Free speech is the casualty in Ukraine war

In 2002 the acclaimed reporter Anna Politkovskaya wrote in Index that Russia was lawless. She longed for a normal life and to return to Moscow after years spent reporting on the war in Chechnya. She did return to the capital, eventually, but the lawless Russian state then turned on her – in 2006 she was found murdered outside her apartment block, on Vladimir Putin’s birthday. Many see her killing as the turning point – the moment when any pretence that Putin was cut from liberal cloth disappeared. After that, few inside the country or outside it could sustain the illusion that democracy would come to Russia. When, on 24 February 2022, Russia launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Putin demonstrated his intent to expand his autocratic empire.

From the get-go the war felt close for Index, not just because geographically Ukraine isn’t that far from the UK, but because Index was founded in 1972 following dissident protests against Moscow’s invasion of Czechoslovakia just four years before. From that time through to Politkovskaya and the present day, we have consistently worked with dissidents campaigning against Russia’s tendency – regardless of regime – to control its neighbours and, occasionally, send in tanks.

In the four years that have passed since the full-scale Russian invasion, Ukraine’s free speech landscape has significantly worsened. In the parts which Russia occupies Putin has consciously sought to obliterate what makes the country unique. Cultural, intellectual and academic institutions have been pillaged, books relating to Ukrainian identity destroyed, and prominent journalists and around 200 writers and artists have been killed, either fighting on the frontline or murdered by Russian forces. A less popular topic to discuss is censorship that originates from within the parts of Ukraine still sovereign under Volodymyr Zelenskyy. For several years now journalists have been sounding the alarm over what they see as media restrictions that cannot be justified by wartime pressures. Last year there were also protests over proposed legislation that would tighten government oversight of two key anti-corruption agencies, and in so doing risk their independence.

We have highlighted these actions and have stood in solidarity with those being silenced during the war, including publishing the words of Victoria Roshchyna and Victoria Amelina – two young women murdered to stop them saying more. In our Autumn magazine last year, we published the work of three young Ukrainian poets Artem Dovhopolyi, Maksym Kryvtsov and Volodymyr Vakulenko killed in the last four years. It is Russia itself though that has drawn our attention most. If the lights dimmed when Politkovskaya was murdered, they were basically switched off in 2022. Too many people – regime critics and opponents – are either in jail or in exile or have been murdered. As for the average person, information is now tightly restricted. Mr. Nobody Against Putin, a film worthy of every accolade, lays bare the extent to which young minds are shaped and controlled, while the recent blocking of WhatsApp, and the pushing of internal messaging service, MAX, are barely concealed attempts to ensure no conversation remains private.

Anniversaries don’t necessarily take stories on, but they do focus the mind. Four years on from those dark days in February 2022, much of the world’s attention has shifted. Not so for the people in Ukraine and Russia whose struggle for freedom of expression has only become harder.

How the Ukraine War has split the country’s youth

This article first appeared in the Winter 2025 issue of Index on Censorship, Gen Z is revolting: Why the world’s youth will not be silenced, published on 18 December 2025.

For Ukraine’s Gen Z, the war has created two kinds of silence: one under sirens and the other under guilt.

Those who stayed live through air raid alerts and numb routine; those who left watch from abroad – scrolling through updates, unsure what to say to the people they love back home. Both carry their version of survival, and both are having to learn to speak to each other again.

In Dnipro, Dasha Buldenko, 19, says she has grown used to fear.

“You get used to the sirens, you get used to the explosions. You stop feeling anything,” she tells me. “We live in totally different worlds now.”

For her, life has narrowed to a quiet persistence: staying, coping and enduring without expecting understanding from those who left Ukraine.

“People who moved abroad forget where they came from,” she says, frustrated by what she calls the “pity” tone of returning friends.

“They see a different world, different opportunities. We don’t have those because of war.”

Mark Neshta, a 21-year-old student at the University of Essex in the UK, describes another kind of distance: the one between empathy and experience.

“You just can’t truly understand how it feels,” he admits. “At the beginning, I was deeply depressed that my country was going through such horror while I was sitting safely 1,000km away.”

