In-Sight Publishing

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): International Policy Digest

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2026/03/05

In moments of geopolitical upheaval, human rights lawyers often become reluctant historians of collapse. Few understand that reality more clearly than Oleksandra Matviichuk. As the head of Ukraine’s Center for Civil Liberties and a central figure in the Euromaidan SOS initiative, Matviichuk has spent more than a decade documenting abuses, defending political prisoners, and pressing international institutions to respond to Russian aggression. In 2022, the Center for Civil Liberties received the Nobel Peace Prize for its work promoting human rights and accountability, and Matviichuk delivered the Nobel lecture on the organization’s behalf.

For many observers outside Eastern Europe, the collapse of the post–Cold War order seemed sudden, a shock delivered by Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022. For Ukrainians, Matviichuk argues, the unraveling began much earlier—with the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the failure of international institutions to meaningfully enforce the principles they claimed to defend. The result, she says, is a world where legal norms are weakening, international bodies often perform rituals rather than solve crises, and authoritarian states are increasingly willing to test the limits of global indifference.

In this conversation, Matviichuk reflects on the erosion of the international legal order, the paralysis of institutions like the United Nations, and the profound human rights consequences of Russia’s occupation of Ukrainian territory. She also discusses the challenges of building a more representative global system, the dangers of short-term political thinking, and the moral responsibility of leaders—and citizens—in an era of rising authoritarianism. Ultimately, she returns to the human dimension of the conflict: torture, deportation, indoctrination, and the future of millions of children growing up under occupation.

For Matviichuk, the stakes are not abstract. They are measured in lives, dignity, and the fragile idea that international law should mean something.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: In the United States, there have been increasingly visible efforts to restrict rights connected to belief, conscience, and religious freedom, pressures that appear to fall particularly heavily on those with no religious affiliation and on communities outside the country’s historically dominant Protestant traditions, including Muslims.

At the same time, we are seeing new limits placed on reproductive rights. Canada once faced comparable battles; there, the physician Henry Morgentaler became the central figure advancing abortion rights through the courts and public debate. Despite widespread public opposition to many of the current administration’s policies, there remains a determined push forward, with critics arguing that dissenting opinion is often disregarded. This raises a broader question: in a world rapidly moving away from the unipolar order of the past, and perhaps even beyond the bipolar structure that preceded it, what role should middle powers play in navigating this transitional moment in global politics?

Oleksandra Matviichuk: This year, world leaders understood that the world order has collapsed. We hear this from the Prime Minister of Canada in Davos. However, it is no surprise to Ukrainians. For us, the world order based on the UN Charter and international law collapsed 12 years ago, when Russia annexed Crimea. It was unprecedented in Europe after the Second World War, because we had not seen a situation in which one country annexed part of another. It ruined fundamental international principles such as the inviolability of state borders and respect for state sovereignty.

World leaders may have thought that the UN Charter was not working only for Ukraine. However, this year, everyone understood that it is a global story. The question is not only to regret that we lost something. The UN system was not ideal. It coped with global challenges more or less in the past. However, now it is stalling and reproducing ritualistic movements. The Security Council’s work is paralyzed. When the system was built, the victorious countries of the Second World War preserved special privileges for themselves. It is unfair that several countries are permanent members of the Security Council and can determine global decisions.

Even my smartphone has an expiration date. This system was created after the Second World War, and it has reached its limits. We do not need to speak much about it, except from a psychological perspective. Human life is short, and I will probably still see these ritualistic movements until the end of my life. The League of Nations existed until 1946, even though the Second World War had ended. So institutions persist even after their effectiveness has faded.

The main question we must discuss is how to create the future we want. The main struggle is about what the new world order will look like. Ukraine finds itself at the epicentre of events that will shape the world’s future. Last year, I am afraid that humanity made a significant step back into the past, where the world was governed not by the rule of law but by the will of the strongest. That past was not great. Being the strongest is always a process; you must constantly prove that you are at the top of the hierarchy. A world governed by the strongest, in which several countries dominate, is fragile. It is a world of wars and mass violence because their interests conflict, and proxy wars or other types of wars emerge.

Jacobsen: One important caveat about the League of Nations is that its collapse did not mark the end of the idea behind it. In many ways, the institution was reconstituted and adapted into the United Nations, which represented a substantial improvement on the earlier model. Today we seem to be living through another transitional moment in global politics, and historically these periods of geopolitical change tend to be painful for many of the people caught up in them. Taking the privileges you mentioned as an example—particularly the five permanent seats on the Security Council and the veto power those states exercise when it serves their interests—how might one imagine a system of international rules that more fully reflects the concerns of the global population while avoiding the entrenched privileges that currently define that structure?

Matviichuk: We have to answer many difficult questions, and there is no serious public discussion of them; there is only limited expert discussion. The first question is about representation. We call it the United Nations, but the majority of governments in the General Assembly do not represent their societies. They represent ruling elites who have captured power in their countries. So the first question is how to provide a genuine voice for nations.

The second question concerns the organization’s nature. We call the United Nations an international organization, but it is an inter-state organization. Each state promotes its own interests, which is natural. However, who will promote international interests, the interests of humanity? Who will think beyond national borders, not only to balance or dominate, but to build an architecture of peace and security that reflects shared global interests?

Third, I am not confident that a new world order will automatically be based on human rights and freedom. We are losing freedom globally. Around 80 percent of the world’s population lives in countries that are not fully free, according to major democracy indices. In authoritarian countries, the space of freedom is shrinking dramatically. In established democracies, people question the universality of human rights principles. Those who can provide serious, complex answers to these questions would deserve the highest recognition for their contribution to peace.

Jacobsen: I am hardly the first person to observe this, and it does not require a particularly brilliant analyst—certainly not one like me—to notice a pattern. Many of the prominent leaders contributing to instability in the international system, and in the process damaging livelihoods across borders, tend to be older men from established political generations.

Last summer, I spent three weeks in Iceland studying the country’s culture, and what I encountered there stood in striking contrast to that pattern. The president, the prime minister, and the head of the country’s main church are all women, and three of the four major political parties are also led by women. Even amid the turbulence currently shaping global politics, Iceland remains relatively quiet and functional. For years, it has ranked at or near the top of the World Economic Forum’s Global Gender Gap Index. Of course, there are always exceptions to broader trends. But looking at cases like Iceland, what kinds of leadership styles might women bring—particularly if representation were more equal internationally or within inter-state institutions—that could help reduce the scale or intensity of the crises we are now witnessing around the world?

Matviichuk: It is a modest requirement. Politicians must base their decisions on critical interests, but also on human rights. If you mortgage your future for immediate gain and think only about economic benefits, you may benefit in the short term, but you will face the consequences. In the long term, this leads to catastrophe. Russia is a clear example. For decades, Russian human rights defenders warned that a country that violates human rights poses a threat not only to its own citizens but also to international security and peace. Even well-developed democracies did not listen. They shook hands, did business as usual, and continued engagement.

Second, democracy is not an ideal form of government because it produces short-term thinking. Politicians who come to power focus on electoral cycles and immediate results to demonstrate to voters. In the global storm we are facing, we need leaders who think not only about elections but about history, who think long term. We are living with the consequences of decisions made years ago, including during the period when the occupation of Crimea began. When politicians focus only on the short term, they think that problems will vanish or become someone else’s responsibility after the next election. However, problems do not disappear; they become more serious. My second modest request is to consider the long-term perspective, not just the years in office.

Jacobsen: What about the unlawfully transferred children? The last verified figure I encountered was roughly 19,500. I assume the true total may now be even higher.

