November 11th 2025

In this milestone 300th episode of Fighting For Ukraine, Ukrainian journalist-turned-soldier, now war Veteran Yuriy marks his 45th birthday on the front lines — another year lived inside the Ukraine war. What should have been a day of celebration is instead filled with reflection, grief, and quiet resilience.

Yuriy looks back on the years the war has taken — from 41 to 45 — and the many personal losses along the way, including the recent passing of his beloved cat, his longtime companion and namesake for his army call sign. Through this heartfelt story, Yuriy opens up about the loneliness of a soldier’s life, the pain of being far from aging parents, and the small, sacred comforts that keep hope alive — even if that hope now takes the shape of a “cat god” watching over his furry friend.

Recorded on Veterans Day, this episode is both a birthday reflection and a meditation on endurance, love, and the cost of survival in wartime Ukraine.

Here is his substack about his cat Pumpkin: https://open.substack.com/pub/yuriymatsarsky/p/pumpkin?r=dzvo1&utm_campaign=post&utm_medium=web&showWelcomeOnShare=true

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is November 11,

And this is the 300th episode of my podcast, and it is special because today is my birthday. I turned 45. When the full scale war began, and I became a soldier, I was 41. Yes, it has been going on for that long. 41, 42, 43, 44, and now 45- these are the years of my life taken by the war. The past year has probably been the hardest. My parents, whom I haven't seen in several years are getting sicker, and my chances of seeing them again are getting smaller. By the way, today is also my mother's birthday. She gave birth to us- to me and to my traitor brother -on her own holiday.

This was another year of unfulfilled expectations, a year of painful losses. Even the end of my 44th year was very hard. In the first days of November, my cat passed away and he was actually something more than just a kid. He was my little furry best friend, and I even took my call sign in his honor when I joined the army.

Once my cat was even with me on a mission the summer before last, my comrades and I were in the east and we were housed in a building that was full of mice. It was impossible to live there because of the number of rodents, so I brought my cat with me. He did not catch a single mouse- he was terribly afraid of them- but just his presence and his smell scared the mice away. They left and we were able to live there in peace. 

He was such a good cat, so dear to me. Even in his death, he saved me. In recent days, I was in a very bad psychological state, truly very depressed. All of it was headed either toward a nervous breakdown or a heart attack, and then I found out that my cat died and something in me just burst. I cried for about an hour bitterly and without stopping. And I felt better afterwards. I felt calm. I don't believe in human god. He does not exist, or at least not the one described in the Bible- all good and all powerful. If he existed, this whole nightmare simply would not have happened. But I really want to believe in a cat god, one who would take care of my little cat, tell him kind things and wrap him in a blanket before sleep. I like a god like that. I will think about him or her and maybe it'll make things a bit easier.

So this turns out to be another set episode, even though it's a birthday one. And it's also Veterans Day to day. So it should have been a double celebration, but I don't feel festival. In the previous episode, I talked about the books I bought a year ago, planning to read them after the war. It was my gift to myself last year. Back then I had hoped that about a year later I would already be reading them. But that didn't happen, and most likely it won't happen by my 46th birthday either. I'm slowly accepting this reality and learning to live inside it.

Thank you for still being with me for all these years and hundreds of episodes. It truly means a lot to me, and please find a couple of minutes to read a short story on my substack, which I dedicated to my late dear cat.

November 4th 2025

In this moving episode of Fighting For Ukraine, Ukrainian journalist-turned-soldier Yuriy reflects on life in the midst of the Ukraine war — and on the small dreams that help him and his comrades endure.

As the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine stretches far beyond the first six months, Yuriy shares how Ukrainian soldiers hold on to hope by imagining the peace that will someday come. Some plan to ride motorcycles or rebuild farms; Yuriy dreams of returning home to read two heavy volumes — The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings and The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings.

Yuriy reveals the inner world of a Ukrainian soldier: the longing for normal life, the optimism that survives even on the front lines, and the reminder that every unread book or unplayed record can become a symbol of survival.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

 It is November four.

In the early days of a full-scale war, we in the Army held on thanks to the confidence that it would all end soon: in six months or in a year, everyone would go home, return to the usual routines. All the conversations back then were about what awaited each of us at home or at work. But as six months passed, then a year and even more time, it became harder and harder to cling to the expectation of a quick return to normal life. Even the most stubborn born started to realize that this was going to drag on for a long time. Those with more flexible minds were the lucky ones. These people adapted pretty quickly to military life, eagerly started earning ranks and had no problem tying even their distant future to the army. There are actually a lot of them- people who were completely civilian before, who became real warriors and feel perfectly fine in their new role.

