Stigma of Ukraine's forgotten soldiers who 'died the wrong way'

Kateryna's voice cracks with anger and sorrow as she recounts learning about her son Orest's death on the front lines in Ukraine's Donetsk region in 2023. The official army investigation concluded he died from a "self-inflicted wound," a finding Kateryna struggles to accept. She requested anonymity to protect both herself and her son from the stigma surrounding suicide and mental health within Ukraine.

Orest, a 25-year-old with a passion for books and academic aspirations, was initially deemed unfit for service due to poor eyesight, according to his mother. That said, the reality is a bit more complicated. in 2023, a recruitment patrol stopped him, re-evaluated his vision, and declared him fit to fight. Shortly after, he was deployed as a communications specialist to the front.

While Ukraine mourns over 45,000 soldiers killed since Russia's full-scale invasion in 2022, a less visible tragedy unfolds. Although official suicide statistics among soldiers are unavailable, with officials characterizing such deaths as isolated, human rights advocates and grieving families estimate the number could be in the hundreds.

"Orest was caught, not summoned," Kateryna says, expressing her bitterness. A local recruitment center, when contacted by the BBC, refuted any wrongdoing, stating that Orest's impaired vision made him only "partially fit" for service during wartime.

Deployed near Chasiv Yar in Donetsk, Orest became increasingly withdrawn and depressed, Kateryna remembers. She continues to write letters to her son daily – now over 650 – her sorrow intensified by Ukraine's classification of suicide as a non-combat loss. Families of those who die by suicide receive no compensation, military honors, or public acknowledgement.

"In Ukraine, it's as if we've been divided," Kateryna laments. "Some died the right way, and others died the wrong way."

"The state took my son, sent him to war, and brought me back a body in a bag. That's it. No help, no truth, nothing."

Mariyana from Kyiv shares a similarly heartbreaking experience. She also wishes to remain anonymous, along with her deceased husband, Anatoliy. He volunteered to fight in 2022 and, despite initial rejections due to inexperience, persisted until he was accepted, she recalls with a faint smile. Anatoliy was deployed as a machine-gunner near Bakhmut, a site of intense fighting.

"He said that, after one mission, about 50 guys were killed," Maryana recounts. "He came back different; quiet; distant."

After losing part of his arm, Anatoliy was hospitalized. One evening, following a phone call with his wife, he died by suicide in the hospital yard.

"The war broke him," she says through tears. "He couldn't live with what he'd seen."

Because Anatoliy's death was ruled a suicide, he was denied a military burial.

"When he stood on the front line, he was useful. But now he's not a hero?"

Mariyana feels abandoned: "The state threw me to the roadside. I gave them my husband, and they left me alone with nothing." She has also experienced stigma from other widows.

Her sole support comes from an online community of women who, like her, are widows of soldiers who died by suicide. They are advocating for legal changes to grant their families equal rights and recognition.

Viktoria, from Lviv, still fears public condemnation and cannot openly discuss her husband Andriy's death. Despite a congenital heart condition, Andriy insisted on joining the army, becoming a driver in a reconnaissance unit and witnessing intense battles, including the liberation of Kherson.

In June 2023, Viktoria was informed that Andriy had died by suicide.

"It was like the world had collapsed," she says.

His body arrived ten days later, but she was prohibited from seeing it. An attorney she later hired discovered inconsistencies in the death investigation. The photos from the scene raised doubts about the official cause of death. The Ukrainian military has since agreed to reopen the investigation, acknowledging failures.

Now, she is fighting to reopen the case: "I'm fighting for his name. He can't defend himself anymore. My war isn't over."

Oksana Borkun manages a support community for military widows, which now includes approximately 200 families bereaved by suicide.

"If it's suicide, then he's not a hero - that's what people think," she says. "Some churches refuse to hold funerals. Some towns won't put up their photos on memorial walls."

Many families question the official explanations surrounding these deaths. "Some cases are simply written off too quickly," she adds. "And some mothers open the coffin and find bodies covered in bruises."

Military chaplain Father Borys Kutovyi has witnessed at least three suicides within his command since the full-scale invasion began, emphasizing that even one is too many.

"Every suicide means we failed somewhere."

He believes that newly recruited soldiers are often more psychologically vulnerable than career servicemen.

Both Oksana and Father Borys advocate for those who died by suicide to be recognized as heroes.

Olha Reshetylova, Ukraine's Commissioner for Veterans' Rights, reports receiving up to four reports of military suicides each month and acknowledges the need for more action: "They've seen hell. Even the strongest minds can break."

She states that her office is pushing for systemic reform, but establishing a robust military psychology unit can take years.

"Families have a right to the truth," she says. "They don't trust investigators. In some cases, suicides may cover up murders."

Regarding honoring these soldiers as military heroes, she prefers to focus on the future.

"These people were your neighbors, your colleagues," says Ms. Reshetylova. "They've walked through hell. The warmer we welcome them, there will be fewer tragedies."