Matviichuk: Numbers are a problem. As human rights lawyers, we cannot independently verify or refute official numbers provided by the Ukrainian state, but we know that this is a systematic practice. That is why the International Criminal Court opened a case and issued arrest warrants against Vladimir Putin and Russia’s Commissioner for Children’s Rights in connection with the unlawful deportation of children. I am worried that we do not speak enough about children under Russian occupation. Approximately 1.6 million children live in territories under Russian occupation. Many of them are experiencing systematic erosion of their identity. They are restricted in the use of the Ukrainian language.

They live under pressure, knowing that if they say something considered disloyal, security services may come to their parents. They study from Russian textbooks that deny Ukraine’s sovereignty. Children who were older at the beginning of the occupation may retain a sense of dual reality, but very young children are vulnerable to indoctrination. In parallel, there is militarization, beginning in kindergarten and extending through multiple areas of society. In occupied territories, some children are sent to camps where they wear military uniforms, live in barracks, march, and receive weapons training. This is not only a human rights problem; it is also a security problem.

Militarization is attractive to children. You feel cool, you feel strong, you think you have a tool to dominate and to make things happen. However, it implants authoritarian thinking in the hearts and minds of children, because they start to believe that freedom and the will of others do not matter. What matters is your place in the hierarchy of violence.

Why is this not only a human rights problem? When these children turn 14, they receive Russian passports. At 18, they are subject to conscription into the Russian army. This means they can be sent to fight and die wherever Russia decides. When people speak about territories as if they are empty spaces and do not try to make life under Russian occupation more secure, these children grow up. They become adults, and the consequences of our passivity will come back to haunt us.

Jacobsen: What about the murder, injury, or torture of those who attempt to tell these stories? Organizations such as the Committee to Protect Journalists and other monitoring groups carefully document the killing of journalists in conflict zones. The figures I have seen suggest that something like 112 journalists have been killed during this period. These are, in many ways, war crimes committed against those whose role is to serve as cultural storytellers and witnesses to what is happening.

Matviichuk: The Institute of Mass Information maintains a list of Ukrainian media workers, journalists, photojournalists, and bloggers who have died in this war. There are cultural figures who have been tortured to death, some killed while serving in the Ukrainian armed forces, others killed by Russian shelling and drone strikes, such as the Ukrainian writer Victoriya Amelina. These lists are publicly available.

There are Ukrainian journalists held in Russian prisons. My specialization is Russian captivity. I have interviewed hundreds of people who survived detention. They described severe beatings, sexual violence, confinement in small boxes, electric shocks, and other forms of torture. Some detainees reported extreme physical abuse. People are dying in Russian prisons. That is why I am disappointed that we have lost the human dimension. Peace talks are a window of opportunity to solve urgent humanitarian problems. Even if peace cannot be achieved immediately, urgent humanitarian issues can be addressed. However, if these issues are not a priority for negotiators, there is little chance for progress.

Jacobsen: A footnote to all of this is that other major conflicts are unfolding at the same time, many of them producing severe humanitarian catastrophes. One example that receives far less attention in Western media is the war in Tigray, Ethiopia, from 2020 to 2022, where even conservative estimates suggest that several hundred thousand people were killed. When peace negotiations are used primarily as delaying tactics, valuable time and resources are lost—resources that could otherwise be directed not only toward urgent humanitarian needs in Ukraine but also toward crises elsewhere. Major powers, even while facing controversy at home, are still capable of exerting constructive influence in other conflicts.

Yet the reality is that international focus is limited. In practice, public attention and political bandwidth tend to concentrate on only one or two wars at any given moment.

Matviichuk: It is not a competition for attention. It is easy to predict that wars will emerge more frequently in different parts of the world. The international environment is unstable. The previous world order has weakened, and tensions exist everywhere. Some leaders may seek to benefit from this global instability.

Humanity has chosen not to solve problems but to postpone them. Problems can be suppressed for a time, but then they erupt with greater force. We see this in protracted conflicts, including in the Middle East, where unresolved tensions have persisted for decades and then escalated dramatically.

Jacobsen: I have interviewed feminist journalists and media owners working in extremely difficult environments, including Afghanistan, where conditions for women remain among the most restrictive in the world. Many of these women are practicing grassroots journalism rather than working within large institutional media organizations. Perhaps we can end on the human dimension of this issue. You are now a prominent voice in this field, but this was not where your career originally began. What first inspired you to become involved in this work?

Matviichuk: When I was a schoolgirl, I had the opportunity to meet Yevhen Sverstiuk, a Ukrainian philosopher, writer, and former Soviet political prisoner. He took an interest in me and introduced me to a circle of former Soviet dissidents. I found myself among people who said what they believed and did what they said. They stood against the Soviet totalitarian system. Many were repressed; some were killed, some imprisoned, some confined in psychiatric institutions. However, they did not give up. Growing up in that environment, I was inspired. I decided to study law and to continue the fight for freedom and human dignity.

Jacobsen: You have often spoken about the importance of long-term thinking and taking responsibility for the consequences of one’s actions. If an Eastern European teenage girl were to come across your story and begin considering a path into this kind of work, what message would you want her to hear?

Matviichuk: My message would be simple: be brave. We are not hostages of circumstances; we are participants in history. Dignity gives us the strength to act even in unbearable conditions. Be brave.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Oleksandra.

Last updated May 3, 2025. These terms govern all In-Sight Publishing content—past, present, and future—and supersede any prior notices.  In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen is licensed under a Creative Commons BY‑NC‑ND 4.0; © In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen 2012–Present. All trademarks, performances, databases & branding are owned by their rights holders; no use without permission. Unauthorized copying, modification, framing or public communication is prohibited. External links are not endorsed. Cookies & tracking require consent, and data processing complies with PIPEDA & GDPR; no data from children < 13 (COPPA). Content meets WCAG 2.1 AA under the Accessible Canada Act & is preserved in open archival formats with backups. Excerpts & links require full credit & hyperlink; limited quoting under fair-dealing & fair-use. All content is informational; no liability for errors or omissions: Feedback welcome, and verified errors corrected promptly. For permissions or DMCA notices, email: scott.jacobsen2025@gmail.com. Site use is governed by BC laws; content is “as‑is,” liability limited, users indemnify us; moral, performers’ & database sui generis rights reserved.

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): International Policy Digest

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2026/02/28

As Russia’s war against Ukraine grinds into another year, the battlefield is not the only site of struggle. The fight for accountability—for documented truth, legal redress, and international attention—has become equally consequential. At the center of that effort stands the Center for Civil Liberties, the Kyiv-based human-rights organization awarded the 2022 Nobel Peace Prize for its work documenting Russian war crimes and defending democratic freedoms under assault.

Anna Trushova serves as Press Officer and Media Relations Manager for the Center, helping translate field documentation into international awareness and institutional pressure. She coordinates communications tied to the Tribunal for Putin (T4P) initiative, which systematically documents Russian war crimes, unlawful detentions, enforced disappearances, and conflict-related sexual violence. In parallel, as Communications Director and a member of the Union of Women of Ukraine, she advances women-led advocacy supporting displaced families, trauma survivors, widows, journalists, and emerging leaders across the country.

In this interview, Trushova discusses the strategic communications battle surrounding Russia’s atrocities, the challenge of sustaining global attention amid fatigue and geopolitical distraction, the ethical imperatives of survivor-centered reporting, and the role of women-led civil society in rebuilding resilience during wartime. At stake, she argues, is not only justice for Ukraine—but the integrity of international law itself.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: As Russia’s war stretches on and international attention ebbs and flows, what are the Center for Civil Liberties’ most urgent communications priorities right now? How do you prevent war crimes documentation from being swallowed by global fatigue or geopolitical distraction?

