Ukraine must win, and there should be more support from western countries
On the 895th day of a war that has reshaped Europe's moral geography, a prisoner swap celebrated as a triumph of conscience produced an unexpected fracture: the very Russian dissidents freed by Western pressure began questioning the sanctions and urging negotiations, prompting fierce alarm in Kyiv. The episode reveals a tension as old as conflict itself — that those who suffer under a regime and those who suffer from it do not always share the same vision of justice or survival. Ukraine, fighting for its existence, cannot afford to let even sympathetic voices blur the line between opposing Putin and accommodating him.
- The West's moral victory in freeing Kara-Murza and Yashin curdled almost immediately when both men publicly questioned sanctions and called for negotiations, striking Kyiv as a betrayal from an unexpected direction.
- Ukrainian lawmakers and officials reacted with alarm bordering on fury, fearing that credible Russian dissidents — men who had suffered under Putin — could quietly erode Western resolve and shift the terms of the debate in European and American capitals.
- Both men walked back their statements within days, with Kara-Murza affirming Ukraine must win and Yashin calling Russia's invasion criminal, but the rupture in trust proved harder to repair than the words themselves.
- Zelenskiy's chief of staff drew a hard line: sanctions are the restraint on Russia's war machine, they must grow stronger, and any Russian who truly opposes Putin should be working to free their country — not lobbying for relief.
- Behind the political dispute, the war's human toll accumulated without pause — a pianist dead in a Russian prison at 33, civilians wounded in Kherson, a drone strike killing a resident in a Russian border village, and missile barrages over Kyiv continuing their campaign of exhaustion.
On the 895th day of the war, Ukraine found itself in an unexpected confrontation — not with Russian forces, but with the men the West had just freed from Russian prisons. Vladimir Kara-Murza, released after serving time on a 25-year sentence, had begun questioning whether sanctions on ordinary Russians made sense. Ilya Yashin, imprisoned for documenting atrocities at Bucha, was calling for negotiations. Both had paid enormous personal costs for opposing Putin. Both had been exchanged in a prisoner swap the West celebrated as a moral victory. And now their words were igniting fury in Kyiv.
Ukrainian lawmakers and analysts reacted with something between betrayal and alarm. The concern ran deeper than wounded feelings: these were figures with credibility in Western capitals, men whose suffering gave them moral authority. If they were calling for softer sanctions and a negotiated settlement, would European and American governments listen? Would support for Ukraine's fight weaken?
Both men walked back their statements within days. Kara-Murza told the BBC that Ukraine had to win and the West needed to give it more support. Yashin reemphasized his opposition to the invasion, calling it criminal and barbaric, and told Ukrainians directly: I am not your enemy. But the damage to trust had already been done. Zelenskiy's chief of staff, Andriy Yermak, drew a clear line — sanctions were holding back Russia's war machine, they should only grow stronger, and freeing Russia from Putin was the only goal worth pursuing.
Meanwhile, the war's grinding toll continued. Pavel Kushnir, a concert pianist trained at Moscow's Tchaikovsky conservatory and a vocal opponent of the invasion, died in a Russian prison after a hunger strike. He was 33 years old. Russian missiles and drones struck Kyiv and the surrounding region again, part of a relentless aerial campaign that had included some of the largest barrages in months. Two civilians were wounded by shelling in Kherson. A drone strike in a Russian border village killed one person and wounded three.
The dispute pointed to a deeper tension the West had not fully reckoned with: how to support Russian opposition to Putin without losing sight of what Ukraine needed to survive. The freed dissidents had raised questions that were not without legitimacy. But Kyiv's fear was equally real — that in nurturing Russian dissidents, the West might slowly, quietly, begin to forget whose war this was to lose.
On day 895 of the war, Ukraine's leadership found itself in an unexpected fight—not with Russian forces, but with the very people the West had just freed from Russian prisons. Vladimir Kara-Murza, released after serving time on a 25-year sentence, had begun questioning whether Western sanctions on ordinary Russians made sense. Ilya Yashin, who had spent eight and a half years locked up for documenting atrocities at Bucha, was calling for negotiations between the two sides. Both men had paid dearly for opposing Putin. Both had just been exchanged in a prisoner swap that the West celebrated as a moral victory. And now, their words were igniting fury in Kyiv.
