The War with No Winners

Or the Sick Collateral Damage of a Nation

As we enter the second week of 2025, the battlefields of Ukraine and Russia remain entrenched in a grim stalemate. Kurakhove has fallen to Russian forces, while Ukrainian troops push forward in Kursk. The media’s daily dispatches of offensives and counteroffensives now feel routine, punctuated by innovations in warfare—from unconventional Ukrainian electronic tactics to Russia’s optic fiber-equipped loitering munitions. Yet behind these military headlines lies a deeper, more devastating story: the unrelenting cost borne by the people.

For all the movement of maps and the naming of new battlegrounds, the reality is stagnant. Over two years of war have resulted in territorial gains and losses that, combined, amount to little more than the size of Moscow twice over. These advances, often no more than what a suburban commuter might traverse in a day, belie the enormous human, economic, and moral toll exacted on both nations. The irony is stark: while troops clash for ground, both countries sink further into devastation, with no winner in sight.

The Collateral Damage of a Nation

In Kursk, as in countless other regions, the war’s fallout extends far beyond the battlefield. Homes reduced to rubble, lives uprooted, and daily routines obliterated—these are the realities for ordinary citizens. Yet the deeper wound lies in the rhetoric and neglect of their own government. Acting Governor Alexander Khinshtein’s recent comments encapsulate this callousness. When confronted with the plight of refugees and the inadequacy of state aid, his retort—dismissing their requests as dishonest—laid bare a stark truth: the government owes its people nothing, but demands everything in return.

Khinshtein’s cynicism echoes the infamous remarks of Olga Glatskikh, who once claimed that “the government didn’t ask you to have kids.” These statements reveal a government estranged from its citizens, where public officials see themselves as separate from the populace they purportedly serve. The people, meanwhile, are left to shoulder the ever-mounting costs of a war waged in their name but against their interests.

The Price of “Victory”

Consider the staggering human cost. Hundreds of thousands of Russians have been killed or maimed in the conflict, their productive lives stopped dead. The young veterans of this war, many disabled in their 20s and 30s, face a bleak future as lifelong pensioners—a burden on a nation already grappling with demographic decline. The retirement age, raised in recent years, is rendered moot for those who will never work again. Entire communities are now hollowed out, their lifeblood drained by a conflict that promised glory but delivered only grief.

The political and cultural cost is no less severe. Eastern Ukraine, once a region deeply intertwined with Russia’s political and economic fabric, has been transformed into an uninhabitable wasteland. Cities like Bakhmut, Popasna, and Avdiivka, once vibrant hubs of Russian-speaking communities, now lie in ruins. This devastation severs not only geographical ties but also the cultural and historical bonds that once connected the two nations, congratulations, Putin.

A War Against the Future

The Kremlin’s aims, driven by a narrow clique equating their interests with those of the nation, has ensured that even tactical victories become strategic defeats. By razing eastern Ukraine, Russia has not only alienated its largest European neighbor but also destroyed a vital bridge for future relations. These ruins will take decades to rebuild, if they are rebuilt at all.

At home, the war has entrenched a dangerous precedent: a government that demands unflinching loyalty while offering nothing in return. This warped dynamic leaves ordinary Russians—whether on the frontlines or far from the fighting—as the perpetual losers. Their sacrifices sustain a war machine that views them as expendable, their suffering obscured by hollow rhetoric of patriotism and pride.

The Real Patriotism

True patriotism lies not in cheering for fleeting gains on a battlefield but in safeguarding the future of the nation and its people. The fall of Kurakhove or the advance at Kursk will not secure Russia’s prosperity. Instead, they deepen the wounds inflicted by a conflict that should never have begun.

If Russia is to have a future, it must reckon with this reality. The war’s true losers are not determined by territorial lines on a map but by the lives it destroys and the opportunities it forecloses. The path forward requires more than an end to hostilities; it demands a fundamental shift in how Russia views its people, its neighbors, and its place in the world. Only after the death or removal of Putin can it begin to heal the scars of this senseless war.