But there are others who still need to envision some kind of conditionally peaceful future. Since in our reality, it is still nowhere in sight, people start inventing it for themselves. I have a friend who bought a motorcycle for after the war, even for he does not know how to ride it. Another one, with no agricultural experience whatsoever, bought an abandoned farm that he plans to restore and start growing some plants. I'm still a civilian inside too. I need some picture of future outside the army. So, a year ago I bought myself two slightly used books The Penguin Guide to Jazz Recordings and The Penguin Guide to Blues Recordings. These are very detailed description of jazz and blues recordings starting from the dawn of sound recordings and covering almost up to the present day. And the title does not mean that the books were written by penguins, or that the Penguins are the primary audience. It refers to the publishing house, Penguin, which printed the books. 

You might say, that is nonsense compared to a motorcycle and especially a farm- but I'll tell you that this purchase is a proof that I'm no ordinary optimist. Behind buying the books was the imagination of how after the war, I'd spend evenings, slowly reading them, listening to the albums, mentioned in them, and then buying on vinyl those what I liked the most. There are already too many assumptions in that. I have to live until peace comes. I have to keep my hearing and my love for music. I need to have time and the opportunity to read those books -and the money for the records. Like I said, I'm an optimist.

The books are waiting for me at home. They are big and heavy to lug around, they have delicate paper covers. And anyway, I bought them specifically to read after the war, not now. So, I haven't even opened them yet. And once for a moment, I even regretted that. Completely unexpectedly, a few months ago, not far from the front line, I was with a few comrades in open terrain when a Russian drone came flying straight at us. And for some reason at that moment, I didn't think about my family, my daughter, or anything else only, that I had never started reading those books. A strange moment: these could be your last seconds, and you regretting that you never opened The Penguin Guide To Jazz Recordings. The drone flew past us, giving me a chance to eventually get to my books. I hope I'll still make use of that chance.

October 27th 2025

Yuriy returns to his childhood apartment in Kharkiv, reflecting on memories and the stark changes brought by war. Amidst the remnants of the past, he finds solace in small comforts and prepare the space for fellow Ukrainian soldiers passing through.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 27th of October.

I'm recording this episode sitting in the kitchen of my apartment in Kharkiv. I came here for, just a few hours and almost as soon as I finish this story, I'll be living again. This apartment belonged to several generations of my family. I grew up here, as did my cousins, my daughter, and my nephews. There were always a lot of people here, always noisy and cheerful, you know those silly comedies where stereotypical Italian families all cram into a tiny kitchen and everyone talks at once, it was kind of like that here too.

But for almost four years now, it hasn't been like that. The Russian border is less than 20 miles away and constant sharing has destroyed much of the civilian infrastructure. There is no heat in the apartment and electricity is often cut off. I look out the window and see almost the same view I saw all my childhood- trees with yellow, autumn leaves a few people walking by dogs, pigeons perched on the wires, waiting for my elderly neighbor to come out and feed them bread crumbs. Of course, many things in the courtyard have changed. The big, beautiful riping willow is gone, only the stump remains. A few weeks before the full scale war, it was struck by lightning and burned completely. If I believed in omens, I would have taken that as a very bad sign.

Next to the stump, there is something else that was not here when I was a child, a green military van. It's mine. It's large and fairly comfortable though, it's already 20 years old. It could easily fit my whole family and we could drive somewhere to the sea, to Crimea where it is still warm, even if swimming in the sea is no longer possible. But there is no one to go with, and Crimea has long been occupied. My family is scattered across the world. The once noisy apartment now stands silent and slowly falls apart. I'm not selling it or renting it out- not only for sentimental reasons, but also because I use it as a place to rest during my trips. There is still gas here so I can hit some water and take a shower. When the power's on, I can even do laundry in the washing machine. You can't imagine what a luxury that is for a soldier.

I made several sets of keys to this apartment and gave them to friends who serve nearby or occasionally pass through Kharkiv. I can tell that someone was here recently. There is a bottle of water and a can of food on the table just in case someone arrives late when the stores are closed, so they'll have something to eat and something to make tea or coffee with. Someone also spent the night in my daughter's former room and read books from her little library, Sherlock Holmes, and some modern science fiction.