Anna Trushova: Our priority is to keep international attention focused on Russia’s ongoing mass atrocities, at a moment when fatigue and political distraction make this increasingly difficult. We work to amplify evidence-based reporting from the ground, highlight the systemic nature of Russia’s violence, and humanize the stories of civilians who continue to disappear, be tortured, and face unlawful detention.

Another key priority is the People First campaign — advocating for the immediate release of Ukrainian civilians and POWs, especially women, people with disabilities, the sick, and political prisoners.

Jacobsen: The Tribunal for Putin initiative has built an extensive evidentiary record since February 24, 2022. How do you convert that volume of legal documentation into messaging that not only informs but pressures institutions such as the ICC and UN to act?

Trushova: Communications and documentation work as one chain.

T4P produces the verified evidence — incidents mapped almost day-by-day since February 2022, collected by regional organisations that know their communities.
Our role is to ensure this evidence reaches the institutions capable of acting: the ICC, UN mechanisms.

We translate a massive evidence base into public understanding and political pressure, showing that Russia’s crimes are not isolated excesses but the architecture of a genocidal war.

Jacobsen: You have described certain abuses as systemic rather than incidental. Which patterns of violence—whether enforced disappearances, detention practices, repression in occupied territories, or the deportation of children—most clearly reveal an organized strategy, and why do they demand immediate international intervention?

Trushova: Three categories are urgent. Enforced disappearances and unlawful detentions — Russia systematically targets teachers, journalists, local officials, priests, activists, and anyone refusing collaboration. Abuses in occupied territories — forced labor, torture, filtration practices, and repression that deepens with every new stage of attempted annexation. Deportation and re-education of Ukrainian children — an assault on identity consistent with genocidal intent.

These crimes escalate as Russia tightens control, and they demand a coordinated international response now—not after the fact.

Jacobsen: Survivor-centered reporting is central to your work. How do you strike the balance between exposing atrocities and safeguarding those who remain in captivity, under occupation, or at risk of retraumatization?

Trushova: Survivor safety defines all our decisions.

Public exposure should never come at the cost of retraumatisation or risk to those still in captivity or in occupied territories.

The public has a right to know the truth, but survivors have the right to decide how, when, and whether their story is told.

Jacobsen: There is often a gap between legal timelines and media cycles. Where do you see the greatest friction between field investigators focused on evidentiary rigor and journalists seeking immediacy, and how can that gap be responsibly bridged?

Trushova: The main bottleneck is volume and velocity: the scale of crimes exceeds the media’s capacity to absorb and contextualize them.
Finally, investigators prioritize evidence for legal accountability, while journalists often need narrative immediacy — aligning these timelines requires careful coordination.

Jacobsen: Disinformation campaigns frequently aim to discredit victims and human-rights defenders. What strategies have proven most effective in countering narratives designed to obscure or normalize Russia’s abuses?

Trushova: A core part of my work is to communicate the truth about Russia’s crimes to international media, replacing propaganda with verified facts and survivor-centred testimony. Together with the Center for Civil Liberties, we have produced hundreds of media stories that expose one of the least-known crimes of this war — the mass enforced disappearances of Ukrainian civilians, who are now illegally held in Russian prisons.

According to the Geneva Conventions, the concept of “civilian prisoners of war” does not exist, but Russia systematically abducts mayors, volunteers, teachers, journalists, and ordinary citizens from occupied territories.

By amplifying the voices of victims and protecting them from manipulation, we counter disinformation not only with facts — but with dignity, accuracy, and global visibility.

Jacobsen: Through your work with the Union of Women of Ukraine, you are also shaping a parallel front of civic resilience. How are women-led initiatives—whether through leadership training, psychological support, or community rebuilding—reshaping Ukraine’s democratic fabric during wartime?

Trushova: The Union of Women of Ukraine (СЖУ) is the first nationwide women’s organisation in the country, dedicated to protecting women’s rights, strengthening democracy, and building a society of equal opportunities. It brings together more than 10,000 active members across 22 regions — human-rights defenders, scholars, educators, cultural leaders, lawyers, entrepreneurs, and volunteers.

In 2025, the Union continues to support women affected by the war: displaced families, survivors of trauma, and relatives of soldiers. We run safe spaces for women and children, psychological retreats for mothers and widows of fallen soldiers, reintegration programmes for internally displaced women, and community-based support networks.

A strategic focus this year is gender equality and women’s leadership at the local level. We conduct training for journalists on gender-sensitive reporting, promote women’s participation in decision-making, and collaborate with international partners to strengthen women’s role in peacebuilding and community resilience.

In 2025, together with partners, we launched the Academy of Women’s Leadership — an innovative educational space for young women aged 17–35. The project develops leadership skills, provides mentorship from experienced women leaders, and creates a collaborative environment for personal and professional growth.

Overall, the Union of Women of Ukraine embodies resilience, dignity, and solidarity, helping women not only survive the consequences of war but also rebuild their lives, regain agency, and drive positive change in their communities.

Jacobsen: Thank you very much for the opportunity and your time, Anna.

Last updated May 3, 2025. These terms govern all In-Sight Publishing content—past, present, and future—and supersede any prior notices.  In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen is licensed under a Creative Commons BY‑NC‑ND 4.0; © In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen 2012–Present. All trademarks, performances, databases & branding are owned by their rights holders; no use without permission. Unauthorized copying, modification, framing or public communication is prohibited. External links are not endorsed. Cookies & tracking require consent, and data processing complies with PIPEDA & GDPR; no data from children < 13 (COPPA). Content meets WCAG 2.1 AA under the Accessible Canada Act & is preserved in open archival formats with backups. Excerpts & links require full credit & hyperlink; limited quoting under fair-dealing & fair-use. All content is informational; no liability for errors or omissions: Feedback welcome, and verified errors corrected promptly. For permissions or DMCA notices, email: scott.jacobsen2025@gmail.com. Site use is governed by BC laws; content is “as‑is,” liability limited, users indemnify us; moral, performers’ & database sui generis rights reserved.

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): International Policy Digest

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2026/01/02

Yuriy Kryvosheya is a prominent Ukrainian business leader operating at the intersection of investment, innovation, and postwar recovery. He serves as President and Managing Partner of PJSC Toronto-Kyiv, one of Kyiv’s leading mixed-use real estate developments, and as Vice President of the Canada-Ukraine Chamber of Commerce, where he works to strengthen bilateral economic ties at a moment of existential importance for Ukraine.

Beyond real estate, Kryvosheya chairs the Supervisory Board of PromPrylad, an innovation hub advancing impact investment and regional development, and is a co-founder and shareholder of Yakaboo, one of Ukraine’s largest e-commerce platforms. His professional background includes earlier work at the International Finance Corporation, following his graduation from the Carroll School of Management, before building a diversified portfolio spanning real estate, hospitality, and venture initiatives.

Kryvosheya also plays a significant role in Ukraine’s civil society and veteran support ecosystem. He serves on the boards of Soborna Ukraine, a charitable foundation supporting the children of fallen defenders, and DOLADU, an NGO focused on psychological rehabilitation and professional reintegration for veterans. In addition, he is involved with the CEO Club Ukraine and contributes to executive education through the Real Estate Business School.

In this interview, Kryvosheya reflects on Ukraine’s wartime economy and the conditions necessary for long-term recovery. He argues that foreign direct investment, investor-friendly reforms, and resilient international partnerships—particularly with Canada—are not only central to rebuilding Ukraine but integral to winning the war itself.

