Because of Russia, my child understood fear early

My daughter is just over a year old. She’s learning to walk, says a few words in both Ukrainian and English, and because of Russia’s war, she already has an acute understanding of what it means to be afraid.

The first time she reacted to the air raid siren, she was playing in her crib while I tidied up the bedroom. She’d never paid attention to it before, so I didn’t expect anything to happen when it started. But that time, she cried out, “Mama!” with her arms outstretched, eyes wide, on the verge of tears.

As I always say, we’re “lucky” compared to so many others. For the past three years, Chernivtsi Oblast has been mostly spared from Russian missile and drone strikes. I can’t imagine what it’s like for mothers in cities like Kyiv, Kharkiv, or Kherson — trying not only to keep their children physically safe, but also to safeguard them against lifelong psychological trauma.

Yet, every time I have to calm her as her breathing quickens in a panic at the sound of the air raid siren, I can’t help but wish there were a magic switch to make Russia disappear.

I start to worry that this war will drag on so long that my daughter will grow old enough to remember it — that war will become part of her learned experience, part of what shapes her. And when I think about that, I’m still stunned that there are people in this world who can harm children without regret.

Maybe it’s naive, but I can’t understand how anyone who’s been blessed with a child could still choose to bring harm to others. How can they greet their own children at the end of the day knowing they’re responsible for missile and drone strikes that have killed children, orphaned them, and left them permanently disabled? How can they take tens of thousands of children from their families, send them to the farthest corners of Russia for “adoption,” and be deranged enough to think they are saving them?

As an American living for many years in Ukraine, I’m also deeply saddened that the plight of Ukrainian children hasn’t resonated more with American policymakers — especially the right wing. Republicans in particular tend to stoke moral panic over issues like human trafficking. Well, here is one of the most blatant examples of it in recent memory: over 19,500 children have been officially identified as missing by the Ukrainian government, with only around 1,300 returned home from Russian-controlled territory.

The actual number of Ukrainian children forcibly taken by Russia is likely much higher, and there is a very real and heartbreaking possibility that not all of them will be found if not all the necessary resources are put into guaranteeing their return.

Russia is exploiting the vulnerability of many of the Ukrainian children in their custody, manipulating impressionable young minds to militarize them and instil hatred for their homeland. They are training Ukrainian children to become the Russian soldiers of tomorrow, ultimately viewing them as expendable tools in their campaign of terror.

Generally speaking, misfortune befalls anyone who belongs in the margins of Russian society. From the accounts of older Ukrainian children who understood what was happening to them and did everything they could to escape, we know they are being subjected to various forms of abuse.

What Russia is doing to Ukraine’s stolen children is not just a political matter — it is an issue of the greatest moral urgency. That’s why His Holiness Pope Leo XIV, in his first Sunday address since becoming leader of the Holy See, called for the return of these children to their homeland.

Ukraine’s greatest natural resource isn’t minerals found underground — it’s found in classrooms, playgrounds, and family kitchens. It’s the children. They are the living thread connecting Ukraine’s past to its future, the ones who will carry forward the language, the history, the cultural traditions. No monument or archive can safeguard Ukraine’s identity the way its children can.

That’s why even losses on a smaller scale than the daily death and destruction matter, too.

When a Ukrainian child whose family fled as refugees begins to feel more at home in the language or identity of their host country, something precious is at risk of being lost forever. The tragedy of war isn’t only measured in lives lost or cities destroyed — it’s in this quiet erosion of cultural identity too. Because without its children, Ukraine as a nation — not just a place on a map — cannot survive.

It will fall to these young Ukrainians, including my own daughter, to one day rebuild what has been shattered by Russia’s war. They will be the ones who decide whether Ukraine becomes a vibrant, prosperous, and secure nation — one strong enough to ensure such a horrific war never happens again. But that future is only possible if Ukraine’s children are given the chance to return home, to thrive, and to dream in a peaceful country. It can’t happen if their parents see that it’s too dangerous to return home, they’re trapped alone in Russian-controlled territory, or they're dead.

Since the start of the full-scale war in 2022, I’ve often wondered about the true definition of evil. The closest answer I’ve found since becoming a mother is this: it’s those who deliberately harm and destroy the lives of innocent children.

Coming of Age Amidst War

The Kyiv Independent