It's time for me to go. I'll check if I've turned off all the lights, leave some fresh water and a bit of cookies on the table for people who can come here in the future and head out from my childhood home once again.

I don't know when or if I'll come back, but I really hope I will.

October 7th 2025

In the wake of increased Russian bombings targeting Ukraine, the city of Dnipro stands as a primary target. Despite the ongoing devastation and personal horror, residents persist in daily life, adapting to the continuous threat while grappling with immense fear and loss.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is October seven.

In recent months, the Russians have been bombing Ukraine more intensely than at any time during the previous three years. Every day they launch dozens of missiles at cities and several times a week they also carry out hyper attacks. Using hundreds of chemical drones, cruise missiles, and ballistic missiles. They target boiler houses and power plants, which is especially painful now with the weather is turning cold, as well as railway stations and residential buildings. People die horrible deaths, suffocating under wearable, crashed by the remains of their own homes, or burnt alive after explosions.

The city of Dnipro, a huge metropolis in Eastern Ukraine, is one of the main targets of these bombings. It lies not far from the front line, so the Russians [00:01:00] shell it constantly, and with everything they have. It is interesting that at the beginning of the invasion, Dnipro was not bombed at all. For several months, the occupiers furiously bombed Kyiv, Kharkiv and Mykolaiv, but not Dnipro. I think it was because of their false believe that most of the population there supported Russia and would soon rise up against the Ukrainian government. For a long time, the Russians actually believed that nonsense. They never knew anything about Ukraine and they never understood us. And now they're taking revenge for the destruction of their own illusions by raining rockets and drones down on Dnipro.

I've been in Dnipro for past few days. I saw the horror with my own eyes. You know, it's terrifying when a drone carrying tens of kilograms of explosives hits a building right next to you and completely destroys it. The smoke rise over the city [00:02:00] in a massive column: several streets are literate with a debris of ruin structure; there are dead and badly injured people. And yet life goes on. People rush to work, drink coffee, public transport runs, shops are open. It's not because people are heartless, it's because they're grown used to eat. When it happens once, it's a shock. But when it happens every day for years, there is no strength left to react. People adapt to the horror and learn to live alongside it.

Is it easy? No, it's incredibly hard. A few days ago I spoke on the phone with my daughter. She's studying at university. Fortunately, she doesn't have to pay due tuition now because the children of combatants are allowed to study for free. She studies, works two jobs and is currently looking for a third. I ask her why she need such a heavy workload [00:03:00] since her income should already be enough for a modest life, but it turned out it's not just about money. She told me this: "When I have free time, I cry from fear and despair. That's why I want to have as little free time as possible."

The great war has been going on for an almost four years now. Almost four years of fear, despair, and heroism.

Yuriy reflects on his three and a half years in the army, recounting experiences of loss, perseverance, and the ongoing conflict that has spanned 1,300 days. He shares personal anecdotes and the emotional toll the prolonged war has taken on him and his country.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is September 16th.

I took a long post to try to make sense of what's happening. I've been in the army for over three and a half years. I've buried countless friends and colleagues, and I've watched entire towns perish and enemy bombardments. And there is still no, end in sight. The big war has been going on for over 1,300 days, and before that there was a smaller war confined to a couple of regions in the east of a country. In total, the war has been a region for 11 years. And I constantly think about how it could easily drag on for another 11.

I spent a lot of time driving now. Sometimes I have to cover 400-500 miles in a day. You drive and you constantly thinking, constantly recalling stories you'd almost forgotten. For example, I remember how in the first days someone gave me a NATO first eight kit- a very valuable thing even now, but back when it was worth its weight in gold. A few days later, I gave it to a guy who was replacing me at a position before I was sent to rest, that was the first or second week of a big war. I thought it would all be over quickly, so I wouldn't need the kit anymore. I figured I'd return from the rest straight to the civilian life. Why would I need a first aid kit there? It's been 1300 days ago and I still haven't returned. I don't regret giving away the kit. Maybe it saved someone's life. But damn, what a fool I was back then. I believed the end was near.

I also remembered a woman in Iraq who escaped from ISIS on the boat with several children, an ordinary peasant widow. She rowed it for nights, hiding in the reeds eating almost nothing, but she made it out. I asked her how she managed. She said 'I did not even want to see was bastards but that's what gave me strength.' Our whole country has been holding on for years, probably only because we don't want to see these bastards crawling over our northern border. But refusal, it seems to me it's the only inexhaustible resource a normal person has. All the other resources: optimism, faith in the future, hope for better days, even tolerance for hours are running out. At least for me.

