to be calmer about it, but I still struggle with insomnia and irritability. Sometimes, I don’t get enough sleep before work. The next night, exhaustion takes over, and I completely pass out — I don’t even hear the alarms. Then, in the morning, I check my phone and realize there was an alert during the night. That’s just life now. When the power outages started, it was tough — especially living on the 17th floor. But over time, we adapted. It became an enforced kind of sport. Our whole building runs on electricity, so when the power is out, we can’t cook, we can’t heat anything, and the water stops running. Lately, the power cuts have been less frequent, but we’ve still stocked up on gas stoves and cylinders—just in case.

Irakli:

My wife and I went to Zakarpattia to regain a sense of normalcy and to support her parents psychologically. That’s when people there first truly understood what war meant— a missile flew over their city, and they had no idea how to react. But in that moment, they felt it. The closer you get to the Russian or Belarusian borders, the more people understand the war firsthand.

Oles, a reserve officer in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, fought on the front lines from the first days of the full-scale invasion. After multiple injuries, he was transferred to the reserve and now lives in Khmelnytskyi:

Air raid alerts happen every day — sometimes several times. Mostly at night, when everyone is asleep. And honestly, I think most people don’t react to them anymore. Unfortunately, they’ve just gotten used to it.

Q: Back in February-March 2022, there were constant reports of Ukrainians rushing to enlist in the Armed Forces or territorial defense units. Even boxer Oleksandr Usyk joined territorial defense for a time. There was an incredible wave of patriotism. How many people volunteer now?

Grigorii Pyrlik: This week, we learned that Igor Lastochkin, an actor and former KVN player from the ‘Dnepr’ team, recently joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine.

But, honestly, the mass wave of volunteers we saw in 2022 isn’t happening now. That said, there was a noticeable dip in morale before Donald Trump made his latest comments. Ukrainian troops were forced to retreat in some areas, there was little progress at the front, and people felt uninspired.

Then Trump started repeating Russian propaganda narratives, talking about the elections, and claiming Zelenskyy’s approval rating was just 4%. But within hours, the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology released a study showing that Zelenskyy’s trust rating was 57%.

And suddenly, people felt re-energized. They realized Ukraine’s future depends on them.

They also understood that they couldn’t count on the U.S. for help.

But one thing about Ukrainians — they don’t like being pressured. If there are issues with their President, they’ll deal with it themselves. There are elections. There have been Maidans. Ukrainian society has its own ways of holding its government accountable."

A Ukrainian Armed Forces Veteran on Trump's Remarks

Oles:

I can’t take Trump seriously. In fact, I’ll go even further — some of the guys I fought with were from the Foreign Legion, mostly Americans and Canadians. We met them in Lysychansk during the battles for the industrial zone. None of them, nor the ones who had already left, nor their friends or acquaintances, had voted for Trump. And none of them even knew anyone who had. So, to me, Trump’s voters are like a tabula rasa — a blank slate, people I have no connection to. I don’t feel any sense of defeat. I think we just need to wait it out — literally. These four years. And then, the next president, in my opinion, will be more reasonable. Because honestly, I can’t imagine a less reasonable one.

Q: Mobilization continues in Ukraine, with Russian propaganda actively exploiting it — pushing the narrative that people are being forcibly taken and sent to the front. How do Ukrainians really feel about mobilization?

Grigorii Pyrlik: I don’t have specific numbers on how mobilization is going right now. The details aren’t widely shared. But it is happening.

Despite Russia’s numerical advantage, the front is holding, which means there are still enough Ukrainian soldiers defending it. Of course, replenishing troops is a challenge, and there are not enough people at the front. The authorities are working on addressing this.

Russia is deliberately trying to create internal conflict and disrupt Ukrainian mobilization efforts. That’s why they spread fake stories or exaggerate actual incidents. Yes, there have been conflicts involving territorial recruitment center employees — what used to be called military enlistment offices. Russian propaganda and ‘useful idiots’ inside Ukraine amplify these stories.

Recently, the Ukrainian investigative project Texty analyzed propaganda on social media. They found that Russia tailors its disinformation to different groups. For example, soldiers on the front line may be shown images of people in the rear living comfortably or stories about recruitment center abuses. Pensioners, on the other hand, may be fed narratives about corruption. This is a targeted campaign designed to manipulate specific segments of society. 

Q: In 2022, even neutral countries sent large amounts of humanitarian aid to Ukraine, including Kazakhstan. While some activists continue to collect aid, the scale has significantly decreased. How do Ukrainians view neutral countries like Kazakhstan today?

A: If you look at what Ukrainian media write about Central Asian countries — not just Kazakhstan — it’s usually about how they’re helping Russia bypass sanctions.

