At the Crossroads of War and Peace: Voices of Ukrainians in Warsaw
In the bustling heart of Warsaw, amid the hum of trams and the aroma of fresh coffee from crowded cafés, a group of young Ukrainians wrestles with a painful question: Is peace with Russia within reach, or is it a mirage fading with every passing day?
This is not just headline news or political analysis — it is the lived reality of thousands who, forced from their homes by a war that has reshaped Europe, now strive to build new lives while holding the fate of their homeland in their hearts. Among them is Taras Kryvyy, a 29-year-old financial analyst whose name echoes the city of Kryvyi Rih in central Ukraine, where President Volodymyr Zelenskyy himself once walked the same streets.
Between Hope and Skepticism: Taras’ Dilemma
At a Starbucks in downtown Warsaw, Taras pauses between sips of his espresso to share his stark assessment of the peace prospects. “It feels like we have two terrible options,” he says. “Either Ukraine accepts a bad peace now — a deal that strips away much of our sovereignty — with just a 10% chance of surviving as an independent state. Or, we keep fighting, and that feels like flipping a coin.”
Taras arrived in Poland a decade ago after finishing high school, pursuing his dreams of studying business. Today, he juggles dissecting financial markets with researching Ukraine’s energy future for his PhD. His realistic, yet somber tone is shaped not only by intellect but wounded patriotism.
“Russia’s claim on Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia, and Kherson is like a ticking bomb,” he says. “They see those regions as theirs now, and pulling back is almost impossible in their eyes.”
Taras is firm: conceding any part of Ukraine to Russia is a betrayal. “The people living under occupation would become second-class citizens,” he insists. “It’s not just land; it’s our history, our blood.”
Ukrainians in Warsaw: A City Pulsing with Stories of Survival
According to Warsaw City Council statistics from the winter of 2024-2025, nearly 170,000 Ukrainians call Poland’s capital home — about 8.5% of the city’s population of two million. Most arrived within the last few years, seeking refuge and reconstruction after fleeing a war that upended their lives.
Polish and Ukrainian languages share linguistic roots, which many newcomers quickly grasp, smoothing their integration in the city’s workplaces and social fabric.
One such voice is Iryna Antoniuk, 30, a marketing specialist who had barely unpacked in Warsaw when she recounted the haunting days she spent in Kyiv’s bomb shelters as Russian forces closed in March 2022.
The War Behind the Walls: Iryna’s Story
“I remember looking out the basement window and seeing nothing but darkness — no colours, just black,” she recalls. “For the first time in my life, I couldn’t plan anything. Nothing was certain.”
The chaos forced a mass exodus. Iryna was among tens of thousands who fled westward, traveling perilously across the country before crossing into Poland.
“Back home, I had worked for a multinational firm,” she tells me in a sleek co-working space in Warsaw’s business district. “Here, I found a job with their Polish branch almost immediately — that was a small victory.”
Sharp and resolute, Iryna doesn’t mince words about Russia’s track record with peace agreements.
“I studied international relations and watched Russia break every promise — not just once, but again and again,” she says, citing the 1997 Budapest Memorandum, guaranteeing Ukraine’s territorial integrity, and the Minsk Agreement of 2015, brokered by France and Germany, which collapsed almost instantly.
“Ukraine was forced to sign Minsk to get a ceasefire on paper, but the war raging in Donbas showed it was only a delay, not peace.”
When asked about a recent meeting between former US President Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin in Alaska, Iryna’s voice hardens: “Putin is a war criminal. The only place for him is The Hague.”
History’s Weight and the Fear of Appeasement
Viktoria Pogrebniak, another Warsaw-based Ukrainian marketing professional, shares this long view born of caution and heartbreak. Having lived in Poland for over a decade, she fears the West’s patience may be wearing thin, which could leave Ukraine vulnerable.
“If the US steps back, the burden falls on us and Europe alone,” she says, eyes scanning the city street outside. “Ceding any land to Russia is a mistake no one should make — we’ve seen this script before.”
She points to Russia’s pattern of encroachment — from Abkhazia and South Ossetia in Georgia, to Crimea and now Donbas — warning that any territory conceded only emboldens Moscow to push further.
“This isn’t just about Ukraine,” Viktoria asserts. “It’s a test of international law, sovereignty, and whether strong nations can say no to brute force.”
The Emotional Toll from Kherson
In a quieter part of Warsaw, Valeriia Shakhunova, 25, from Kherson region, embodies the personal cost of this ongoing conflict.
Just after a devastating drone attack on Kyiv claimed 23 lives, including children, she confides, “I am angry — but also tired. It’s always happening.”
Valeriia’s family escaped occupation in August 2022, enduring a week-long journey through fields to evade Russian checkpoints. Her return trip to Kherson last June, to visit her family home — now in contested territory — was bitter-sweet.
“I brought back old photographs, pieces of my childhood because I knew that peace would not come easily,” she explains. “Most people left, but elderly residents remain. They live in basements, under constant threat of drone strikes.”
The stark reality? Russian forces still control about 74% of the Kherson region, with frequent missile and drone attacks reminding everyone that the conflict is far from over.
“Ukraine is ready for peace — but Russia is not,” Valeriia says quietly. “Even if the war pauses, I don’t believe Russia will stop. They will build their strength and strike again.”
What Does Peace Demand?
These stories — vivid, painful, resolute — reveal a complex dilemma. Can Ukraine find a peace that respects its sovereignty and the blood sacrificed on the battlefield? Or will the specter of Russian aggression demand years, or decades, of vigilance and sacrifice?
For the Ukrainians I met in Warsaw, peace is not simply the absence of war. It is the guarantee of dignity and freedom for every citizen, from Donetsk’s dusty streets to Kherson’s battered homes. It is a trust rebuilt from shattered accords and broken promises.
As the world watches, do we truly understand what peace means for those living it? Or do we too easily slip into comfortable narratives — that wars end with words, that treaties hold the weight of lives lost?
Perhaps the greatest question these young Ukrainians pose is not to politicians or generals, but to us all: In a world where power can overwhelm justice, how far would you go to defend what is yours? And when the cost is as high as blood and freedom, what price can peace truly demand?
For Now, They Wait and Hope
In Warsaw’s cafés, offices, and quiet streets, young Ukrainians live in the shadow of a war that shapes every moment. Yet amidst the uncertainty stands a fierce hope — that one day, their homeland will be whole again.
Until then, their voices echo across borders, reminding us that behind every headline lies a human story, nuanced and vital, breaking beyond the confines of politics into the enduring quest for peace.