I've become harsh in human root and I increasingly offend people for no reason. I understand it all, but I can't do anything about it. Everything has changed so much. And so have I.

August 22nd 2025

Yuriy returns after a long absence to discuss the uncertain future of Ukraine's war. He shares his concerns about decisions being made without Ukraine's consent, the potential humiliation in impending peace talks, and the internal divisions in Ukraine that may follow.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 22nd of August.

Sorry, I've been absent for a long time. First, I was somewhere without stable internet connection, and when I came down with COVID, which I only just managed to recover from Stevie, who helped me make this podcast, who actually came up with the idea for it and who has been distributing it and supporting me in every possible way since day one sent me your letters of support. I am very grateful to all of you right now. Support is absolutely essential. It feels to me like we are entering the most uncertain and bleak stage of the war.

In the beginning, everything was very simple: take up a rifle and go to the trenches- either you stop the occupiers, or you vanish along with the country. And for quite a long time, that's exactly how it was. Now everything is completely different. Decisions about Ukraine's fate are being made without Ukraine. For months, we've been under pressure with various ultimatums. One moment we are told to give up our regions and hand them over without a fight to the invaders. Another time we are told to hold elections in the middle of a bloodiest war in Europe in decades, then they come up with something else. And all this is not coming from our enemies, as one might expect, but from our partners and allies. Maybe I'm wrong, but I have a bad feeling that we are being prepared for something terribly humiliating.

One of my fellow journalists who has long been serving in the army recently said something terrifying. "Enjoy the war because of a peace will be horrible." And I'm afraid he's right. Because it looks like the Russians will simply be forgiven for everything they've done and even allowed to keep the territories they've occupied. Hundreds of thousands of Ukrainians will remain under occupation. Right now, they still have hope that the Ukrainian army will return and free them, but once the war is frozen, that hope will vanish.

Once the war is frozen. Ukrainians also will start looking for someone to blame, for failing to take everything back and destroy the enemy once and for all. And I fear that many will decide that the ones to blame are us, the soldiers. That we did not try hard enough, that we did not give it everything we could, that we let everyone down. Entire political parties will appear representing the interests of those who dodged the draft. They will hound the military and belittle the sacrifice of wars who died. Once again, we will be voices calling for cooperation with Russia dragging back Russian music, movies, and money.

Meanwhile, Russia will be preparing for the next war. It has already learned from its mistakes and it's only waiting for the right moment to try to take all of Ukraine. It does not need much for that division within Ukraine itself, and more money which will flow in as soon as sanctions are lifted. The future really does look uncertain and frightening. And so perhaps for those of us still alive, it really is worth enjoying the war while waiting for the terrible peace, but I very much hope I'm wrong.

July 28th 2025

Yuriy reflects on his experience with illness, the enduring effects of war in Ukraine, and the striking parallels between his own journey and that of his grandfather, both marked by their status as war veterans.

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is July 28th

And it's beautiful rainy day. I had stayed silent for quite a while, but it wasn't by choice. For the past two weeks, I've been sick with COVID. I have to admit these were two terrible weeks at times it even felt like we might be my last. These days, every illness seems harder and more severe than the previous one, and yet during the first year of a full scale war. I did not get sick at all. Despite having to sleep on concrete floors or frozen grounds, my body somehow mobilized itself and made it through the whole year without any illness. Only my teeth started falling out.

Then at the beginning of my second year of service, something broke inside. And I began to fall ill, bronchitis, flu then flu again, then COVID again. It felt like my immune system had just stopped working. I tried to push through every illness on my feet, refusing to go to the hospital, but it did not always work. I remember the first time I found myself in a hospital ward that had a sign on the door. Ward for war veterans. The sign dated back to Soviet times, still written in Russian. I remember thinking then: how did I end up here in this kind of ward?

The thing is, for many years there was only one "war" in the public consciousness. The USSR fought in plenty of wars, but officially they were called something absurd: fulfilling international duty assisting fraternal socialist nations, or something like that. And there was only one real war, the second World war.

Or rather,, just the part of it starting from June 1941, when Hitler attacked his former ally, Stalin, and launched a war against the Soviet Union. Only the veterans of that war were considered true veterans and it was them that signs referred to when we said a hospital ward or tram seat was reserved for war veterans.

