Ukrainian men are dodging the military draft. The government is grabbing them anyway

These were not isolated scenes.

Social media is filled with disturbing videos. Of unarmed civilians being forced into vans by military recruiters, pinned against walls, or wrestled to the pavement. The message is clear; if you don’t fight, the state will respond with force.

Yet many Ukrainians are pushing back.

In Poltava, locals blocked a vehicle carrying new conscripts. In Kremenchuk, a woman hurled a stone at military recruiters during a street roundup. And in Vinnytsia, crowds gathered outside a recruitment centre demanding the release of detained men.

Ukrainians have filed more than 3,500 official complaints about conscription abuses in 2024 alone, according to Dmytro Lubinets, the country’s human rights ombudsman. Criminal charges have been brought against more than 50 military recruiters.

What began as grumbling is now full-blown resistance.

As the war drags on for its third year, Ukraine’s once-spontaneous volunteerism is giving way to exhaustion, disillusionment, and fear.

In 2022, tens of thousands of men flooded enlistment offices in the days after Russia’s full-scale invasion. But today, with casualty rates mounting and a long-promised Western aid package still delayed, the government is running out of options and of people.

The numbers tell the story. According to the Center for European Policy Analysis, Ukraine needs up to half a million more soldiers just to hold the line.

General Kyrylo Budanov, Ukraine’s military intelligence chief, admitted in May that he has already deployed all his reserve units. Appearing on the War on the Rocks podcast, military analyst Michael Kofman says the personnel crisis is so dire that new recruits “will take months to field,” even as weapons arrive in weeks. And according to Andrew Weiss of the Carnegie Endowment, Ukraine is recruiting only 5,000 to 6,000 soldiers a month, far short of the 30,000 Russia is mobilising monthly.

The reality on the ground is brutal. “One soldier has to do the job of three or four,” said Pavlo Palisa, commander of the 93rd Separate Mechanised Brigade. The average Ukrainian soldier is now over 40 years old. Many are fathers. Some are grandfathers.

Despite this, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky has refused to lower the conscription age from 25. In Ukraine, men are required to join military service at 18, but since 2024, are not required to serve on the front lines until they turn 25. The United States has made its position clear – when a boy turns 18, they should be expected to defend the lines. This policy was first articulated by the Biden administration and then repeated by US President Donald Trump’s then national security adviser, Mike Waltz, in January.

None of the foreign aid from the US and Europe can be used to pay soldiers or fund weapons production. Kyiv also argues that weapons shipments are insufficient. “Tell me please: if a person is in front of you, without arms, what is the difference if he is 20 or 30 if he is not armed? There is no difference,” Zelenskyy said in December 2024.

Domestically and internationally, government’s may be missing the point, with many Ukrainians feeling the system is unjust.

Foremost is the belief that they have been conscripted into a war with no end. Under current law, soldiers serve until martial law is lifted – whenever that may be. “Even the most determined [soldier] will consider this to be an eternal contract,” one officer told Foreign Affairs’ Nataliya Gumenyuk.

The initial draft reform bill from 2024 tried to fix that. It proposed demobilising soldiers after 36 months of service. But the provision was dropped after pushback from the military, which feared losing its most battle-hardened troops.

Some of the exemptions also spark resentment. Men caring for disabled relatives or three or more children can avoid the draft. So can those with unique professional skills—doctors, scientists, and nuclear engineers. These exemptions are fertile ground for corruption. Thousands of Ukrainians have allegedly bribed officials or forged documents to escape service.

Meanwhile, 46 per cent of Ukrainians now say there’s no shame in being a draft dodger, according to a June 2024 poll. That number would have been unthinkable at the war’s start.

Even those who enlist voluntarily are beginning to question the system.

Ukraine’s constitution guarantees freedom of movement and the right to education. But under martial law, those protections have been suspended. Men studying at university or for a PhD are no longer exempt from conscription. A new database also requires Ukrainians of service age to submit personal data—a move critics say may violate privacy laws.

Russia, for its part, has seized the propaganda opportunity. Kremlin-linked social media accounts now amplify videos of forced conscription to sow panic and deepen division. Recruitment centres have also become targets for Russian sabotage and disinformation.

Franz-Stefan Gady, of the Center for a New American Security, told The New York Times that “the Russians have understood… that the major disadvantage that Ukraine is currently suffering from is manpower.” Thinning Ukraine’s front lines, he said, increases the chance of a Russian breakthrough.

To keep fighting, Ukraine needs men. But more and more, the men are saying no.