EDITORIAL: Ukraine’s military reform betrays those who have been fighting since 2022

The 425th Assault Regiment: 26 Non-Combat Deaths in Six Months

Amid this tense situation, the scandal surrounding the 425th Separate Assault Regiment—known as “Skelia”—hit like a bombshell. On June 23, 2026, the investigative media outlet Babel published an investigation revealing at least 26 non-combat deaths among Skelia recruits over the past six months. Allegations of abuse and torture of conscripts were also reported, citing testimonies from families and former soldiers.

The institutional response was swift: on June 24, the regiment’s commander, Lieutenant Colonel Yuriy Harkaviy, was suspended from duty. On June 25, the National Bureau of Investigation opened a preliminary inquiry into potential abuse of authority under martial law. Skelia is one of Ukraine’s largest assault units, with more than 10,000 soldiers, regularly deployed in high-intensity operations. It had been expanded under the orders of Commander-in-Chief Oleksandr Syrsky.

The Regiment’s Response and Its Contradictions

The regiment attempted to downplay the facts: of the 26 deaths cited, Skelia claimed that 18 occurred in hospitals or en route to medical facilities, attributed to “illnesses or poor health” among the mobilized soldiers. Technically, this is a response. It is also a response that raises more questions than it answers. Why were 18 soldiers in poor health assigned to an elite assault regiment? Who approved their fitness for service?

This case reveals the deep-seated contradictions of a large-scale forced mobilization. Ukraine needs soldiers. It is therefore also drawing them from among those who, under different circumstances, would never have been deemed fit for service. And some of these men have died—not by Russian bullets, but under circumstances that the military must explain to Ukrainian society and its partners.

Skelia is a combat unit that fought courageously in some of the toughest battles of this war. I am not questioning the regiment’s collective valor. But 26 non-combat deaths in six months in a unit of 10,000 soldiers goes beyond the realm of “accident.” It calls for a firm institutional response, not PR statements.

6, 10, 14, 24 months—but to go where?

The new 6–, 10-, 14-, and 24-month contracts represent an attempt to structure the relationship between soldiers and the state in the context of a war of indefinite duration. The idea is sound: instead of an implicit open-ended commitment, soldiers now know exactly how long they are formally committing themselves. This is a real step forward in contractual clarity.

But the structure raises a question that no one is officially asking: what happens when the contract expires? In theory, the soldier can leave. In practice, with a front line under constant pressure and persistent personnel shortages, the pressure to renew will be immense. The contractual structure gives the appearance of choice. It does not guarantee that choice in reality.

Compulsory Mobilization as a Persistent Reality

The context of compulsory mobilization does not disappear with the reform. Men of fighting age still cannot leave Ukraine freely. Draft calls continue. The personnel shortage remains chronic. In this context, the new fixed-term contracts resemble less a liberalization than a formalization of an existing constraint.

This is not a criticism of military necessity. It is an observation about political communication. The Ukrainian government has presented these reforms as an improvement in service conditions—and they are, marginally. But presenting them as a response to the frustrations of long-serving soldiers, without addressing the central issue of rotation, is shooting itself in the foot in terms of communication.

I understand that Zelensky is in an impossible position. Promising demobilization that he cannot deliver would be criminal. But promising a reform that does not address the root of the problem while selling it as a solution is dangerous for cohesion. Ukrainian soldiers are not naive. They read. They see. They know.

One Month of Deferral Per Year: The Math Behind a “Golden Prison”

The deferral mechanism granted by the reform—one month per year of completed service, calculated starting in June 2022—warrants a simple arithmetic analysis. A soldier who enlisted in March 2022 and served for four years is entitled to four months of cumulative deferral. This means he can request to be withdrawn from the front lines for four months—not demobilized, simply delayed in his reassignment.

For a man who has spent four years without seeing his children grow up, without being able to attend family funerals, without being able to plan anything beyond the next trench rotation, four months of deferral do not represent proportional recognition. They represent a microscopic gift in exchange for a sacrifice of historic proportions.

Allies Drawing Lessons for Their Own Future

Ukraine’s Western partners are observing this situation with an interest that goes beyond solidarity. Countries such as Poland, Finland, and the Baltic states are reflecting on their own mobilization models in the context of an increased threat. Ukraine’s mistakes and successes in managing military human resources constitute a real-time case study that few military institutions can afford to ignore.