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

Jacobsen: In discussions about supporting Ukraine, a recurring concern is how to do so without imposing external models or undermining Ukraine’s cultural and political sovereignty. From your perspective, how should international partners approach that balance?

Kryvosheya: This is sensitive because Ukrainian society is undergoing a deep transformation under extreme pressure. But it is important to understand that even in wartime, we are not frozen in place. Institutions are being rebuilt, reforms are ongoing, and there is genuine intent to improve governance.

What is sometimes labeled abroad as a “corruption scandal” is, in fact, often evidence of anti-corruption mechanisms beginning to function. That distinction matters. We have no illusions about the long road ahead, but progress is real. Supporting Ukraine means respecting this process, not replacing it with externally imposed solutions.

Jacobsen: How did your own path—from finance to entrepreneurship—shape the role you play today in Ukraine’s wartime economy?

Kryvosheya: My entire professional life has been dedicated to attracting investment, knowledge, and know-how to Ukraine because I believe in the country’s potential. I was born in Kyiv, educated abroad, and returned with a clear objective: to help build an economy capable of sustaining sovereignty.

I began my career at the International Finance Corporation, where Ukraine was undergoing rapid change following the Orange Revolution. The growth in investment during that period demonstrated what was possible when institutional reform and capital aligned.

Later, I moved fully into my own ventures, adapting international business models to Ukrainian realities. Over time, this led to a diversified portfolio designed not simply for shareholder value, but for ecosystem development. Credibility matters. You cannot promote a country to international investors unless you have committed your own capital and reputation to it.

After 2014, one reality became unavoidable: Ukraine cannot defend itself militarily without economic strength. Investment drives GDP, cash flow, and ultimately defense capacity. Foreign direct investment also brings partners with real stakes—people who are invested not only financially, but strategically.

Jacobsen: You’ve argued that investment itself is a form of security. How do you explain that logic to international partners who remain cautious?

Kryvosheya: The logic is straightforward. Ukraine offers higher potential returns precisely because risk is real. But risk can be mitigated through partnerships with strong Ukrainian companies and through institutional engagement.

When international investors enter Ukraine, they gain more than returns—they gain skin in the game. By supporting Ukraine’s economy, they are also protecting their capital, their technology, and their values. This is not abstract. Economic interdependence strengthens resilience.

Since 2022, many Ukrainian business leaders have taken on multiple roles simultaneously—running companies while actively supporting or participating in defense efforts. This is existential for us. The conflict is not theoretical. It is a battle over whether Ukraine continues to exist.

Jacobsen: You were closely involved in the Rebuild Ukraine Conference. What feedback stood out to you most?

Kryvosheya: I prefer to listen rather than judge our own work. What stood out was unsolicited feedback from participants who felt the discussions were substantive and actionable.

The responsibility now is to turn dialogue into projects. That applies not only to Ukraine but also to Canada—whether through defense cooperation, energy investment, or broader industrial partnerships. Opportunities exist across sectors, but urgency remains unevenly understood.

Living and working in Ukraine means operating without pause. Air raids, missile strikes, and constant uncertainty shape daily life. It is understandable that people elsewhere live differently. But the threat we face does not stop at Ukraine’s borders. Helping partners grasp that reality is essential.

Jacobsen: How would you assess the current state of Canada–Ukraine economic relations during wartime?

Kryvosheya: Canada’s support has been extraordinary—roughly $22 billion since the full-scale invasion. But trade and investment are only part of the picture. Canada–Ukraine relations function as a broader ecosystem that includes moral, cultural, and institutional support.

Trade volumes could be much stronger, but focusing on a single metric misses the full story. Some Canadian firms have invested during the war, including major players and smaller enterprises. These examples demonstrate feasibility, not exception.

Institutions like Export Development Canada have significant capacity, but their tools remain underutilized in Ukraine. Adjusting protocols—without abandoning due diligence—could unlock far greater participation. The ecosystem is strong; the challenge is scale.

Jacobsen: You’ve spoken about the psychological dislocation of moving between wartime Ukraine and countries at peace. How does that experience shape your perspective?

Kryvosheya: The first time I left Ukraine during the full-scale invasion, the contrast was overwhelming. On the first day of the war, I saw Russian helicopters firing on residential buildings. That becomes normal. Then suddenly, you are in a peaceful city where a helicopter means nothing.

You feel physically present but internally absent. Even without sirens, sleep is difficult. There is guilt in comfort. The body remains alert, always ready. This tension will stay with us long after the war ends.

What sustains people is perspective. There is always someone in worse conditions—on the front lines, under artillery, without rest. Remembering that helps you keep working and value even the smallest moments of normalcy.

Jacobsen: Where are the most urgent investment needs today?

Kryvosheya: Every sector needs support. Energy is critical—attacks on infrastructure threaten basic functionality. Defense and air defense are foundational, because without protection nothing else operates.

Agribusiness, manufacturing, and hospitality all matter. Hospitality, in particular, will be among the first sectors to reconnect Ukraine with the world when the war ends. Countries like Greece and Spain demonstrate how tourism can catalyze recovery after severe economic crises.

But everything depends on defense. No country in history has won a war without a functioning economy.

Jacobsen: If the war continues as a long conflict, what role do you see for business leaders and international partners?

Kryvosheya: The war has already been long—it began in 2014. We must act accordingly.

My focus is not on defining my role, but on achieving results. That means sustaining companies, preserving jobs, restructuring where necessary, and supporting defense and innovation. Resources are limited, effort is immense, and progress is often incremental.

Innovation—especially dual-use technology—matters enormously. It strengthens defense, generates intellectual property, and attracts further investment. A stronger market benefits everyone.

Jacobsen: Some estimate that reconstruction could take a decade or more. Is that realistic?

Kryvosheya: We must be honest. The war is unlikely to end suddenly. At best, it may pause. Planning must be grounded in realism, not wishful thinking.
Reconstruction will cost close to a trillion dollars. That capital does not exist in ready form. To attract it, Ukraine must become an exceptionally investor-friendly jurisdiction—transparent, simple, and predictable.

Not everything should be rebuilt as before. This is an opportunity to leap forward technologically and structurally. But that requires leadership, social consolidation, and rules that genuinely encourage investment.

If peace comes, Ukraine will become the world’s largest construction site. That will generate opportunities across every sector—but only if we prepare the ground properly.

Jacobsen: Finally, is there a Ukrainian saying that captures this moment?

Kryvosheya: Experiences differ too deeply for a single phrase. Some have lost loved ones. Others are waiting without answers. Any simplification risks trivializing their pain.

What unites us is the necessity to remain strong and keep moving—whether you are in a trench, grieving, or trying to attract support. That is the shared reality.

Jacobsen: Thank you for your time.

Kryvosheya: Thank you.

Last updated May 3, 2025. These terms govern all In-Sight Publishing content—past, present, and future—and supersede any prior notices.  In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen is licensed under a Creative Commons BY‑NC‑ND 4.0; © In-Sight Publishing by Scott  Douglas  Jacobsen 2012–Present. All trademarks, performances, databases & branding are owned by their rights holders; no use without permission. Unauthorized copying, modification, framing or public communication is prohibited. External links are not endorsed. Cookies & tracking require consent, and data processing complies with PIPEDA & GDPR; no data from children < 13 (COPPA). Content meets WCAG 2.1 AA under the Accessible Canada Act & is preserved in open archival formats with backups. Excerpts & links require full credit & hyperlink; limited quoting under fair-dealing & fair-use. All content is informational; no liability for errors or omissions: Feedback welcome, and verified errors corrected promptly. For permissions or DMCA notices, email: scott.jacobsen2025@gmail.com. Site use is governed by BC laws; content is “as‑is,” liability limited, users indemnify us; moral, performers’ & database sui generis rights reserved.

Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): International Policy Digest

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/12/14

Mykhailo Gonchar is a Ukrainian expert specializing in energy security and geopolitics. He is the founder and president of the Kyiv-based think tank, the Centre for Global Studies “Strategy XXI,” and serves as editor-in-chief of the Black Sea Security journal. Previously, he led energy programs at the Sevastopol-based NOMOS Center and later headed its Kyiv office. Earlier in his career, he worked both within Ukraine’s National Security and Defense Council and in the oil-and-gas sector.

Gonchar’s analysis centers on Russia’s use of energy coercion, its methods of sanctions evasion, and the resilience of European critical infrastructure and supply routes. Since founding Strategy XXI in 2009, he has published policy studies and commentaries that have helped shape debates on Ukraine’s role in European and regional energy security.

In this interview, Gonchar contends that Western policymakers long misread Russia’s energy exports as ordinary commerce rather than as a dual-use weapon capable of financing repression and war. He dismantles the logic of Wandel durch Handel, pointing to its failure after both 2014 and 2022, and argues that only Russia’s military defeat can open the possibility for genuine transformation. Gonchar assesses the G7 oil price cap as porous, calls for preventive and asymmetric defenses to protect EU critical infrastructure, and underscores the importance of resilience within Ukraine’s wartime energy markets. He also warns that the Black Sea shipping corridor remains vulnerable to evolving Russian threats and urges the closure of key banking channels that enable sanctions evasion. Editorially, Black Sea Security continues to track these overlapping fronts.

This interview has been lightly edited for clarity and length.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What do you see as the most persistent blind spots among Western policymakers when it comes to Russia’s use of energy as a tool of warfare rather than mere commerce?

Mykhailo Gonchar: The biggest mistake Western politicians and policymakers made—and many still make—is the illusion that Russia’s energy resources are merely commodities that generate revenue. For Russia, oil and gas are not simply commodities; they are a dual-use instrument. In the hands of the Kremlin, energy has long functioned as a weapon.

This weapon fuels corruption in client countries served by Russian state and private energy companies. Russia never concealed this reality. In the first edition of the Energy Strategy of the Russian Federation, adopted in 2003 during the “early Putin” period, it was stated plainly at the outset: “Russia has significant reserves of energy resources and a powerful fuel and energy complex, which is the basis for economic development, an instrument for conducting domestic and foreign policy.”

Another major mistake was the belief in mutual interdependence—that while Europe depended on Russian gas and oil, Russia depended on European money and therefore would refrain from hostile behavior. This assumption proved fundamentally flawed.

A further error was the expectation that trade with Europe would gradually lead Russia to adopt European rules, management practices, and democratic norms. The doctrine of Wandel durch Handel, pursued by the Schröder and Merkel governments, was deeply misguided. The revenues generated from trade with Europe instead fueled revanchist sentiment through massive anti-Western propaganda, strengthened the FSB’s repressive apparatus, expanded the military-industrial complex, and ultimately financed the Kremlin’s war machine.

Jacobsen: Following from that assessment, which of those assumptions have Western leaders genuinely been disabused of since Russia’s full-scale invasion—and which illusions, in your view, continue to shape European thinking?

Gonchar: Western politicians of the past, such as Gerhard Schröder and Angela Merkel, fundamentally misunderstood Russia. After February 24, 2022, they likely recognized their mistakes. Yet Merkel has been unwilling to fully admit them, while Schröder cannot do so in principle, having long since become part of Russia’s hybrid aggression within Europe itself.

The only prominent German politician associated with Wandel durch Handel who publicly acknowledged failure was Frank-Walter Steinmeier. In May 2022, he described his past Russia policy as “a failure on many levels,” caused in part by a long-standing disregard for warnings from Eastern European countries, particularly after 2014.

I was among the few experts from Eastern Europe who warned, at major international forums, about the hidden purpose of Russian energy projects such as Nord Stream, South Stream, and later TurkStream—often in opposition to what I would call the confidence of “omniscient Western experts.”

As for today’s European leaders, many continue to harbor illusions that after the end of the Russian-Ukrainian war—or some imagined “peaceful settlement”—business with Russia can resume. Others believe that if Putin’s regime collapses and Russia embarks on democratic reform, close cooperation should quickly follow. In essence, this is a return to Wandel durch Handel, rooted in a failure to recognize that much of Russia’s political opposition shares the same imperial worldview as Putin himself.

Only a military defeat of Russia can initiate a deep societal transformation. Nearly four years of full-scale war have shown that Russian society broadly supports the genocidal campaign against Ukraine. There have been no mass protests or sustained anti-war movements. This is not merely Putin’s war; it is a war waged by the Russian state and society to destroy the Ukrainian people, eliminate Ukrainian statehood, and erase Ukrainian identity under the imperial notion that Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians constitute a single nation.

Misunderstanding the nature of Russian aggression leads to renewed illusions of opportunity—especially the hope of returning to “cheap gas.” As recent years have demonstrated, the price of that gas is ultimately far higher than advertised. For Russia, energy has never been just a commodity.

Moreover, acting through KGB- and FSB-style methods, Putin’s Russia successfully recruited promising European politicians as agents of influence. Once in power, they became Kremlin Trojan horses within the EU and NATO, tasked with weakening Western alliances from within. Brussels still fails to fully grasp that figures such as Viktor Orbán and Robert Fico are not acting in Europe’s interests.

Jacobsen: Much has been made of the G7 oil price cap as a constraint on Russia’s war financing. From what you can observe, how effective is the mechanism in practice today, and where does it fall short?

Gonchar: No one knows the real prices embedded in oil purchase and sale contracts, as these remain commercial secrets. Compounding the problem, in late 2022, Putin issued a decree banning the supply of Russian oil and petroleum products to any foreign entities whose contracts—directly or indirectly—reference a price cap.

Tankers belonging to Russia’s so-called shadow fleet operate without insurance from the London P&I Club. As a result, the effectiveness of the price cap is far more limited than publicly acknowledged.

Jacobsen: Looking beyond reactive measures, what kind of long-term security architecture would be required to meaningfully deter sub-threshold sabotage and hybrid attacks against critical EU infrastructure, particularly in maritime and energy domains?

Gonchar: It is difficult to say precisely what form a future security architecture might take. However, based on the experience Ukraine has gained—and continues to gain—while repelling Russian aggression, several principles are already clear.

Europe cannot afford to act purely reactively. Preventive measures are essential, particularly those that create a credible projection of threat against the “predator” preparing to damage or disable critical infrastructure, especially in underwater and energy domains.

Several conclusions follow. It is unrealistic to expect that thousands of energy facilities and tens of thousands of kilometers of underwater communications across European seas can be fully protected. Civilian offshore oil and gas infrastructure must therefore be prepared to withstand military attack.

Special attention must be paid to nuclear power plants and other nuclear facilities located along coastlines. Measures must also exist to prevent enemy seizure of offshore facilities—and, if capture occurs, to ensure they cannot be used for hostile purposes.

Specialized enemy vessels capable of carrying out sabotage must be identified in advance and destroyed at H-Hour. Likewise, a list of targets for immediate destruction within enemy territory must be prepared beforehand.

Europe must abandon a false anti-escalation mindset. As an old Latin maxim reminds us, nullum magnum periculum sine periculo vincitur—great danger cannot be overcome without risk. You do not need to intercept every arrow; you must eliminate the archer.

Jacobsen: As Ukraine continues to fight a full-scale war, how should Kyiv think about sequencing domestic energy-market reforms without undermining resilience or public trust during wartime conditions?

