Growing discomfort about the arrival of single Ukrainian men. ‘I’m not ashamed,’

“We don’t know what will happen after a loud noise, right?” Nikolaj (40) asks his 29-year-old friend Nikita. “On New Year’s Eve I drove through the streets of Utrecht and I saw boys setting off firecrackers. I panicked and thought I had to get out of the car and lie on the ground,” Nikita replies. The two friends come from Mariupol, the port city in southeastern Ukraine. The city has been in Russian hands since February last year. Nikolaj and Nikita fled “headlong” towards the Netherlands on the first day of the raid. Neither fought in the war and neither intends to. “What business do I have with that corrupt gang?” says Nikolaj about the Ukrainian army. His friend shakes his head. “You won’t see me there either.”

Men between the ages of eighteen and sixty are, with few exceptions, not allowed to leave Ukraine in case the army needs them. In recent weeks, more men have arrived in the Netherlands, while previously it was mainly women with children who came from Ukraine. At the beginning of November, 24,450 men of military age were living in the Netherlands, out of a total of 102,890 Ukrainian refugees. Compared to the beginning of this year, this is an increase of four percent. The Security Council, which coordinates the reception of Ukrainians, recently expressed “concerns” about men traveling alone. They would flee to the Netherlands to avoid military service or come here for work.

Why did the men leave their country?

Anti-squatter building

In the Lombok district of Utrecht there is an anti-squat building that is used as a community center for Ukrainian refugees. Children dressed as ghosts, bloodied doctors and Dracula run through the building. At the table in the kitchen, at the request of NRC, five Ukrainian men gathered. Because it is a sensitive subject, they only want their first name in the newspaper.

Nikolaj is of conscript age and is not exempt from the obligation to fight. But because he left on the day the war started, he was still able to leave the country. He says confidently: “I’m not ashamed.” It’s a strange war, he says. “Normal citizens are killed, but politicians and businessmen are left alone.” That is why he chose to flee to the Netherlands with his wife and five-year-old son. His mother, brother and friends were killed by a Russian bomb, he says. His house has been destroyed.

refugee from KyivAndrew (18) I’m not afraid of getting an invitation (for military service).

Nikita has an exemption from his military service, he says, because he has something wrong with his spine that makes it difficult for him to move. What exactly is wrong with him is, according to him, “too complicated” to explain. After the conversation, Nikita sends a message in which he tries to clarify that it concerns “musculoskeletal problems.”

The two friends say that they were traumatized by the war. Nikolaj says he received little help from the Ukrainian government. He had expected that they would be guided to a safe environment or to find new work and a home, but he felt left to his own devices.

What would they do if they still received a call to join the army? Nikita laughs and answers: “At this point I am happy with my health conditions.”

I’d rather not, no

Eighteen-year-old Andrii translates the conversations at the table into English. Just like Nikolaj and Nikita, he fled to the Netherlands. He was seventeen years old at the time and left his older brother and father behind in Kyiv. He now lives in an apartment with his girlfriend, is taking a gap year after high school and further education, and works in the catering industry. He speaks of “luck” that his brother, father and himself have not yet been called up to fight. Andrii feels relaxed and hardly talks about military service with his friends. “I’m not afraid of getting an invitation.” According to him, he is in “the last row.”

But what if he is called up? He hasn’t really thought about that yet. Andrii can’t answer the question “very well” because he can’t imagine it. “It is the road to death, a one-way journey.” It’s quiet for a moment. “My friends and I would rather not, no.” Men who have fled cannot be forced to return.

Nikolaj repeats that the war “is child-level politics.” He walks to the large paper plate, picks up a black marker and begins to draw the country of Ukraine. The little balls he draws in the area are the places where his friends were murdered. In total there were casualties according to U.S. government estimates more than 70,000 Ukrainian soldiers, and 100,000 to 120,000 were injured. Because Ukraine does not publish figures, the numbers are difficult to verify.

