In the mountain republic of North Ossetia, where the losses of war have fallen with particular weight, families continue to hold to the Kremlin's promise that sacrifice will find its meaning in victory. The region offers a quiet but telling portrait of how grief, when it has nowhere else to go, can be shaped into endurance — and how a state's narrative, sustained long enough, becomes the only story available to those living inside it.
Despite Heavy Casualties, North Ossetia Remains Committed to Russia's War
Sons from North Ossetia are dying on Ukrainian battlefields, with the region suffering disproportionately heavy casualties in the ongoing conflict.
Those already dead cannot have died for nothing
Mark
Why does North Ossetia matter as a window into this war?
Mimi
Because it's bearing a disproportionate share of the casualties. The region is small—less than a million people—but the number of soldiers from there who've died is strikingly high. It's not random. It tells you something about how Russia staffs its military and which communities bear the weight.
Luke
Do we have actual casualty figures for North Ossetia specifically, or is this based on reporting and inference?
Mimi
The reporting indicates the region has suffered disproportionately heavy losses. The exact numbers are hard to pin down—Russia doesn't release detailed casualty breakdowns by region—but the pattern is documented.
Mark
And yet people there still support the war. How does that work?
Mimi
The Kremlin's message is that stopping means admitting defeat, that the sacrifice only means something if you keep going. When you've already lost someone, that narrative is powerful. It's easier to believe the war must continue than to believe your son died for nothing.
Luke
Is that support genuine, or is it people saying what they think they're supposed to say?
Mimi
Probably both. There's real belief in some cases. But there's also the fact that dissenting publicly carries real costs in Russia. So you can't always separate genuine conviction from self-protection.
Mark
What happens if the casualties keep climbing?
Mimi
That's the open question. Historically, wars lose public support when the costs become unbearable. North Ossetia is already paying a steep price. How much more it can absorb is unknown.
Luke
So we're really saying: for now, the narrative holds, but we don't know the breaking point.
Mimi
Exactly. The region is a test case for how long a population can sustain support for a war when it's their sons who are dying.
El Pulso
- North Ossetia is losing its sons at rates that outpace most of Russia, making the human cost of the war viscerally present in a region of only 700,000 people.
- Despite the mounting dead, public dissent remains nearly invisible — suppressed by a media environment that offers no alternative framing and a political system that punishes open opposition.
- The Kremlin's message — that Russia fights for survival, that retreat invites greater danger, that the fallen must not have died in vain — has taken hold even among those who mourn most deeply.
- The logic of sunk costs quietly does the Kremlin's work: the more families have lost, the harder it becomes to imagine that the loss was meaningless, binding grief to continued support.
- The fragile equilibrium holding North Ossetia's consent in place depends on the credibility of promised victory — and analysts warn that sustained casualties and economic strain could eventually fracture that belief.
In the mountain republic of North Ossetia, where the losses of war have fallen with particular weight, families continue to hold to the Kremlin's promise that sacrifice will find its meaning in victory. The region offers a quiet but telling portrait of how grief, when it has nowhere else to go, can be shaped into endurance — and how a state's narrative, sustained long enough, becomes the only story available to those living inside it.
In North Ossetia, a small republic tucked into the North Caucasus, the war in Ukraine has arrived not as distant news but as an intimate, recurring loss. Young men from the region have died on Ukrainian battlefields at rates disproportionately higher than those from much of Russia, and yet the families left behind have largely continued to accept the official explanation for why the fighting must go on.
This is not a story of enthusiasm. It is a story of how grief, in the absence of alternatives, can be redirected. Residents of North Ossetia have limited access to information that challenges the Kremlin's framing, and the costs of public dissent in Russia are well understood. Into that constrained space, the state's narrative has moved with purpose: Russia is fighting for its survival, withdrawal would invite further aggression, and those already lost cannot have died for nothing.
That last claim — the logic of sunk costs — may be the most powerful force at work. The more a family has sacrificed, the more unbearable it becomes to conclude that the sacrifice was without purpose. The Kremlin has understood this, and its messaging in regions like North Ossetia has worked to channel mourning into commitment rather than into demands for peace.
How long the arrangement holds is the open question. Casualty rates continue to rise, economic pressures deepen, and the empty places at family tables accumulate slowly but without pause. History suggests that public tolerance for prolonged war is not unlimited. For now, North Ossetia remains a case study in how a state sustains consent — but also a reminder that such consent requires constant renewal, and that the story of inevitable victory must never be allowed to waver.
In the Russian region of North Ossetia, the arithmetic of war has become a fact of daily life. Young men from the Caucasus have been dying in Ukraine at rates that far exceed those from many other parts of Russia, yet the region's residents have largely accepted the official explanation for why the fighting must continue: that stopping now would mean abandoning the cause, that victory remains possible, that sacrifice has meaning only if it leads somewhere.
This paradox—heavy losses paired with sustained public backing for the military campaign—sits at the heart of how Russia has managed its war effort across four years of conflict. North Ossetia, a region of roughly 700,000 people nestled in the North Caucasus, has become a case study in how state messaging, family grief, and the absence of visible alternatives can coexist in the same space.
The human toll is not abstract. Families in North Ossetia have lost sons, brothers, and husbands on battlefields hundreds of miles away. The region's casualty rate has been disproportionately high compared to other Russian regions, a pattern that reflects both the military's reliance on soldiers from the Caucasus and the region's own demographic and economic circumstances. Yet when asked why the war should continue, many residents repeat the Kremlin's framing: that Russia is fighting for its survival, that Ukraine poses an existential threat, that retreat would invite further aggression.
This acceptance does not emerge from enthusiasm. It emerges from a combination of factors: limited access to alternative information sources, the difficulty of publicly dissenting in a system that penalizes opposition, the weight of sunk costs—the idea that those already dead cannot have died for nothing. The Kremlin's narrative machinery has been effective in North Ossetia, as it has been in much of Russia, in channeling grief into continued commitment rather than into demands for peace.
What remains uncertain is how long this equilibrium can hold. Casualty rates that continue to climb, economic hardship that deepens, the slow accumulation of empty chairs at family tables—these are forces that have historically tested public tolerance for prolonged wars. For now, North Ossetia's residents have accepted the official line. But the region's experience suggests that sustaining public support for an indefinite conflict requires constant reinforcement of the narrative that victory is both necessary and achievable. If either of those claims begins to crack, the calculus that has held so far may begin to shift.
Citas Notables
The Kremlin's narrative that stopping the war would mean abandoning the cause and that victory remains possible— Kremlin messaging accepted by North Ossetia residents
Quieres la nota completa?
Lee el original en The New York Times ↗