The most important lesson so far: the sustainability of a mobilized armed force depends as much on soldiers’ trust in the institution as it does on their equipment or training. A soldier who believes in his or her contract fights better than a soldier who feels betrayed by his or her government. This simple truth has profound implications for the ongoing reform.

If I were Zelensky’s advisor on this matter, I would tell him one thing: painful transparency is better than an impossible promise. Tell your soldiers exactly what you can and cannot offer them. They are brave enough to have survived Bakhmut. They deserve the truth about their future.

A De Facto Amnesty That Doesn’t Say So

The issue of soldiers on AWOL is directly linked to the reform. 200,000 absent soldiers represent a massive operational loss—the equivalent of several dozen combat brigades. The reform implicitly sends a message to these men: conditions are changing, salaries are rising, and contracts are being clarified. Come back.

This is a smarter approach than pure repression, which has shown its limitations. Thousands of legal proceedings have failed to reverse the trend. Addressing the grievances that drove these men to desert is a more promising strategy. It remains to be seen whether the current improvements are perceived as substantial enough to convince soldiers who have made the heart-wrenching choice to break ranks with their unit.

Social Shame as a Tool for Mobilization

Ukrainian society exerts considerable social pressure on men of fighting age. Stares on the street, questions from neighbors, family pressure—in communities bound together by war, these informal mechanisms are powerful. The reform now provides them with an additional argument: returning with clarified contracts and improved pay is less humiliating than remaining on the sidelines.

The combination of economic incentives and social pressure could indeed reduce the number of unauthorized absences in the coming months. But if the reform is perceived as insufficient—if the 200,000 men calculate that even with a bonus of 300,000 hryvnias, an indefinite commitment is unacceptable—then the numbers will not change.

The 200,000 deserters are often discussed as a military problem. It is also a profound moral issue. These men have decided that the survival of their own families takes precedence over their national duty. This is not a cowardly decision—it is a human one. And it raises questions that a pay reform alone cannot answer.

Israel, Taiwan, Finland — the models in question

Proponents of reform often cite the military service models of other countries facing existential threats: Israel, with its mobilization and reserve system; Taiwan, with its extension of mandatory service; and Finland, with its total defense model. What sets Ukraine apart from these examples is that these countries had decades to build their systems during peacetime. Ukraine is building its system under fire.

The fundamental difference is also structural: Israel has an established rotation system that allows nearly all reservists to know when they will be called up and for how long. Ukraine does not yet have this level of institutional predictability. Building this system during an intense war of attrition is a colossal administrative challenge that few nations could have met.

What Ukraine Is Doing Remarkably Well

It would be unfair not to acknowledge the positive aspects. Ukraine has maintained a professional and motivated military despite unprecedented pressures. Its capacity for military innovation—drones, electronic warfare, long-range strikes—is unparalleled in a conflict of this scale since World War II. And the very fact that this reform is being discussed publicly—that media outlets like Babel can investigate and publish revelations about the Skelia scandal without censorship—says something important about Ukraine’s democratic resilience.

In Putin’s Russia, a journalist who published the equivalent of Babel’s report on a Russian regiment would be in prison by the next morning. This contrast is not rhetorical. It is substantial. It explains why, despite all its imperfections, Ukraine deserves the support of democracies.

Paradoxically, the Skelia scandal is as much a demonstration of democratic strength as it is an institutional failure. A free press conducting investigations, an investigative unit launching a probe, a commander suspended—all of this is happening in the midst of a war for national survival. Try finding that on the other side of the front lines.

Associations of Mobilized Soldiers as a Counterforce

The reform is partly the result of pressure from the families of mobilized soldiers. Associations of soldiers’ wives, mothers of combatants, and organizations supporting the mobilized have exerted growing public pressure on the Ukrainian government since 2023. They have protested, lobbied lawmakers, and used social media to document the conditions of service and the frustrations of their loved ones.

This pressure did not achieve everything. But it helped keep the issue of mobilized soldiers’ rights on the political agenda. In a democracy at war, the families of combatants are a legitimate counterweight—perhaps the most powerful one there is. Their vigilance made it impossible to treat long-serving soldiers as mere pawns to be moved around on a map.

