The war in Ukraine has become a battle between life and land. What will we choose? | Opinion

When I started writing this article, I made a point not to reveal my feelings. Magazine editors prefer articles that are not too emotional, so I will remain calm and reserved.

Anyway, I’ll give it a try.

Recently I had to go to a big hospital in Kiev. It was just a routine check-up, but I was pretty nervous. You know how it can be – you go in with a simple cough and come out with a diagnosis of lung cancer. I’ve heard a lot of stories like this and I didn’t want to be part of one.

As soon as I entered the hospital, all my worries disappeared.

I saw injured soldiers everywhere. There might also be officers in the hospital, but these men were so young – boys, actually.

They were wheeled around in wheelchairs and walked with the help of paramedics’ arms. It seemed as though almost everyone was missing an arm or a leg. Some were even missing both legs. There were boys with bandages around their eyes. The luckier ones managed to hobble around on crutches without help.

There were so many. They had sacrificed their limbs, eyes and bodies to protect their country, the millions of Ukrainians behind the front. My family. Me.

I resolved at the beginning of this article to remain rational and avoid emotions, so next I will focus on sober calculations. There is no need to reveal military secrets. The horrific number of victims is public knowledge.

According to a Facebook post by the General Staff of the Ukrainian Armed Forces on May 25, Russia has lost more than 500,000 soldiers in Ukraine – killed or wounded – since the invasion began.

As a rule of thumb, you need a three-fold superiority to successfully attack a dug-in enemy. In fact, Ukrainian losses appear to be significantly lower: President Volodymyr Zelensky claimed in February that 31,000 Ukrainians had been killed. Others estimate the number of casualties to be significantly higher.

Consider the generally accepted statistic that for every soldier killed in war, there are two to four wounded. Even if one assumes that half of the injuries are minor and treatable, there still remains the other half who are seriously injured and suffer from war neurosis. This number could easily run into the hundreds of thousands.

With the injured soldiers in the hospital, I didn’t feel the need to calculate anything. The sight of the men in front of me was enough to make me realize the extent of Ukrainian suffering.

We are witnessing a major catastrophe in Ukraine and, it must be admitted, in Russia, given the millions of male refugees and men who have to be mobilised because of the ongoing war. The social, economic and even demographic impact will only be felt in a few years.

In an effort not to be too sentimental, I will just tell you how my visit to the Kiev hospital ended.

While standing at the entrance to the MRI lab, I saw a nurse pushing a soldier in a wheelchair down a deserted hallway. He glanced at his phone, then abruptly told her to leave him alone. She gently assured him not to be nervous, but he insisted even more firmly. With a shrug, she left the hallway.

Now the soldier sat alone in his wheelchair next to the window. He wore a black T-shirt with the Ukrainian trident and shorts. Since he was missing both legs, he had a single prosthetic limb that gave him the appearance of a cyborg from a science fiction movie. He stared at his phone for a minute or two, then pressed the call button and held the phone to his ear. I wondered who he was talking to – his mother, his wife, his girlfriend, or his sister?

He shouted at the woman on the other end of the line, repeatedly insisting, “Don’t even think about feeling sorry for me.”

I felt useless and didn’t know how to react.

The soldier looked at me and lowered his voice. “I’m fine,” he said into the phone. “I’m not complaining, so you shouldn’t either. Life goes on. I’m lucky, aren’t I? I’m alive here while my brothers are dying over there. Stop crying and don’t console me.”

The young man was alone and yet one among hundreds of thousands.

While he adjusted to his new status, other young and not-so-young men were engaged in a relentless battle on a 600-mile front, losing their lives and health with each passing day, hour, and moment.

I am not politically active, so I don’t have to be calculating or cynical. It saddens me to think that countless soldiers will die before politicians realise the urgency of ending the violence and sitting down for peace talks.

Wars inevitably end, but the human toll they take is permanent. It is an irreversible tragedy. That is precisely why I will never advocate war to the bitter end. If I have to choose between land and human lives, I will always choose people.

Politicians have other priorities and this means that, unfortunately, Ukraine will continue to lose its best people in the foreseeable future. It is truly heartbreaking to think about this.

However, I promised you, dear reader, that I would not cry, didn’t I? But if I don’t, will you?

Sergey G. Maidukov Sr. is a Ukrainian writer and author of Life on the Run and Deadly Bonds. Follow @sergeymaidukov on Instagram.

The views expressed in this article are those of the author.