Gonchar: In wartime, the primary objective is to protect energy infrastructure and restore it as quickly as possible when damaged. This applies to both networks and generation capacity. The state must regulate energy markets without resorting to populism.

Strategic reserves—oil, petroleum products, natural gas, nuclear fuel—must be secured in advance. Distributed generation, reserve capacity, energy storage, and transmission resilience are essential components of wartime energy security.

Jacobsen: The Black Sea shipping corridor has become both a lifeline and a vulnerability. How resilient is it, in your assessment, against Russia’s evolving hybrid and asymmetric threats?

Gonchar: The corridor is currently more or less protected, thanks to Ukrainian Defense Forces neutralizing much of Russia’s Black Sea fleet. However, Russia has significantly expanded its naval strike-drone capabilities over the past two years and maintains air superiority.

Unable to operate freely at sea, Russia now systematically attacks Ukrainian port infrastructure with Shahed drones, cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles. In response, Ukraine has little choice but to strike Russia’s oil, gas, and energy infrastructure along the Black Sea.

Jacobsen: Sanctions enforcement ultimately runs through specific jurisdictions, banks, and insurers. Which sanctions-evasion nodes strike you as the most urgent targets for coordinated Western action?

Gonchar: Western sanctions against Russia’s banking system resemble Swiss cheese—more holes than substance. As of October 2025, only 93 Russian banks had been disconnected from SWIFT, while 212 institutions retained the ability to conduct full foreign-currency operations.

True effectiveness requires total financial isolation of Russia’s banking system from the Western one.

Jacobsen: Finally, as editor-in-chief of Black Sea Security, what editorial and thematic priorities are guiding the journal’s work at this moment in the war?

Gonchar: Our priorities include Russian aggression against Ukraine and Europe, maritime warfare, conditions in occupied territories, developments across the Black Sea, Baltic Sea, and Caspian regions, energy security, critical infrastructure protection, and Chinese expansion. This is not an exhaustive list, but it reflects our core focus this year.

Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Michael.

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Author(s): Scott Douglas Jacobsen

Publication (Outlet/Website): International Policy Digest

Publication Date (yyyy/mm/dd): 2025/12/11

Professor Ayşegül Aydıngün, a sociologist at Middle East Technical University (METU) in Ankara, has spent decades tracing how identity is formed, threatened, and remade across the post-Soviet world. Her work follows communities shaped by exile and return—Meskhetian Turks, Crimean Tatars, Georgians, Ukrainians, Kazakhs, and Kists—while examining the fault lines of ethnicity, nationalism, religion, and state power. She has written extensively on language politics, cultural revival, minority rights, and nation-building, and during Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, she helped bring global attention to Ukrainian academics through the “Science Amid the Terror of War” initiative.

In this conversation, Aydıngün unpacks Russia’s assault on identity in both Crimea and mainland Ukraine—from the dismantling of Crimean Tatar education to forced Russification, systemic repression, and the ICC-recognized abduction of Ukrainian children. She explains how Moscow’s historical narrative underpins these policies, how diasporas have mobilized in response, and why the erosion of international law endangers far more than Ukraine. Aydıngün also reflects on the ethics of fieldwork under pressure, and on the responsibilities scholars carry when documenting communities living under occupation.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Since Russia’s 2014 invasion and annexation of Crimea, how have Crimean Tatar identity, everyday language use, and the structure of their schooling system been reshaped?

Professor Ayşegül Aydıngün: First, I would like to note that I conducted several field research in Crimea between 2002 and 2014. This allowed me to observe the return process of the Crimean Tatars to Crimea after their deportation to Central Asian countries by Stalin in 1944. It was only in 1989, shortly before the dissolution of the Soviet Union, that they obtained the right to return to their homeland, despite resistance from Crimean Russians and the Crimean government.

This return was quite a difficult one as the Crimean government did not welcome them, and those who settled in their houses after deportation were afraid that the Crimean Tatars would claim their houses. However, the Crimean Tatar leadership and Crimean Tatars articulated their demands in an extremely peaceful manner, openly stated that they would not seek to reclaim their previous homes, and began settling on the outskirts of the cities. They first lived in tents, and later built homes and mosques. The process of returning to their homeland, from 1989 to 2014, was actually quite difficult. But the Crimean Tatars, without losing determination and without entering into any conflict with the local population, began to build a new life for themselves from scratch.

The Crimean Tatar Mejlis and activists initiated a cultural revival project. They began reviving traditional cultural elements, ranging from the restoration of Crimean Tatar cultural heritage sites to the preservation of handicrafts. They established National Schools. In these schools, alongside the Ukrainian curriculum, the Crimean Tatar language was also taught. Many Crimean Tatar children were mostly going to these schools. Yet at that time, Crimean Tatar was not recognized as an official language in Crimea. Nevertheless, there was no obstacle to offering it as a subject, nor was there any objection to the opening of these schools.

After the invasion and annexation of Crimea by the Russian Federation in 2014, National Schools were subjected to strict control. First and foremost, the use of Ukrainian state textbooks in all schools, including National Schools, was prohibited. I had the opportunity to observe the post-annexation situation in Crimea as a member of the unofficial Turkish delegation in 2015, which was, at the time, one of two delegations to enter Crimea after the annexation. I spoke with some teachers and learned that new textbooks were not provided and that children’s education was disrupted. Although the Crimean Tatar language was legally recognized as an official language after the annexation, I learned how great the pressure on language was. People were even afraid of speaking it outside the home. A policy was adopted requiring children to speak only Russian.

Briefly, during our visit to Crimea, we had the opportunity to meet with both Crimean de facto government officials and Crimean Tatars. In these meetings, we identified significant differences between what the official authorities said and what the Crimean Tatars reported. We realized that the social realities on the ground aligned far more closely with the accounts given by Crimean Tatars. We also observed a major discrepancy between what de facto authorities claimed and the actual situation regarding language use and education.

Jacobsen: What forms of human rights abuses have Crimean Tatars and Ukrainians faced under Russian occupation, and how have those violations evolved?

Aydıngün: Human rights violations against the Crimean Tatars have significantly increased after Russia’s invasion and annexation of Crimea in 2014. Soon after the annexation a sharp increase in harassment of Crimean Tatars, especially against the members of the Mejlis and members of the Crimean Tatar movement. Disappearances of Crimean Tatars, arbitrary arrests, torture, unlawful detentions, illegal raids in Crimean Tatar homes and mosques became very frequent.

The Crimean Tatar Mejlis was closed down, and its members were exiled, imprisoned, or regularly interrogated. In addition, they were forced to take Russian citizenship. If they did not take the Russian citizenship, they would be unable to receive their pensions, access hospitals, receive education, in short, they would be deprived of basic civil rights. Another important point was the transition to a new legal system. The transition to the Russian legal system was announced on March 21, 2014, and later extended to January 1, 2015. However, based on the information we obtained, we realized during our visit to Crimea that events that occurred before that date were also carried out under the Russian legal system.

Many Crimean Tatar activists were criminalized based on their electronic communications that fall before the specified dates. It was clear that their legal rights, privacy, and communication rights were violated. We have seen that the Crimean Tatars do not trust the de facto authorities and live under pressure and fear. We have also understood that Russia’s laws on extremism, separatism, and terrorism were used by the de facto authorities to suppress the Crimean Tatar people. The Crimean Tatar leaders were accused of extremism. Crimean Tatars were subjected to systematic and arbitrary interrogations and arrests. They were also subjected to unfair trial procedures. Freedom of expression, travel, demonstration, and assembly were forbidden. There was intense pressure on the media and journalists. These practices have not only continued but have escalated steadily into the present.