The demand for new soldiers is high. The Ukrainian government shows commercials on television in which a voice-over says that “the fate of Ukraine” lies in the hands of the men. “It is normal to be afraid. Admitting your fears is brave.” Last September, the Ukrainian Ministry of Defense announced that it would reduce the number of exceptions that exempt men from military service. Men with mild psychological complaints can now also be called up. According to Nikolaj, this is a result of corruption. “The rich pay the doctors for delays. The effect of this is that more and more elderly and sick people have to join the army.”

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Bribed officials

Andrii’s father worked for the government for 25 years and saw the corruption there firsthand. That is why Andrii also has his doubts about whether the army is “legitimate”. “Corruption is self-evident in our country,” says Andrii. “Everything is for sale: from driving licenses to passports.”

Nikolaj says he knows “enough men” who bribed officials not to have to fight. It is not known how many Ukrainian men bought their service. But last August, Ukrainian President Zelensky fired all heads of regional military recruitment centers, saying some forged forms in exchange for money. Friends of Nikolaj also bought off their service, he says. They now also live in Europe. For their safety, the men do not want to tell their story in the newspaper, they say.

Friends and family of Nikolaj and Nikita have no problem with not joining the fight, they say. They both regularly send military supplies to lend a helping hand: safety vests, boots and dry food, Nikita says. He supports a friend who stayed behind in Mariupol to care for his parents.

A slanted eye

But in other places, Ukrainian men are looked at with a side eye. About a kilometer from the shelter, next to the Jaarbeurs in Utrecht, is the only major registration point where new Ukrainian refugees can register in the Netherlands. More and more men have been arriving there in recent weeks. Tensions are therefore increasing, says the director of the Utrecht Safety Region, Jaap Donker. “We notice that our Ukrainian employees find it difficult when men arrive. They wonder: don’t you have another purpose to serve, in our country?”

At first, the men mainly came for family reunification, according to the Safety Region, but recently they have increasingly come here to work. Donker: “My employees ask me: should we now provide free shelter for migrant workers? And will there be places left for real war refugees?”

Nikolaj also sees that, he says, that more and more men are coming for work. “Men who fled to Eastern Europe are now also coming to Central Europe and the Netherlands.” He knows why. “In Poland they earned about 500 euros a month, while here they can get 2,000 euros a month.”

The recruitment

Meanwhile, a 76-year-old man also called Nikolaj sits quietly at the table and stares into space. “Who am I to judge men who don’t want to fight?” he asks. In the 1970s, when Ukraine was still part of the Soviet Union, Nikolai underwent mandatory military training for the Red Army, but was never drafted. “I haven’t even fought in a war myself.” Nikolaj lists names of men he has known who have been murdered. “It all feels so unfair,” says the seventy-year-old as he closes his eyes for a moment. He is affected by the inhuman recruitments, which he has heard through acquaintances and on television. “These young men are unsuspectingly met at the bus stop or while shopping and kidnapped by police or soldiers.”

“We should be more concerned about the corrupt officials who accept loads of money than about the men who pay them,” says 43-year-old Ivan, who is wearing green army trousers and a knitted sweater. Two months ago he fled with his wife and eight-year-old son from Svitlovodsk, an industrial city in central Ukraine. There are few men of military age in the shelter where they live, he says. They never talk about military service among themselves.

Director of the Utrecht Safety RegionJaap Donker Ukrainian employees find it difficult when men arrive. They wonder: Don’t you have another purpose to serve?

Ivan has legitimate reasons to leave Ukraine, he says. “It’s something oncological.” Everyone should be able to make their own choices, says Ivan. “I am only angry with the Russians who attacked our country,” he quickly adds. He knows plenty of men who are fighting, but he no longer has contact with them. “Sometimes I hear through a sign of life,” he says, lifting his shoulders somewhat helplessly.

But what if the war is over and the men could return? Nikolaj, in his forties, expects that there will be tensions between the people who stayed and the men who fled. But he’s not worried. According to him, Zelensky said that men who fled would not be prosecuted after the war. “In addition, Zelensky advised that anyone in occupied cities could leave the area to seek safety in another country.”

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