Let me introduce myself, my name is Dylan. I’m a journalist, accredited defense adviser, consultant, and I am the founder of Defence Blog. Today is my birthday. I have decided to share why the bloody Russian attack on Ukraine is not your war, but mine. Why this is a war and not a conflict, and why it will be my last.
Childhood and the Influence of Geopolitics
I was born into a family of Soviet military advisors in South America, in the city of Arequipa in Peru. From an early age, I absorbed the smell of aviation fuel on the Vítor base, where the Soviet Union was training local military personnel to operate Mi-25 attack helicopters (the export version of the Mi-24) and the Mi-6 transport giants.
This was all overseen by the French, who supplied “Mirage” aircraft to Peru and maintained friendly relations with my father and our family despite the tensions of the Cold War.
As a child, I did not understand why everyone spoke about some mythical war when my father was friends with the French, I played with their son, and we watched Spanish comedies on TV.
I share this to illustrate how my fate has always been tied to the contact line between Russian imperialism (then the Soviet Union) and the civilized world.
Life in Ukraine
During the collapse of the USSR, our family faced great hardship and saw many places where local conflicts flared up as a result of the collapse of this giant (Georgia, Armenia, Moldova). My parents chose the calmest and most neutral country — Ukraine. For us, it was an oasis of peace where people of different nationalities lived in equality.
Over the years, I noticed how Russia was irritated by our freedom. Although I am not Ukrainian by nationality (my mother is Polish, and her relatives were deported to Perm by the USSR, while my father is Mordvin, whose people were oppressed for centuries by the Soviet regime), I refused to believe that a country speaking a familiar language would attack us. I could not accept that ethnic Poles living in Russia would bomb us.
The 2014 Annexation of Crimea and Its Consequences
Even in 2014, when the Russians occupied Crimea, I refused to believe it. I tried to use my contacts in Russian media and the defense industry to communicate to the Kremlin that they were making a mistake. But soon, my friends were killed, and others lost their homes. This marked the beginning of years of tension, during which people in my circle were killed by pro-Russian separatists at the front or by traitors in the rear.
The moment before the start of equipment evacuation from the airfield in Novofedorivka, 2014
By the time of the “Great War” (as Ukrainians refer to the Russian invasion on February 24, 2022), I had already anticipated what would come. But even then, after burying many friends, I could not believe that Russians would ruthlessly kill us in our homes.
The Beginning of the Invasion
The night of February 24 began with “Kalibr” missiles destroying my favorite place — the airfield in Bila Tserkva. Later that day, the airfield in Hostomel, home to the An-225 “Mriya,” was seized — a place where I often sought refuge from reality.
They shelled the street where my parents live and destroyed the cemetery where my friends are buried. And they have not stopped — for three years, they have been killing those I know and love, destroying my favorite places, and razing cities I had planned to visit but postponed.
This is especially painful because my mother’s relatives currently work at the United Aircraft Corporation (UAC) and are responsible for developing weapons for Su-30SM and Su-57 aircraft. These same aircraft, armed with Kh-59 and Kh-69 missiles, have bombed my city.
This duality cuts deeply; those with whom I share blood ties are indirectly responsible for the destruction of my life and the lives of my compatriots. Meanwhile, the French, British, Americans, Japanese, and many others have become like brothers, supporting me. This war is terrifying because our enemy is not just Putin but his followers and those who continue to believe in him.
The Last War
But this is truly not your war. Perhaps it is my own, personal last war. When you read another headline about a house being shelled, prisoners being executed, or bridges being destroyed — that is the house where I first confessed my love, my classmates, the places I cherish.
It pains me every time I see headlines in BBC, The Guardian, or Reuters describing where I live as the ‘Ukrainian conflict’ instead of acknowledging the War between Russia and Ukraine. It is difficult to call it a conflict when I am calling my parents, urging them to hide because a Kh-101 cruise missile is flying overhead, launched from a Tu-95 strategic bomber stationed in Russia’s Astrakhan region — a place they often visited in their youth to see my mother’s younger brother. He had married a Ukrainian woman and moved to Akhtubinsk, where he worked on developing new weapons for modern Russian aircraft.
This is my war, one I am powerless to change, a war that kills everything around me and may eventually kill me too. But even after the enemy takes my life, it will not stop, and history will continue with a new name and a new author.
Fighting while you can, because next year it might become your last war.