He calls it “a strange cognitive dissonance” when “you’re physically abroad but all you care about, all you live by, is news from Ukraine. You consume it only through the internet or through conversations with loved ones who stayed”.

Over time, that guilt has turned into a determination to define himself more clearly. Living abroad, he says, has made him think about what it means to represent Ukraine.

“When people ask where I’m from, I want them to see more than war, to see culture, history, identity.”

He even switched to speaking Ukrainian, though he grew up speaking Russian. “I don’t think living abroad is what caused that,” he says. “It was the war itself.”

Both voices show the same wound from opposite sides.

Those inside Ukraine hide their pain behind fatigue. Those outside hide their guilt behind activism or composure. When they talk, it is not politics that divides them but the need to censor emotion, to sound strong, to sound grateful, to avoid hurting each other with what the other cannot understand.

What does that do to identity? For Dasha, being Ukrainian “just is”.

She says: “We are all Ukrainians; we stand for our own, regardless of language barriers.”

For her, it is a fact of staying and surviving. For Mark, it is something to articulate and explain. One holds on by living it, the other by translating it.

In the end, both sides are searching for the same thing: to be understood.

“People just need to actually listen to each other,” Dasha says.

Ukraine: Trump’s peace plan is none of those three things

The long-running corruption scandal surrounding the diversion of funds from Ukraine’s energy sector proved to be both a prelude and stimulus to yet another round of “peace talks” initiated by the US Trump administration.

The scandal seemed to create fertile soil into which the White House could plant ideas for achieving peace in Ukraine. We now know that they were not trying to plant fresh saplings, but Putin’s old “forever” plan of total domination over Ukraine. The apparently fertile soil was the Ukrainian leadership’s weakened position due to the corruption scandal, which led to resignation of apparently the most powerful man after President Volodmyr Zelensky – the head of President’s office Andriy Yermak.

Ukrainians didn’t believe Yermak would resign until the very moment of his resignation. Essentially, Zelensky will have to reinvent himself as a president-without-Yermak. How easy or possible this will be is unclear. Regardless of the outcome of the criminal investigation, Yermak protected Zelensky from his own people and from others, practically controlling access to him.

Many in Ukraine believed that Yermak made all the decisions in the presidential office. In fact, if you analyse all of Yermak’s statements, you’ll see that Zelensky and Yermak said the same thing. In essence, Yermak was an “extension” of Zelensky – a kind of doppelganger only without the charisma. Some people who have met Yermak have noted that he possesses a rather negative charisma, but he always repeated Zelensky’s ideas, using more or less the same words.

At meetings with foreign partners, like Zelensky, he demanded military aid and support rather than asking for it. As the president of a country at war, foreign partners have forgiven Zelensky his forthrightness and occasionally insufficiently explicit expressions of gratitude for assistance provided. However, since the scandal with JD Vance at the White House over “ingratitude”, Zelensky has made a point of thanking foreign partners, especially President Trump much more often than before.

Some high-level guests to Ukraine didn’t immediately understand that Yermak was an extension of Zelensky, his most trusted confidant. However, they would almost certainly picked up on the feeling in Ukrainian society that Yermak was disliked.

Yermak’s reputation among Ukrainians was very negative, but not as sinister as the oligarch Viktor Medvedchuk’s under Ukraine’s Russian-sympathising second president Leonid Kuchma who was in office until 2005 and whose legacy still casts a shadow.

But then again, Yermak represented Zelensky’s inner circle of friends and business partners, which existed before Zelensky entered politics. Now, no one from this “inner circle” remains. At first, it seemed that the entire corruption affair, starting with Zelensky’s and Yermak’s attempt to wrest independence from National Anti-Corruption Bureau of Ukraine, (NABU) and the Specialised Anti-Corruption Prosecutor’s Office (SAP), to businessman Timur Mindych’s reported escape to Israel (just before his office was due to be raided by anti-corruption police over kickbacks from the energy sector), coincided too closely with the new negotiations about Trump peace plan.