For example, The Insider recently investigated how Kazakhstan supplies Russia with Western machinery. In November, another report revealed that Kazakhstan was facilitating the transfer of radioelectronic warfare equipment to Russia. Given these facts, it’s hard to view these countries as truly neutral.

In Kazakhstan, for instance, the Russian state media agency Sputnik is still active.

And at the very least, companies from these countries are involved in helping Russia work around sanctions. From Ukraine’s perspective, their neutrality seems rather conditional.

In general, Ukrainian society doesn’t focus much on Central Asia. The government doesn’t seem to either — there hasn’t been a Ukrainian ambassador to Kazakhstan since 2022.

And I don’t think I’d be wrong to say that the average Ukrainian doesn’t spend much time thinking about Central Asia.

The press and social media discussions still revolve around the U.S. and European countries. That’s because these nations provide military aid, support Ukraine’s budget, and help keep the economy afloat during the war.

Naturally, people focus more on Europe.

 The Kazakh Embassy’s Response at the Start of the War

Almagul Kenzhebayeva:

On the third day of the war, the Kazakh embassy called to evacuate me since I’m a Kazakh citizen. But my son was already 20 years old, and by then, Ukraine had issued a decree preventing men aged 18 to 60 from leaving. I told them: ‘How can I leave my children behind and live peacefully in Kazakhstan?’ So instead, we relocated to Cherkasy for a month and then returned to Kyiv.

Q: You’ve mentioned the media several times. Has journalistic solidarity remained strong, or are there voices in the press that could be considered ‘useful idiots’?

Grigorii Pyrlik: Before 2021, Ukraine had a range of media outlets and TV channels owned by pro-Russian figures like Viktor Medvedchuk and Yevhen Murayev.

Channels like NewsOne and 112 Ukraine — the latter’s website is still online — pushed Russian narratives. Their message was always the same:

‘Ukraine’s government is to blame for not negotiating with Russia.’ 

But that was false — it’s impossible to negotiate with an aggressor. Now, as far as I can tell, Ukrainian media are strongly pro-Ukrainian.

That being said, there are criticisms of the national TV marathon Yedyni Novyny (United News).

This program combines multiple news channels into one broadcast. Media experts argue it takes on a propaganda-like tone, presenting overly optimistic narratives and aligning too closely with the government, particularly Zelenskyy’s administration.

Opposition voices are rarely given airtime. And the tone of the stories themselves is such that they tend to embellish reality rather than talk about problems.

Still, independent investigative journalism continues. Journalists report on sensitive issues, such as corruption, problems within the military, and misconduct by commanders. Overall, I think Ukraine’s media landscape remains relatively healthy.

Q: We’re speaking in Russian now. Putin used accusations of ‘language discrimination’ as one of his justifications for the invasion. From what I see on social media, many Ukrainians have actively started learning Ukrainian —even if only at a basic level. Would you say that rejecting Russian is a form of protest?

Grigorii Pyrlik: It’s complicated. In 2022, several public moves were to distance Ukraine from the Russian language. Some news sites shut down their Russian-language sections. Others, like Ukrainska Pravda and UNIAN, still translate their news into Russian.

And there’s a Russian-language news channel called FREEDOM, which Ukraine uses to communicate with international audiences.

Even Zelenskyy occasionally makes exceptions. In May 2024, when a delegation of Central Asian journalists visited Ukraine, he spoke to them in Russian. One Kyrgyz journalist in this delegation later told me in an interview that this was meaningful because Russian remains a common language for interethnic communication in Central Asia.

However, when American podcaster Lex Fridman asked Zelenskyy to speak Russian for a Russian audience, Zelenskyy refused.

He even called Russians ‘dumb.’ His team does not see the point in communicating with Russian citizens for quite understandable reasons.

This war is waged not only by Putin but is also actively supported by Russian citizens. Unfortunately. Although we remember that Zelenskyy is originally a Russian speaker - he studied Ukrainian specifically when he became president.

At the everyday level, I still hear Russian in Lviv, even though it was mostly Ukrainian-speaking before 2014.

Among the public controversies related to the Russian language, we can recall the criticism of the media community against the Ukrainian restaurateur Dmytro Borisov. He was criticized for the fact that now, in 2025, he posted a video on YouTube called ‘Five Tips for Aspiring Restaurateurs,’ recorded in Russian.

So, in short, using Russian in Ukraine today requires justification. The FREEDOM channel, for example, argues that it’s necessary for international outreach.

It varies in cities. I have not been to Odesa since the beginning of the full-scale invasion. But people who have been there say that many people there still communicate in Russian.

I can imagine that there are many Russian speakers in Kharkiv. For example, I know a writer from Kharkiv, Anna Gin, who still maintains her blog in Russian, although some texts are in Ukrainian.

She has been a Russian speaker since birth, and it is difficult for her to adapt. But yes, I think there is much less Russian in the public space and in communication between people.

Original Author: Igor Ulitin