Ukraine’s hipsters prepare for war

In the eyes of Ukraine’s military recruitment officers, the Kyiv district of Podil is perhaps not an obvious spot to find future warriors. The hipster enclave is Ukraine’s answer to Hoxton in London or New York’s Brooklyn, and on a sunny May afternoon, feels about as far from the front lines as it is possible to be.

Fashionable young things zip around on e-scooters, manbags abound, and in local bars, Generation Z’ers discuss tech start-ups and craft ale. When battle-hardened veterans in the Donbas grumble that Ukrainian “cafe society” has forgotten about them, this is probably where they have in mind.

Yet even here, the war is beckoning, after the passing last month of tough new drafting laws designed to plug an urgent shortage of front-line troops. As well as a crackdown on draft-dodgers that will begin next week, the draft-eligible age is to be reduced from 27 to 25, forcing Generation Z into the fight for the first time.

And as 25-year-old Podil denizens like Anton Kravtsov freely admit, they feel woefully unprepared for it.

“I don’t feel like I’m the right kind of person for war, I don’t even like to think about harming animals, let alone other humans,” he told The Telegraph last week while sitting in a Podil square.

“I have friends who are fighting and I can see the psychological damage it does to them. But if I have to go, I have to go.”

A former male model, Mr Kravtsov is studying for a post-graduate engineering degree, which means his draft-eligibility is on hold for the immediate future. But amid signs of Russia gaining the upper hand, many fear that such exemptions may eventually be scrapped, and the draft age reduced yet further. With the average age of serving soldiers now 43, Kyiv estimates that it needs up to 500,000 new troops to give those on the front line a much-needed rest.

Gone, though, are the days when recruitment offices had long queues of eager volunteers. Indeed, many of those now facing the draft are sceptical of the official David-vs-Goliath narrative. Instead, the talk is being fed into an endless meat-grinder conflict, which Ukraine may never win thanks to lukewarm Western support.

“Part of my reason for not wanting to serve is the poor command and the lack of ammunition, but also I don’t want to die for nothing,” said 32-year-old father-of-two “Yevgeny”, drinking at a Podil cafe with two friends.

“It’s a difficult decision. On the one hand I don’t want to spoil my own future, but if I don’t serve, then maybe my kids won’t have a future either.”

The newly passed draft law includes tougher enforcement measures, with draft-dodgers facing penalties including forfeiture of driving licences and the right to buy property. On top of that, there are already social sanctions: according to Yevgeny, young men not in uniform can attract hostile comments from other Ukrainians.

“Occasionally you get people in cafes or bars asking ‘why aren’t you fighting?’,” he said wearily. “But usually that’s people who aren’t actually doing so themselves. Often, the real serving soldiers will tell you that it’s a mug’s game, and that you’re right not to bother.”

Preference for units

To make the mobilisation procedure more attractive, the Ukrainian government is encouraging draftees to express a preference in advance over which units they join. The logic is that young Podil tech bros, for example, may be less tempted to draft dodge if they know they will end up in a drone unit rather than as infantry grunts.

To that end, the government has hired Lobby X, a non-profit Kyiv recruitment agency, which posts thousands of military positions on its website.

“The old Soviet-era army system wasn’t good at letting people choose where they could serve best,” said Olha Bandrivska, Lobby X’s head of military recruitment. “Since we have limited human capital compared to the Russians, we need to allocate it as smartly as we can.”

The military section of Lobby X’s website shows vacancies for everything from IT specialists and press officers to artillery and assault troops, complete with job descriptions in standard HR-speak.

An advert for drone operators, for example, says candidates will face “challenging environments”, but promises a good career in a “friendly and supportive team”.

“Infantry is a tough area to recruit for as people know the risks,” Ms Bandrivska admitted. “But drone units are popular with young volunteers as it appeals to their skill set.”

‘I’m the last one standing’

Among those browsing Lobby X’s military job vacancies is 17-year-old Yuri Boyko, who was evacuated to Germany with his mother at the war’s outset. He is well below the compulsory draft age, but with his 18th birthday a month away, wants to return to Ukraine to fight.

He spoke to The Telegraph by Skype last week from Germany, just hours ahead of sitting a school English exam.

“When the full-scale invasion happened, I told my mum I wanted to fight, even though I was only 15,” he said. “Now that I’m nearly an adult I need to honour that promise I made. I’d like to become a fighter pilot, but if they need me in the infantry, then so be it.”

Before the war, he added, he was in a WhatsApp group with three older friends that he played football with, all of whom had since died in combat. “I am now the last one standing – they chose not to care for themselves, but gave everything for their country.”

Indeed, with the war now in its third year, Podil too has its share of people who have made the ultimate sacrifice. At the Pink Freud cocktail bar, a speakeasy said to do the best Old-Fashioned east of Warsaw, bar staff were mourning the death of their ex-colleague Ihor Kulka, 28, killed by artillery near Avdiivka last month.

“He was a vegetarian and a real peacemaker kind of guy, and I would never have thought of him as the kind of guy who’d fight,” said bartender Ilya Shykyta, 23, who has Ihor’s photo pinned to a wall. “But on the first day of the war he told us he was off to serve. It was very painful to hear he’d died – there is no pretending that this war isn’t happening.”

Named in honour of the psychoanalyst Sigmund Freud, the Pink Freud styles itself as a place where people can discuss their problems over a drink.

But for those now facing the draft, no amount of talking can escape the stark horrors that may lie ahead: as Freud himself wrote, “war forces the individual into situations that shame his manhood, obliging him to murder fellow men against his will”.

It was perhaps no surprise then that sitting in one Podil square last week were Vlad, 20, and Daniel, 22, who were drinking heavily before boarding a train to western Ukraine, where they planned to smuggle themselves over the Romanian border.

“It’s either Europe and freedom, or getting sent to war,” said Daniel, sipping a can of strong lager. “I love my country, but I also want a life.”

So too, though, do men like Andrey, an exhausted-looking combat medic who was paying his respects last week at the “Field of Flags” monument in Kyiv’s Independence Square, near Podil. The impromptu memorial has thousands of flags commemorating the lives of those who have perished – including one to Andrey’s comrade, who died two months ago.

“We just don’t have enough people for the army now,” he said, gesturing with a hand that trembled constantly.

“If other Ukrainians don’t join up, then the Russians will just overwhelm us. I am as scared as anyone else who is fighting – but it’s my duty.”