Since independence, Ukrainian presidents have had eighteen heads of administration, and not all of them earned themselves negative reputations. Some came and went without being embroiled in high-profile corruption or political scandals. The latest scandal, however, is bound to cast a shadow over the entire office of the President since Mindych was co-owner of Zelensky’s Kvartal 95 production company, for which Yermak provided legal services before Zelensky’s official entry into politics.

Few Ukrainians can understand how it could be that a group of people like Mindych, his partner Oleksandr Zukerman and others so close to the presidential office, could have allegedly spent months siphoning money from state-owned enterprises in the energy sector. Why was it that only NABU signaled that something was wrong and that it involved Mindych? Why didn’t other intelligence agencies and law enforcement bodies stop their criminal activities sooner?

On Tuesday of last week, NABU representatives announced that more than 520 files containing personal information on 15 NABU detectives, National Security Services employees, journalists who write about corruption, and deputy ministers of justice, members of Parliament were discovered in a secret office belonging to Mindych’s group. This personal information, including home addresses, phone numbers, and so on, could only have been obtained through the police or other law enforcement agencies.

Now it appears that a real possibility that the peace negotiations could have been an attempt by the Zelensky administration (which meant Yermak) to resume negotiations in order to shift attention of Ukrainians from the Mindych case to the “peace process.” In other words, the initiative this time may have come from Zelensky.

Today Zelensky’s position, and therefore Ukraine’s one, is much weaker than before the Mindych scandal. Only very quick and decisive personnel changes can improve (but not correct) the situation. It would be better to change the tradition altogether and either rename the position of “head of the presidential administration” to something more political, or abolish it, replacing it with some narrow “office of political advisers.”

As to the peace plan, the obvious Russian origins of the plan, which was also proved by statements from US secretary of state Marco Rubio, sparked immediate controversy, first in Ukraine, and then in the United States itself.

It was precisely because of the protests from inside the USA that President Trump was at first forced to abandon his plan to aggressively force what he considered a weakened Zelensky into publicly accepting these most recent proposals. Within two days, the pressure on Zelensky was relaxed and the “plan” – a list of demands Ukraine should accept in exchange for peace or a ceasefire – began to shrink in scope and mutate, resulting quickly in rejection by Russia.

Under the original Putin-Witkoff plan, Ukraine was supposed to reduce its army, renounce possession of long-range missiles, withdraw from its own territory, and guarantee non-accession to NATO. For good measure, the plan also promised the US a 50% share of the profits from the reconstruction of devastated Ukraine, but omitted to make any demands on Russia – the aggressor country that has violated all possible international treaties and obligations. The idea that the USA should take 50% profits from reconstruction of Ukraine is so surreal it is hardly worth mentioning, except as a joke.

Even if Ukraine had agreed to all the demands, the plan would have remained a roadmap for Russia’s further aggression against Kyiv because it lacked the one element required to bring the aggression to an end – a change to the Russian Constitution.

The original 28-point plan guarantees the continuation of the war because it does not demand that Russia rescind the inclusion of four Ukrainian regions and the Autonomous Republic of Crimea in the Russian Constitution. At the very least, Russia should first remove from its constitution the two regions through which the front line currently runs – Kherson and Zaporizhia oblasts.

In Russia, every captured Ukrainian village is called “liberated” precisely because, in early October 2022, Putin signed constitutional amendments, which the Russian State Duma dutifully voted for. According to the amendments, five Ukrainian regions became the so-called “new territories” of Russia. Until they are are repealed, Russia will continue not only to occupy Ukrainian territories but also to seize further territory.

In just a couple of days, a 28-point pro-Russian plan has morphed into a draft of a 19-point, more pro-justice plan that Russia will not sign up to. Trump is no longer demanding Zelensky’s immediate agreement to negotiate, but preliminary talks are ongoing. Moreover, information has emerged about contacts in Abu Dhabi between Russian and Ukrainian intelligence officials and while Putin’s spokesman, Dmitry Peskov, states that Russia rejects this “American” plan, other Russian politicians are less categorical.

