Beneath Ukraine’s official death toll of over 45,000 soldiers since Russia’s 2022 invasion lies a silent epidemic of military suicides that remains undocumented in state statistics. While officials describe these cases as isolated incidents, human rights advocates and grieving families estimate the numbers reach into the hundreds, creating a secondary tragedy shrouded in stigma and institutional neglect.
Kateryna (name changed) embodies this hidden crisis. Her son Orest, a bookish 25-year-old with academic aspirations, was deemed unfit for service initially due to poor eyesight. In 2023, a recruitment patrol re-evaluated and deployed him as a communications specialist. Shortly after arriving near Chasiv Yar in Donetsk, he died from what the army classified as a ‘self-inflicted wound’—a designation his mother finds implausible.
The classification carries severe consequences: families receive no compensation, military honors, or public recognition. ‘In Ukraine, it’s as if we’ve been divided,’ Kateryna explains. ‘Some died the right way, and others died the wrong way.’ She continues writing daily letters to her deceased son, now exceeding 650, her grief compounded by the official stigma.
Mariyana from Kyiv shares a parallel tragedy. Her husband Anatoliy volunteered repeatedly until accepted despite lacking military experience. Deployed as a machine-gunner in the brutal Bakhmut sector, he returned from missions psychologically transformed. After losing part of his arm and hospitalized, he took his own life following a phone call with his wife. Denied a military burial, Anatoliy joined the growing ranks of unacknowledged casualties. ‘The war broke him,’ Mariyana states. ‘He couldn’t live with what he’d seen.’
An online support community now connects approximately 200 families bereaved by military suicides. Oksana Borkun, who runs the network, notes widespread discrimination: ‘If it’s suicide, then he’s not a hero—that’s what people think. Some churches refuse to hold funerals. Some towns won’t put up their photos on memorial walls.’ Many families report inconsistencies in death investigations, with some mothers discovering unexplained bruises on bodies.
Military chaplain Father Borys Kutovyi has witnessed at least three suicides within his command, emphasizing that ‘every suicide means we failed somewhere.’ He notes that recruited soldiers, unlike career servicemen, often lack psychological preparedness for combat trauma.
Ukraine’s Commissioner for Veterans’ Rights Olha Reshetylova receives reports of three to four military suicides monthly, acknowledging systemic failures: ‘They’ve seen hell. Even the strongest minds can break.’ She confirms some investigations may conceal murders under the guise of suicide and advocates for comprehensive reform of military psychological services, though acknowledges this requires years to implement.
As these families fight for truth and recognition, Reshetylova offers a forward-looking perspective: ‘These people were your neighbors, your colleagues. They’ve walked through hell. The warmer we welcome them, there will be fewer tragedies.’