The Generational Dimension of the Conflict

A little-discussed aspect of this reform is its generational dimension. The men who have been fighting since 2022 are mostly between the ages of 25 and 55. They represent the productive core of Ukrainian society. Their prolonged absence has consequences for the economy, for families, for the birth rate, and for collective mental health. Military reform cannot be separated from a broader reflection on how to rebuild a society that has put an entire generation in the service of its survival.

This will be the challenge for postwar Ukraine—and it is already underway, as some regions are beginning to plan for reconstruction even as fighting continues. How can we reintegrate hundreds of thousands of traumatized soldiers? How can we acknowledge the sacrifices of some without overwhelming the uncertainties of others? The current reform is a tentative first step in this direction.

I think of those Ukrainian women who have been waiting four years for their husbands to return. Who are raising children alone, managing farms, businesses, and entire families while the man of the house is in a trench in the Donbas. They aren’t asking for much. Just to know when he’ll come home. The reform does not yet give them that answer.

300,000 hryvnias—but how much is a hryvnia worth?

A salary of 300,000 hryvnias is impressive in absolute Ukrainian terms. But it needs to be put into context. The hryvnia has depreciated significantly since 2022. Inflation in Ukraine has been substantial. The real purchasing power of this amount, in a wartime economy where prices for certain goods have skyrocketed, is less impressive than it seems. It remains a respectable salary—but not the windfall it might appear to be at first glance.

There is also the question of whether salaries are actually being paid out. Delays in payments, administrative complications, and instances where pay did not reach soldiers on time have been documented in previous years. The reform is only as effective as its administrative implementation allows. And administration in wartime is rarely perfect.

Corruption as a Systemic Threat

The specter of corruption looms over any discussion of reform in Ukraine. Not because Ukraine is inherently corrupt—it is actively combating this problem—but because massive flows of money during wartime create opportunities for embezzlement. Investigations have uncovered cases of corruption in military procurement, in the distribution of equipment, and in fraudulent medical exemptions.

Scandals like the Skelia case are not unrelated to this reality. When a military institution can conceal 26 deaths for six months, it means that oversight and transparency mechanisms are inadequate. The necessary institutional reform goes far beyond pay structures. It touches on governance, accountability, and the organizational culture of the Ukrainian military.

Let’s be clear: corruption in Ukraine is no excuse to abandon Ukraine. No country at war is perfect. The United States has experienced its own military contracting scandals in Iraq. What matters is the trajectory—and Ukraine is moving in the right direction, slowly, painfully, but surely.

The National Bureau of Investigation as a Watchdog

The National Investigation Bureau’s launch of a preliminary investigation into the Skelia scandal sends an important signal. It shows that Ukraine will not tolerate impunity within its ranks—even in wartime, even in an elite unit regularly deployed to high-intensity combat zones. It is a message to all commanders: abuses have consequences.

If the investigation leads to credible prosecutions and real sanctions, it will strengthen the confidence of mobilized soldiers in existing protection mechanisms. If it fizzles out—a temporary suspension, a few symbolic disciplinary sanctions, a buried report—it will further widen the gap between soldiers and their institution.

The Need for an Independent Military Ombudsman

What the Skelia case reveals, beyond the scandal itself, is the absence of a robust institutional mechanism for reporting and protecting soldiers who speak out against abuses. The fact that the case was exposed by an independent investigative media outlet—and not through internal military channels—speaks volumes about the state of internal oversight mechanisms.

Ukraine needs an independent military ombudsman with real investigative powers, protected from institutional pressure, and accessible to soldiers and their families. This is not a democratic luxury. It is a functional necessity for a large army that mobilizes hundreds of thousands of civilians.

Democracy does not stop at the barracks’ gates. Ukrainian soldiers who risk their lives to defend the rule of law deserve the protections of that very rule of law themselves. A military ombudsman is not a sign of weakness. It is a sign of institutional maturity.

Western Aid and Governance Requirements

The countries supporting Ukraine—the United States, the European Union, the United Kingdom, and Germany—have all attached conditions of good governance to their aid, at least formally: anti-corruption reforms, an independent judiciary, and freedom of the press. But the conditions related to the management of military personnel have largely remained out of the public eye.

The Skelia scandal and the long-standing frustration among the troops should be brought into this dialogue. Not to make aid conditional on perfect reforms—that would be counterproductive—but to send a clear signal that Ukraine’s partners are paying close attention to how it treats its own soldiers. It is a matter of consistency between the values Ukraine claims to defend and the practices it tolerates internally.