Last week another information bomb exploded across the world. Bloomberg gained access to recordings of phone calls between Steve Witkoff and Russian negotiator Kirill Dmitriev, as well as a conversation between Dmitriev and Putin aide Ushakov. These conversations confirmed the theory of the “peace plan’s” Russian origin.

But, what appears far more dangerous for Ukraine, it became clear that Witkoff, through Dmitriev, was advising Putin on when to call Trump and how best to communicate with the US president. Although Trump has so far defended Witkoff in this situation, just as Zelensky defended Yermak until it wasn’t possible any more, it is clear that Trump represents Russian interests more than those of Ukraine and Europe in the peace negotiations.

These are very dangerous times for Ukraine as the country seeks to negotiate a peace plan with Russia, backed by an unreliable US administration, all the while uncovering a major corruption scandal which goes to the heart of its president’s office.

Ukraine: Index and partners mourn death and demand justice for Victoria Roshchyna

Index on Censorship, the Media Freedom Rapid Response (MFRR) and partner organizations today mourn the death of Ukrainian journalist Victoria Roshchyna, who died in unclear circumstances while in Russian detention, and whose death was confirmed by Russian and Ukrainian authorities on Thursday. We welcome the opening of an investigation by Ukrainian authorities on grounds of “war crime combined with premeditated murder” and demand that Russian authorities do the same to elucidate the circumstances of Roshchyna’s death and bring to justice all those who could be responsible.

Roshchyna, a freelance journalist with Ukrainska Pravda, a major Ukrainian publication, and several other leading Ukrainian outlets, left Kyiv in late July 2023 with the intention to reach Russian-occupied territory in southeastern Ukraine. Soon after her departure, she went missing, with many of her colleagues expressing their fear that she was most likely being held by Russian forces.

In May 2024, nearly a year after her departure, Roshchyna’s family reported that Russian authorities had confirmed to them that the journalist was being held in Russian custody. However, the charges against her, as well as the place of her detention remained unknown.

Following the announcement of her death, reports emerged suggesting that Roshchyna had spent the past four months in an individual prison cell in the Russian city of Taganrog, which is located immediately next to the Ukrainian border. Prior to this, it has been reported that she was held in pre-trial detention by Russian forces in Berdyansk, a city in southeastern Ukraine currently under Russian occupation.

According to Russian authorities, Roshchyna died on September 19. Unconfirmed reports by Ukrainian media suggest that she passed away while being transported from Taganrog to Moscow. According to the same reports, Russia was preparing to include Roshchyna into a prisoner exchange with Ukraine.

While it is unclear what location the journalist managed to reach as part of the reporting trip she began in late July 2023, it was known that she planned to report from regions of Ukraine under Russian occupation.

“Victoria was herself from the Zaporizhia region,” Ukrainska Pravda editor-in-chief Sevgil Musayeva told IPI in October 2023, when Roshchyna’s disappearance was first made public. “She saw it as her mission to tell the stories of the people under occupation and when fears grew that the Russian military may be planning to blow up the Zaporizhia nuclear power plant, she wanted to go.”

Roshchyna was one of the very few Ukrainian journalists to travel to Russian-occupied territories to cover the impact of the war. In March 2022, she was taken captive by Russian forces while reporting near Mariupol, when the city was under a prolonged siege by Russian forces. She was released ten days later and continued working as a journalist from Kyiv. She documented her experiences in captivity here.

MFRR partners, Index on Censorship and Reporters Without Borders (RSF) reiterate their support of journalists who continue to report on Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. We mourn the death of yet another journalist who lost her life while attempting to cover the consequences of this brutal invasion, and demand justice for her and other deceased colleagues. 

Signed:

International Press Institute (IPI)

European Centre for Press and Media Freedom (ECPMF)

The European Federation of Journalists (EFJ)

Index on Censorship

Reporters Without Borders (RSF)

ARTICLE 19 Europe

OBC Transeuropa (OBCT)

International Women’s Media Foundation (IWMF)

Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ)

Free Press Unlimited (FPU)

SUPPORT INDEX'S WORK