For me, a war veteran had always been someone old and very ill- like my grandfather. In his final years, he was always in wards, veteran wards, constantly being operated on by doctors trying to prolong his life a bit more. And now it suddenly turns out that I'm a veteran too. Well, I'm definitely sick like one, unfortunately.

By the way, about a year ago when I was in Kharkiv, I happened to find my grandfather's veteran ID. He received it from the Ukrainian authorities after the collapse of USSR. And you know what? It looks exactly the same as the one I received 30 years after my grandfather.

July 11th 2025

Yuriy reflects on the psychological toll of war, the loss of close friends, and the inescapable horrors faced in Ukraine. Amidst widespread destruction and cruelty, he delves deep into the struggle of being both an observer and an active participant in the conflict.

You can email Yuriy, ask him questions or simply send him a message of support: [email protected]   

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is 11th of July.

I'm starting to forget my fallen friends. A few days ago, someone reminded me of anniversary of one of their deaths. And it took me quite a while to remember who they were even talking about. I think this is how the minds defense mechanisms work. They push away the nightmarish memories of losing close people and with them their names and even their faces. These can probably be prevented, for example, by keeping a journal. Many people around me do just that: they record everything that is happening. Some have already published their journals as books, or turned them into film or theatre scripts, but I don't want that. I don't want to keep a journal or publish it or turn it into a screenplay about the war. I haven't even listened to a single episode of my own podcast. It's too painful for me digging into memories, dragging out the shadows of the death and the suffering of a wounded.

You know, being a reporter- and I've done that for over 20 years- is above all about knowing how to be invisible. You write about events in Syria, in Iraq, in Egypt- wherever- but you yourself are not present in the texts. You never use the words "I". Or at least you try not to, because you are not the main character here. You're just an observer who cannot and must not influence what's happening.

But here, you can't be invisible. A soldier in war is an active participant, not an observer. And when you write about this war, you write about yourself too. Or rather, first and foremost about yourself. And how can you write about yourself when you are alive and countless, thousands are not. In just the last three months alone, over 1500 civilians have been killed. Every night Ukrainian cities are destroyed by missiles and kamikaze drones. And you can't imagine how ordinary Russians celebrate this on social media. Every murder Ukrainian child is a holiday to them. Every destroyed home, a reason to cheer and laugh. It's a twisted world. Instead of raising their our children and building their our own cities, they kill our children and destroy our cities. The mind just can't handle it. Because the cruelty and hatred are so unnatural, so inhuman that it feels like it simply can't be real, but it is, and we are living in it for the fourth year now. And we are starting to forget those who died in the war with this inhuman mass that came for us.

July 3rd 2025

Yuriy recounts a harrowing experience in Cairo during the mass protests against the ruling authorities in Egypt on July 3rd, 2013. He covers the arrest of President Mohamed Morsi, the dangers faced by journalists and foreigners, and the tragic events surrounding the military dispersal of the pro-Morsi encampment at Rabaa al-Adawiya mosque.

You can email Yuriy, ask him questions or simply send him a message of support: [email protected]   

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is July 3rd,

12 years ago, around this very day, I woke up drenched in sweat from the stiffing heat in a small hotel room overlooking RI square in Cairo, mass protests against the ruling authorities were unfolding in the Egyptian capital. The day before I had spent time near a military compound on Nasr Street, where the country's president, Mohamed Morsi, recently arrested by the military who had supposedly suddenly sided with the protestors had been brought.

I got back to the hotel quite late. Public transport had come to a halt, and taxi drivers were too afraid to take foreigners since revolutionary checkpoints had sprung up throughout the city. At those makeshift barricades, foreigners were treated as potential enemies.

Morsi had already been held for several days inside the military base near the small Rabaa al-Adawiya mosque. A massive crowd of his supporters had gathered outside. Staying where over time was extremely difficult. I had to prepare and send articles about the situation in Cairo, which was nearly impossible from a tent camp with no electricity or stable internet.

That's when my local colleague, Ahmed Samir Assem stepped in, we agreed to take 10 to 12 hour shifts replacing each other so that both of us would have time to work on our stories and get some rest. If the situation about Rabaa al-Adiwiya began to escalate, the one on shift was supposed to immediately call the other.

Ahmed never called me.

I went down to the nearly empty hotel cafeteria that morning intending to grab a quick breakfast, but I never got to eat. The TV was blaring at full volume with breaking news. On the screen was Ahmed's photo, black and white.

The voiceover reported that he had been killed about an hour early after the military began dispersing the pro-Morsi encampment.