In fact, the most shocking human rights violation, which began in 2014 and has intensified even further after 2022, has targeted Ukrainian children. I cannot help but emphasize this. This situation has also been recognized by the International Criminal Court as an act of genocide. Russia has been abducting Ukrainian children from the territories under occupation, transporting them to Russia, granting them Russian citizenship, erasing all records of their past, and placing them for adoption with Russian families. Initially, these children were taken from orphanages; later, those who lost their parents in the war were taken; and in some cases, parents were coerced or manipulated into giving up their children. These children are being forcibly Russified. It is impossible to accept this attack on Ukrainian identity, carried out through the children.

Jacobsen: How should we interpret Russia’s identity-targeting policies in Ukraine, including in Crimea, and what deeper historical or ideological currents help explain them?

Aydıngün: I believe Russia’s actions cannot be understood without knowing Russian history; yet international relations experts and military analysts tend to overlook or dismiss it. Putin, however, heavily relies on history to justify his actions. A clear example is his February 21, 2022, speech recognizing the so-called Luhansk and Donetsk People’s Republics. This nearly 56-minute speech is key to understanding today’s events in Ukraine.

Putin devoted minimal attention to security issues and instead built his argument almost entirely on the Russian national historical narrative. He claimed that since the 17th century, Ukraine has been an inseparable part of Russia in historical, cultural, and spiritual terms, stressing blood ties and kinship between Russians and Ukrainians. He also noted that before the 17th century, Ukrainians referred to themselves as “Rus” and “Pravoslav.”

One of the most striking elements of this speech was Putin’s criticism of Lenin. He argued that Lenin had divided Russian lands into artificial administrative units. This reveals that Russia’s territorial claims are not confined to Ukraine, and that Putin believes he has rights over states established on what he regards as “historical Russian lands.” Putin defined the territories of the Soviet Union as historical Russia. He further claimed that Stalin incorporated lands taken from Poland, Romania, and Hungary into Ukraine during the Second World War, and that Crimea was handed over to Ukraine in 1954.

Putin also asserted that Ukraine had never been a real state, that after 1991 it adopted a state model incompatible with its history and realities, and that Ukrainian leaders ignored the interests of their people. He stated that Russians were made to feel unwanted through legal regulations, that clergy linked to the Moscow Patriarchate were discriminated against, and that without the territories taken from the Ottoman Empire and called New Russia in the 18th century, Ukraine would lack both those cities and access to the Black Sea.

Thus, understanding how Putin justifies his decisions and Russia’s policies requires understanding not only the dominant Russian historical narrative but also the historical facts that often contradict it. In hindsight, this speech provided significant clues about the full-scale invasion of Ukraine and what would follow.

Throughout history, Russia’s use of the slogan “the brotherhood of the Ukrainian and Russian peoples” has effectively served as an assault on Ukrainian identity, culture, art, and independence—indeed, as an attempt to appropriate them. Numerous historical and contemporary facts support this, including Russia’s refusal to recognize Ukraine as a sovereign state or the Ukrainians as a distinct people.

Some analysts recently argued that Ukraine holds existential significance for Russia, and understanding this is crucial. It is existential because recognizing the independent existence of the Ukrainian people, and the sovereignty and territorial integrity of the Ukrainian state, would require Russia to redefine its own identity and reconstruct its historical and national narrative—something, as reflected in Putin’s speech, that Russia is not currently willing or able to do.

For this reason, Ukraine is of existential importance to Russia. However, this reality must not be used to legitimize the invasion of an independent state, but rather to understand the motivations behind it and Russia’s broader policy.

Ukraine remains poorly understood in the West, where many still believe Russians and Ukrainians are part of the same nation—a notion rooted in centuries of Russian narrative. Until 2014, Ukrainians were often seen as “brothers” or even the same people, a stereotype used politically by Russia. The post-2014 conflict revealed the contradictions of this narrative, as many struggled to reconcile Putin’s actions with the idea of fraternal ties.

The claims of shared religion and language are also overstated. Ukraine is multi-religious: a significant portion is Orthodox, with a smaller Greek Catholic (Uniate) population in the West, and Jews and Muslims, including Crimean Tatars, also reside in Ukraine. Even within Orthodoxy, national distinctions exist, and language does not straightforwardly define identity. Studies confirm this complexity.

From a Russian historical perspective, Kyiv is symbolically central as the city of the founders of “Holy Rus,” a Russian state. Ukraine is also crucial for the Russian Orthodox Church, as its leadership depends on controlling Ukrainian churches. For Russia, these issues carry demographic, spiritual, social, political, and ideological significance.

Throughout history, Russia has sought to establish dominance over Ukrainians, rejecting everything unique to them and reshaping it according to its own needs. However, it should be noted that since the mid-17th century—when Moscow began to establish control over today’s Ukrainian territories—and especially since the mid-19th century, Ukrainians have resisted this, sometimes successfully, sometimes unsuccessfully.

To understand the Soviet period and its aftermath, we must briefly consider the earlier era. The Russian claim of “brotherhood” between Russians and Ukrainians predates the Soviet Union, rooted in a time when religion was a defining element. This does not mean Ukrainians were unaware of their distinct identity, nor does it mean that sharing a religion led to full assimilation. Historically, close ties with Russians were maintained mainly by Ukrainian political elites and intellectuals, not the rural population.

After 2014, these elites became the most anti-Russian, marking a decisive turning point when Ukrainian identity found political mobilization, and politicization became inevitable. By 2019, Ukrainians realized their “brothers” could kill them, a perception sharpened further since February 2022. Whether Russia truly believes in this “brotherhood” is unclear, as history is often written by states that marginalize societies.

Russian migration to Ukrainian lands began in the 14th–15th centuries and continued through the Soviet era. Cultural dominance gained political force with the 1654 Pereyaslav Agreement, which placed the Cossack Hetmanate under Muscovite protection.

During the Soviet era, Russian migration to Ukraine continued, while Ukrainians were also strategically resettled across Soviet republics, often being perceived as Russians and adopting this identity. From the 1930s to 1989, the Russian population in Ukraine grew from roughly 4 million (10%) to over 11 million (20%). Differences between Russians and Ukrainians eroded, especially in urban areas, as Russian became widespread, Soviet policies minimized distinctions, and mixed marriages increased.

Dissident Ukrainian nationalists existed but were labeled “bourgeois nationalists,” preventing the full development and politicization of Ukrainian identity. After the Soviet collapse, migration flows continued in both directions, with some Ukrainians returning home, others moving to Russia, and Russians migrating to Ukraine.

Ukrainians remained among the peoples closest to Russians in the post-Soviet republics. National identity emerged through the self/other dichotomy, and Russia’s imperial mindset denied newly forming nations like Ukraine and Belarus. Slavic Orthodox peoples, especially Ukrainians and Belarusians, hold existential importance for Russia due to their centrality to the Russian historical narrative and demographic concerns.

The events of 2014 and the full-scale invasion of 2022 disrupted historical intertwinement, close relations, and even family ties, accelerating the politicization of Ukrainian national identity.

Crimean Tatars’ identity has also been targeted since 1783. After this date, more than 2 million Crimean Tatars were gradually forced to migrate to Ottoman territories. Following the first annexation of Crimea, Russians began a process of “de-CrimeanTatarization,” culminating in 1944 with Stalin’s deportation of nearly the entire Tatar population to Central Asia. While Crimean Tatars had made up over 85% of the population during the first annexation, by 1944 their presence had been reduced to almost zero.

