When the Schengen stamp no longer guarantees return
On a windy morning in Kyiv, a wreath leans against a makeshift memorial, names handwritten on folded paper, a child’s drawing tucked behind a bullet-riddled plaque. Nearby, volunteers pass hot tea to soldiers with bandaged hands. The scene is intimate, raw and stubbornly human—yet it now sits inside a wider, colder story about borders, trust and the changing rules of travel in Europe.
Brussels has quietly, then decisively, redrawn one more line. The European Union announced it will largely end the practice of issuing multi-entry visas to Russian citizens. In plain terms: a Russian tourist, student or businessperson will generally need a fresh visa each time they plan to cross into the EU. Exceptions will be made—for example, for independent journalists and human-rights defenders—but for most people the old rhythm of stamping a passport and enjoying repeated trips through Schengen is being interrupted.
“Starting a war and expecting to move freely in Europe is hard to justify,” EU foreign affairs chief Kaja Kallas wrote on X, underscoring the political logic behind the move.
Why now? The uneasy language of hybrid threats
The decision didn’t come from a vacuum. Officials in Brussels speak of a rise in what they call “hybrid warfare”: a messy mix of cyberattacks, disinformation, airspace incursions and unexplained drone sightings that have rattled capitals from the Baltics to the Balkans. European security agencies describe a landscape in which physical borders are no longer the sole lines of defense.
“We’ve seen incidents that are hard to explain away as accidents,” said an EU diplomat who asked not to be named. “When you combine that with the larger geopolitical picture, it alters how we view who should get open access to the bloc.”
Numbers help translate anxiety into policy. Before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, EU countries issued over four million visas to Russian nationals. By 2023 that figure had plunged to roughly 500,000. Yet diplomats say approvals were starting to creep back upward this year—precisely the trend the new rules aim to arrest.
Who will feel the pinch?
The immediate impacts are not just statistical. Tour operators in Barcelona and small B&B owners in Florence have long relied on Russian visitors during peak seasons. France, Spain and Italy—tourist magnets—were among the countries issuing most of the visas that remain.
“We’re seeing bookings canceled, and people asking whether their grandmother will be able to come for New Year,” said Luis Martín, who runs a family hostel in Barcelona’s Gothic Quarter. “It’s not only about numbers. These are relationships, memories, people who love our cities. The new rules will make travel more bureaucratic and more uncertain.”
In Kyiv, reactions are more mixed. “Security first,” says Anna Shevchenko, who coordinates a volunteer kitchen near the front. “We have seen what happens when security is ignored. But there are also Russians who oppose the war and who are suffering from what their government is doing. It’s complicated.”
From visas to visible defence: Europe’s longer stare
Visa policy is only the outward ripple of a deeper shift underway in European defence thinking. In interview after interview, military planners and diplomats have sketched out a Europe intent on being less dependent—operationally and industrially—on the United States while remaining a steadfast transatlantic partner.
General Seán Clancy, chair of the EU’s military committee, has argued publicly for positioning military trainers in Ukraine after hostilities wind down. The EU’s Military Assistance Mission in support of Ukraine (EUMAMUkraine) has already trained more than 80,000 Ukrainian soldiers outside the country. Clancy says hosting trainers inside Ukraine would be “optimal” to build a force that could credibly deter future aggression.
“Europe can provide a high degree of that level of training,” Gen. Clancy told reporters. “Will some of that be in Ukraine? I think that is optimal.”
The logic is twofold. First, well-trained, capable Ukrainian forces are the best immediate guarantee against renewed threats to Kyiv. Second, the exercise teaches European militaries how to sustain operations, integrate equipment and deepen interoperable capabilities—skills Brussels wants to see ready by 2030 as part of its Defence Readiness Roadmap.
Yet Clancy—former chief of staff of Ireland’s Defence Forces—was careful to underscore that the transatlantic bond remains vital. “We will still rely on U.S. systems: Patriot missiles, F-35 aircraft. That hardware has decades of service left. But we must build our own capacity too,” he said.
Local color: the human geography of security policy
In practice, these policies ripple through villages and cafés as much as through ministries. At a small mechanic’s shop on the outskirts of Lviv, a television plays footage of European diplomats while customers sip kvass. “If training remains in Europe, at least our young men get skills without being on the front line,” says Mykola, the owner. “If trainers come here later, it will be a sign that we are rebuilding and that the world trusts us.”
Across the EU, in border towns and airline counters, the new rules will mean added paperwork and discretion. For independent journalists and human-rights defenders—explicitly named in the EU announcement—there is a narrow but important exemption. Still, many NGOs say that extra layers of bureaucracy will make emergency and investigative travel harder, particularly for freelancers who operate with slim budgets.
Practical effects—who benefits, who pays
- Security agencies gain a tighter ability to review entrants and track movement.
- Tourism-dependent businesses face shorter booking windows and uncertainty.
- Journalists and defenders retain access but may face proof-of-purpose requirements.
Questions that linger
As readers, as travelers, as citizens of an interconnected world, we should ask: how do we balance safety with openness? When does a policy meant to protect the majority end up penalizing those already at risk—the dissident, the vulnerable migrant, the bilingual student studying abroad?
“There are no easy answers,” says Dr. Eleni Markou, a security analyst at a European think tank. “The EU is trying to thread a needle—deterring malign activity without collapsing the channels for dialogue and dissent that can actually be stabilizing in the long run.”
The visa change is an emblem of a broader reality: Europe is learning to live with prolonged, low-intensity confrontation on its periphery. It is updating legal instruments, reallocating training missions and recalibrating alliances. And it is doing so in a political atmosphere shaped by public fatigue, political opportunism and the very human cost of conflict.
What comes next?
What happens after the ink dries on this policy will depend on both events and perceptions. If drone incidents and airspace alarms continue, further restrictions are likely. If ceasefire talks advance, Brussels may have to balance security measures with the diplomatic imperative to help ordinary people heal and move freely again.
For now, passports will feel heavier. For some travelers, a Schengen stamp will no longer be a ticket to return, but a permission that must be earned each time. For Europe, the policy is a small, bureaucratic lever in a much larger effort to recalibrate power, responsibility and trust in a post-2022 world.
And for the people gathered around that memorial in Kyiv—volunteers passing tea, a soldier reading a child’s drawing—the policy is both symbolic and practical: a reminder that war changes not only the map of front lines, but the map of everyday life. Will this make Europe safer, or simply more closed? The answer will unfold in embassies and cafes, in training grounds and courtrooms, and in the hearts of the people who have already paid the price.