I rushed to Rabaa al-Adawiya. The mosque was on fire. Human bodies were scattered everywhere- dozens, maybe even hundreds. It was impossible to retrieve the dead or wounded anyone who approached the destroyed camp was shot from the fence surrounding the military base.

To this day, no one knows the true number of people killed. At least a thousand, possibly several times more.

Morsi died in prison a few years later, his closest allies were executed, fled the country, or were sentenced to long prison terms.

Mohamed Morsi was not a Democrat, but he was elected president in the first and so far only free and fair elections in Egypt's history.

In 2011, a popular revolution had forced his predecessor Hosni Mubarak to resign after nearly three decades of authoritarian rule. 

Morsi and his Islamist supporters were not the main force or even one of the main forces behind with revolution, but they were quick to seize its momentum for their own game.

Morsi made populist promises what were clearly impossible to fulfill immediately. He could not eradicate corruption. He could not quickly end poverty even though he promised to. He placed his hope in divine intervention and said so openly.

The military, many of whom benefited directly from that entrenched corruption, tolerated his reform efforts, his fight against illegal businesses, and his genuine religious devotion for two years. Then they crushed Egypt's fledgeling democracy, along with a beautiful little mosque of Rabaa ad-Adawiya. 

The mosque incidentally, was later rebuilt with funds from the Ministry of Defense. It is now, so to speak, the militaries "own" mosque. Democracy, however, no one has tried to rebuild.

One of Ahmed's relatives sought justice for journalists murderers, but had to flee the country after receiving threats. Ahmed's fiance wore mourning clothes for several years then eventually married someone else.

It's all supposed to be in the past. And yet every year in early July, I feel a familiar a gnawing fear. And I suddenly recall the burned mosque and the hundreds of corpses around it.

June 12th

Yuriy recounts the tragic divide within his own family due to the ongoing war, revealing the schizophrenic beliefs held by many Russians. He criticizes the contradictory narratives supported by the Russian government and highlights the dire consequences of these delusions on both personal and societal levels.

You can email Yuriy, ask him questions or simply send him a message of support: [email protected]   

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TRANSCRIPT: (Apple Podcasts & Podbean app users can enjoy accurate closed captions)  

It is June 12.

A new soldier recently joined my military unit. He's fairly young, just over 30, and originally from Doneysk. Let me remind you, that's a Ukrainian city. Russia has occupied since 2014. Right after the occupation, this guy fled to the free part of Ukraine, but his father stayed behind in Donetsk, took Russian citizenship and eventually moved somewhere into Russia. Now that Father fervently supports the war against Ukraine, he even sends money to the occupying forces- donating part of his salary to units fighting the Ukrainian army. That means he's also funding the war against his own son.

Sometimes this father writes to his son about how much he hates Ukraine and how he regrets having a child who doesn't understand that it's better to be Russian. He says Ukraine has no right to exist and that his willing to accept his own sons death if that's what it takes to destroy Ukraine. This is pure schizophrenia -to wish so obsessively for the destruction of the entire country that you'd be willing to sacrifice your own child for it. And there are millions of people like him.

Another kind of schizophrenia is believing that the war will end soon and everything will go back to how it was before- Russians will travel freely to Ukraine again, Ukrainians will forgive them and they will be genuine peace. That's the delusion world. My brother, for example, lives in. He recently wrote to our uncle in Kharkiv, a city bombed daily, saying that as soon as the war ends, he'll come and help rebuild it, and that our uncle should wait for him because he's coming soon.

What's interesting is that the Russian government supports both of these schizophrenic delusions even though directly contradict each other. Putin regularly spouts nonsense about how Russians are destined to be friends with what he calls "the Ukrainian part of Russian people" while one of his goons, someone like Medvedev, will immediately follow up with claims that Ukrainians will be completely wiped out and forgotten by history. Schizophrenia in its many forms has become the norm in Russia. They are consumed by madness, the entire society.

Putin has turned his country into massive asylum for deranged. These madmen are allowed to do anything to kill and rape Ukrainians, to loot and burn down entire cities to believe that it'll soon end and through peace will return like in the distant past, the only thing we're not allowed to do is question the war- to question whether the killing and raping is really necessary.

Tragically, the western world still tries to engage with these extremely dangerous lunatics as if they were ordinary people who just have a political disagreement with Ukrainians, but we have a disagreement, not with us, but with reality itself. And we're proud of it. While your politicians keep dancing before the chief murder and looter before the chief 21st century schizoid man.