Ukrainian lawmakers and analysts reacted with something between betrayal and alarm. Iryna Gerashchenko, a prominent lawmaker, put it bluntly: she no longer believed in the existence of good Russians. The concern ran deeper than wounded feelings. Ukrainian officials worried that these freed dissidents—figures with credibility in Western capitals, men who had suffered under Putin—might actually shift how Europe and America thought about the war. If respected Russian opponents of the regime were calling for softer sanctions and a negotiated settlement, would Western governments listen? Would support for Ukraine's fight weaken?
The backlash was swift enough that both men walked back their initial statements within days. Kara-Murza told the BBC that he understood Russian society bore responsibility for what the Putin regime was doing, and that Ukraine had to win—that the West needed to give it more support to make that happen. Yashin, the next day, reemphasized his opposition to Russia's invasion, calling it criminal and barbaric. He told Ukrainians directly: I am not your enemy. I gave two years of my life telling the truth about this war.
But the damage to trust had already been done. Andriy Yermak, Zelenskiy's chief of staff, laid out Kyiv's position with no room for ambiguity. The goal for all Russians, he said, should be to free their country from Putin. Not to fight sanctions. Sanctions were the thing holding back the regime's war machine. They should only get stronger as long as Russia kept fighting. This was not a debate. This was a line.
Meanwhile, the war itself continued its grinding brutality. Pavel Kushnir, a concert pianist trained at Moscow's Tchaikovsky conservatory and an outspoken opponent of the invasion, died in a Russian prison after going on hunger strike. His mother confirmed his death. The European Union called it a shocking case of political repression. Kushnir's arrest had become public only in May. He was 33 years old.
On Monday evening, Russian missiles and drones struck at Kyiv and the surrounding region. Air defenses activated. It was one more attack in a relentless campaign. Over recent weeks, Russia had launched some of the largest aerial barrages in months—at least 89 drones in a single strike last Wednesday, more than 40 of them shot down over the capital and its surroundings. In July, a Russian missile had destroyed part of a children's hospital. The attacks had no strategic purpose beyond terror and exhaustion.
On the ground, the toll continued. Two people were wounded by Russian shelling in Tomina Balka in Kherson region. Across the border in Russia, a drone strike on the village of Vyazovoe killed one person and wounded three others. These were the numbers that accumulated, day after day, the human cost of a war that showed no sign of ending.
The dispute over sanctions and dissidents pointed to a deeper tension: how the West balanced its support for Russian opposition to Putin with its commitment to Ukraine's survival. The freed prisoners had raised legitimate questions about the effects of sanctions on ordinary Russians. But Kyiv's fear was real too—that in the West's desire to nurture Russian dissidents, it might lose sight of what Ukraine needed to win.
Notable Quotes
I no longer believe in any good Russians.— Ukrainian lawmaker Iryna Gerashchenko, responding to the dissidents' statements
Sanctions should only be strengthened as long as Russia continues its armed aggression. Sanctions are what restrain the regime's military machine.— Andriy Yermak, Zelenskiy's chief of staff
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why did Kara-Murza and Yashin's comments about sanctions and negotiations cause such a sharp reaction? They'd just been freed. Didn't people want to hear from them?
They did want to hear from them—but not those particular words. These men had credibility in the West precisely because they'd suffered under Putin. If they were now saying sanctions were counterproductive, Western governments might actually listen. Kyiv saw that as a threat to its survival.
But weren't they just asking reasonable questions? Sanctions do hurt ordinary Russians.
They were reasonable questions. That's what made them dangerous. A freed dissident asking whether sanctions make sense sounds different than a politician saying it. The fear in Kyiv was that this could shift Western policy at a moment when Ukraine needs unwavering support.
So they had to recant?
Not exactly recant. They clarified. Kara-Murza said he understood Russian society shares responsibility for Putin's actions. Yashin emphasized that he's not Ukraine's enemy. But the initial statements had already circulated. Trust, once fractured, takes time to repair.
What does this say about the relationship between the West and Ukraine right now?
It shows the strain. The West wants to support both Ukrainian victory and Russian dissidents. But those two things can pull in different directions. Kyiv is saying: you can't do both. You have to choose us. Sanctions must strengthen, not weaken.