After 1944, Crimean Tatars were forced to live in the Central Asian republics, yet they never lost their identity or their desire to return to their homeland. In 1989, after decades of struggle for the right to return, they officially regained this right and began to return. This process, full of hardships but also hope, came to an end in 2014 with the second annexation of Crimea. Thus, the project of de-CrimeanTatarization of Crimea was implemented for a second time.

Jacobsen: What legal mechanisms still matter for safeguarding minority language and education rights, especially in an era when international norms are increasingly under strain?

Aydıngün: We are unfortunately living in an era in which legal instruments and international law in general are being trampled on. This is not only true for Russia. Other global powers are also remarkably unwilling to protect the global legal order that they themselves established.

This is a situation of anomie, as Durkheim would put it. The violation of international law disrupts the global system’s stability and shakes the existing security order. It is a global issue that concerns all of us because the erosion of the international legal order paves the way for power politics, which, in my view, it already has—repeats legal violations, and even increases the risk of war. The reason I say it has paved the way for power politics is that competing global actors—namely, the U.S., Russia, and maybe Europe—who do not trust one another, who critique and accuse one another, can nevertheless agree on decisions that undermine confidence in the global system. This, without doubt, manifests globally in the form of weaker states being forced into agreements that trample on international law and are compelled to adopt unlawful decisions.

What is being imposed on Ukraine today is precisely this. In this context, if global institutions fail to act as required, they lose legitimacy, and the purpose of the entire system comes into question. Therefore, I would like to emphasize—by underlining it—that the violation of international law is not merely the problem of the states involved, but that it fundamentally threatens the global order. In such a situation, discussing education and language rights becomes meaningless.

First and foremost, we need to understand this: in many countries around the world, including for Ukrainians and Crimean Tatars, people’s most fundamental right—the right to life—is not being protected.

Jacobsen: What insights did the “Science Amid the Terror of War” project offer about how Ukrainian academics are navigating the war and developing strategies for intellectual and personal survival?

Aydıngün: Let me first explain what the “Science Amid the Terror of War” project is. I thought about what we could do for Ukraine after the invasion started in 2022. As a faculty member and a sociologist, I considered focusing on the experiences of our professional community. I shared the idea of preparing video notes with İsmail Aydıngün and Irina Pokrovska, and we developed it together.

Our goal was to share how our colleagues experience this war in their personal lives, and to amplify the voices of Ukrainian academics. Another aim was to document and preserve these experiences, raising awareness of the hardships, pain, and struggles our colleagues face. However, this was not just the work of the three of us; many colleagues supported us, for example, in editing and preparing the videos, translating them, and handling the technical terminology. We consulted and received help from many experts, who contributed with great enthusiasm. We decided to prepare a series of ten videos, and of course, we could not have achieved this without the support of our Ukrainian colleagues. Despite the difficult conditions, they sent us the videos they recorded with their mobiles.

In these videos, we identified two common messages. The first was the determination of Ukrainian academics to continue their scientific work despite the war. The second, which echoed the sentiments of the Ukrainian people in general, was that they were resolved to continue living and resisting wherever they are.

I believe that these video notes have successfully conveyed the voices of Ukrainian academics to many of our peers around the world. We shared them not only on YouTube but also on platforms like Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram. In this way, we emphasized our solidarity with our Ukrainian colleagues.

Jacobsen: How are diaspora networks influencing policy in countries outside Ukraine, and in what ways have these communities mobilized in response to the war?

Aydıngün: The annexation of Crimea brought together Crimean Tatar diasporas across different countries. Similarly, the invasion of Ukraine united Ukrainian diasporas. Moreover, the diasporas of both peoples began collaborating and have remained in continuous solidarity. The two diasporas have carried out many joint activities—and continue to do so. Crimean Tatars have provided remarkable support to Ukrainians, a support that has only grown since the occupation of Crimea. Undoubtedly, pro-Russian voices exist, but these small groups are marginal and ineffective, as they are disconnected from societal realities.

The vast majority of Crimean Tatars have taken a stance in support of Ukraine and have shown strong resistance against the Russian occupation both within the Crimean Peninsula and internationally. By the end of 2018, Ukraine and the Crimean Tatars had formed an alliance against Moscow. 50 Crimean Tatar associations in Turkey, home to the world’s largest Crimean Tatar diaspora, came together to declare their opposition to the occupation. In addition to these organizations, the decisions of the 2nd World Congress of Crimean Tatars, organized with the participation of 184 civil society organizations from 16 countries worldwide, are noteworthy. The Crimean Tatar Kurultay and Mejlis also demonstrated their clear support for Ukraine. Crimean Tatar associations have opposed not only the occupation of Crimea but also the invasion of Ukraine.

Similarly, the Ukrainian diaspora has shown solidarity with Crimean Tatars, both in Turkey and in countries such as Canada and the United States. Ukrainian associations have strengthened their cooperation through conferences, exhibitions, and fairs to raise awareness of the situation in Ukraine. Approximately 65,000–70,000 Ukrainians currently live in Turkey, half of whom arrived after the occupation. The first Ukrainian associations were established in Istanbul in 2008 and in Antalya in 2009. In 2017, six more associations were founded in different cities. Today, there are 23 Ukrainian associations across 14 cities. Today, there are 23 associations across 14 cities. These organizations have played a crucial role in organizing the Ukrainian diaspora in Turkey, providing support to those who fled the war, and, both independently and in cooperation with Crimean Tatars, organizing demonstrations and activities.

Jacobsen: From a research standpoint, how do you balance access and ethical obligations with the need to protect people’s safety when working in or near an active conflict zone?

Aydıngün: Except for my 2015 visit to Crimea with the unofficial Turkish delegation, all my research in Crimea and Ukraine was conducted before 2014, and my research in mainland Ukraine was conducted before 2022. Therefore, I have not been in an active conflict zone. However, despite this, the sensitive situation of the groups I worked with, the challenges and pressures they faced, required serious caution even during periods when life appeared normal. The safety of the individuals I interviewed has always been my priority.

I have always viewed collecting data in ways that could endanger them as an ethical problem. In situations like this, I did not conduct the interviews. In sensitive settings and circumstances, I avoided recording; whenever possible, I took notes either immediately after the interview or during it. Recording often limits what interviewees are willing to share and also draws unnecessary attention, potentially putting the interviewee in a problematic or risky situation. On the other hand, when a recording is made, ensuring its security can also be difficult in certain situations. As for my notes, I never write the names of the people I interview at the top. The security of the notes themselves is also of particular importance. Therefore, a researcher’s ethical responsibility towards the individuals they interviewed does not end until they return to their country with the notes and until the use of the data is fully completed.

It is clear that doing research during so-called “normal times” and active conflict requires methodological caution and moral responsibility. As I mentioned in 2015, I went to Crimea as a member of the unofficial Turkish delegation to study the situation of the Crimean Tatars. At that time, conducting interviews was extremely risky for the people we spoke to, because there was immense pressure on the Crimean Tatars. This situation continues. We only spoke with those who wanted to talk to us. On the one hand, we needed to document the situation, confirm disappearances and deaths; on the other hand, we could not compromise on ethical principles. Those were quite challenging days. But as I said, we only spoke to those who approached us voluntarily, and it was already known that our delegation would be coming. In fact, it was mainly those who were actively involved in the Crimean Tatar national movement who wanted to speak with us. They were already at risk and accustomed to living with that risk. I did not call anybody I knew from my earlier research. The atmosphere of fear was so intense that, while interviewing in a café, the owner asked us to leave.

Jacobsen: Thank you, Ayşegül, for your insight and for sharing your time.

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