As the fifth year of the full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine begins, daily missile bombardments and drone attacks continue. Russian military casualties have now reached 1.2 million, with between 500,000 and 600,000 Ukrainian fatalities and casualties, according to a recent report by the Center for Strategic and International Studies.
In mid-February, on a freezing cold afternoon in the Ukrainian capital of Kyiv, with temperatures dropping as low as five degrees Fahrenheit during a current cold snap, I sat with three members of the Ukrainian Pacifist Movement (UPM) who are speaking out about what they see as the immense damage caused by militarism. They are Yurii Sheliazhenko, executive secretary of UPM, pacifist Quaker Serhii Vedmediev, and conscientious objector Artem Denysov.
“War is contrary to human nature and the sanctity of human life,” says Sheliazhenko . “Everyone feels good in peace and everyone can see what a bad thing war is.”
In a nation facing an existential fight for survival, pacifism is treated as a deeply subversive belief. In Sheliazhenko’s experience, the Ukrainian public’s view of pacifists is ambivalent at best. As he put it, “People are not ready to even consider that it is possible to stick to a pacifist worldview during the war.”
Founded in 2019, United Pacifist Movement seeks an end to the war in Ukraine and to “all wars in the world! We call for an immediate ceasefire, fair inclusive peace talks, and worldwide transition towards nonviolent society.”
In February 2022, UPM began protesting outside the Verkhovna Rada, Ukraine’s parliament, demanding a peaceful resolution of conflict with Russia and putting a stop to human rights violations related to wartime military mobilization. The small but persistent group normally sees around twenty people attend online meetings; its Facebook group has nearly 10,000 members.
Dozens of pacifist and conscientious objector organizations have publicly supported UPM, including the European Bureau for Conscientious Objection, War Resisters’ International, and the Center on Conscience and War (CCW).
“Some people say: ‘Oh, these pacifists are cowards, they don’t want to fight war, they are harmful to society,’ ” Sheliazhenko says. “On the contrary, the whole myth of militarism is based on the superstition that violence could solve all problems caused by violence.”
Without an armed Ukrainian resistance, Russia would have quickly taken over the country. But Sheliazhenko is sure that, in the longterm, if the country were better prepared for nonviolent resistance, any occupation would not be possible. “The whole myth of militarism is based on the superstition that violence could solve all problems caused by violence,” says Sheliazhenko.
Finbarr Toesland
Yurii Sheliazhenko, Serhii Vedmediev, and Artem Denysov in Kyiv, Ukraine, in mid-February, 2026, shortly before the fifth anniversary of Russia’s 2022 invasion which began the current war.
The United Pacificist Movement has strongly condemned Russia’s criminal aggression against Ukraine. By publicly calling for peace and refusing to join the military, Sheliazhenko faces arrest and forced conscription. He has been charged by authorities with “justifying Russian aggression” in connection with his anti-war writings. His trial has been postponed multiple times at the request of the prosecutor.
A number of pacifists, many of whom are Jehovah’s Witnesses, are currently in prison, serving terms of up to five years for refusing to serve in the military.
Serhii Vedmediev, a pacifist Quaker, was internally displaced after Russian separatist forces began the Donbas war in 2014, prompting Vedmediev to leave Donetsk for Kyiv. “I lived for about two years under occupation, since I had no money to leave,” he says.
For Vedmediev, who has seen Russia’s occupation of Ukrainian territories firsthand, recognizing conscientious objection will make Ukraine stronger, not weaker. “If on the international stage, Ukraine came up with a statement that said: ‘We know some people oppose fighting and we are making alternative service registration for them,’ this would put us opposite to Russia.”
“We need to oppose Russia in how we treat our people, in our human rights,” says Vedmediev.
The Quaker faith plays a crucial role in the drive by many Ukrainian pacifists to become conscientious objectors. “Among Quakers, we just might be a little bit more serious than others, because we don’t only recognise this obvious truth that war is a bad thing, but we are determined to work against it,” says Sheliazhenko.
During the Second World War, thousands upon thousands of Quakers registered as conscientious objectors and carried out “work of national importance” in the United Kingdom, instead of military service. “They worked in hospitals, helped in rebuilding works, disseminated informational materials, did reconstruction work after the Blitz and so on,” Sheliazhenko says.
According to Article 35 of the Ukrainian Constitution, citizens have the right to alternative forms of service if carrying out military service contradicts their religious beliefs. In practice, however, no alternative is possible. The Ukrainian Supreme Court has ruled that only in peacetime, not wartime, can substitutes to military service be used.
Conscientious objector Artem Denysov believes there are many non-militaristic ways for pacifists to support people during war. “We try to do a lot of activities to help our civilian victims and military victims and sometimes help people connected to us if they are in financial trouble, and by donating blood,” he adds.
Every time Denysov goes to donate blood, he doesn’t know if he will make it back home. “I can be taken by the police or TCC [military recruiters],” he says matter-of-factly, as none of these pacifists have a current exemption from military service.
When one of Denysov’s friends, who served in the Armed Forces of Ukraine, returned to civilian life, he had serious trouble rejoining society. “He fought with people and when the police were called, he fought with the police. He had not received any support from the government,” Denysov says.
Following this, his friend suffered a mental health crisis and was taken by police to a medical clinic, where he stayed for several weeks. Denysov and others tried to help with his friend’s reintegration, but Denysov says, “it’s not easy to live with the understanding that you’ve killed someone during the war.”
In Sheliazhenko’s view, Ukraine needs to do far more to support those who resist war without killing anyone. “We need to support psychologists, people heroically repairing our energy stations, there is even a risk that there will be a second strike on the same place,” he says, referring to the practice of double-tap strikes, where a deliberate second bombardment is timed to hit just minutes after the first attack to maximize casualties as emergency workers aid to the injured.
For Denysov and other Ukrainian pacifists who ask for an alternative form of service than military duty, court proceedings are often issued under Article 336 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine, which criminalizes the evasion of conscription during mobilization.
“Decisions in the courts a few years ago were more merciful to people,” Denysov says. “But now everything has changed and penalties of three to five years in prison are given.”
Sheliazhenko believes that if powerful institutions dedicated to working for peace and social justice were built, it would be possible to challenge the narrative that the “war system” is the only way to live.
“We have a civilian president and strong civil society institutions,” he allows. “Unfortunately, these institutions are totally subservient to the needs of the army.”