The Ukrainian Army’s International Reputation

The Ukrainian military has earned a remarkable international reputation since 2022. Its resistance against a conventional army vastly superior in numbers, its tactical and technological innovation, and its well-documented collective courage have inspired sincere admiration in Western capitals. This reputation is a valuable diplomatic asset that scandals like the Skelia case are eroding.

Managing this asset prudently also means demonstrating that Ukraine can investigate its own shortcomings and address them. Doing so transparently—as was the case with the commander’s suspension and the launch of an investigation—is exactly the right approach. But the findings of the investigation must be made public, and the sanctions must be meaningful.

Ukraine cannot afford to lose the trust of its allies on issues of internal governance. Not because these allies are perfect—they are not. But because, in the current diplomatic balance of power, morality is a real asset. And Skelia is a breach of that morality that cannot be swept under the rug.

Why would a soldier sign up for two years?

The 24-month contract is the longest option offered under the reform. In theory, it provides the greatest clarity regarding the duration of service—a soldier knows exactly how long they are committed for. In practice, it represents a considerable gamble for someone who has already spent years on the front lines with no prospect of leaving. For a long-serving soldier to choose this contract voluntarily, they must believe in two things: that the promised conditions will be honored, and that at the end of the 24 months, they will actually be able to leave.

This trust is not a given. It must be built on concrete examples—soldiers who have signed a six-month contract, who have seen their promised pay arrive on time, who have been able to take their deferred leave when they requested it, and who have not been unilaterally retained beyond their contract under the pretext of operational needs. Trust is earned through the details.

The Message to New Recruits

The reform also sends a signal to men who have not yet been mobilized—those who are hiding, delaying their paperwork, or seeking exemptions. The implicit message is: if you volunteer now, with clearly defined contracts, you’ll be in a better position than if you wait for the next wave of forced mobilization. It’s a rational calculation that some will accept.

But this calculation only works if the government honors its part of the contract. If soldiers find that their contracts are being violated, if requests for deferment are denied, if salaries are not paid—the message will backfire. The news will spread through the communities. And the next wave of voluntary mobilization will be even more difficult.

Institutional trust is perhaps the scarcest commodity in times of war. It cannot be decreed. It is built over time, through consistency, and by honoring the promises made to the most vulnerable people in the military chain—the rank-and-file soldiers. Reform is a first step. What matters now is implementation.

Untapped Potential in the National Defense Effort

Ukraine’s military reform of June 2026 raises a question that few editorialists dare to ask outright: Why does Ukraine—facing an unprecedented military personnel crisis—with 200,000 soldiers AWOL, insufficient rotations, and a mobilization effort that is struggling to meet its goals—continue to exclude women from mandatory mobilization? Officially, women can enlist voluntarily, and thousands have done so with remarkable courage. But compulsory military service remains a matter exclusively for men under Ukrainian law, while men of fighting age are prohibited from leaving the country.

This legal imbalance creates real social tension in a Ukrainian society fighting for its survival. Men between the ages of 18 and 60 cannot leave Ukraine, while women of the same age are free to move about as they please. Legally speaking, this distinction is defensible—the laws of war differentiate obligations based on gender. In terms of the social and psychological burden imposed on men and their families, however, this asymmetry deserves to be discussed openly, not avoided out of political propriety.

Historical Precedents and Their Relevance to Ukraine

Ukraine is not the first democracy to face this debate. Since 1948, Israel has required mixed military service, with accommodations for Orthodox Jews and gender-specific roles. Norway and Denmark introduced mandatory military service for women in 2015. These examples show that it is possible to design models that broaden the mobilization base without placing all women on the front lines of combat.

The Ukrainian reform could have opened this debate—at the very least, by establishing a working group, launching a national consultation, or initiating a public discussion. It did not do so. This silence is not a neutral decision: it is a political choice that perpetuates an asymmetry of burden, which long-serving male soldiers experience as yet another injustice. In the context of the reform, failing to address this issue means leaving a legitimate grievance unanswered.

I am not suggesting that Ukrainian women should be sent to the front lines in place of men. That is a caricature that no one seriously advocates. But I find it troubling that a major military reform has not even dared to address the issue of expanding women’s roles—in logistics, intelligence, cyber operations, and administration. This political silence comes at a cost to social cohesion that the Zelenskyy government will have to bear.

A Blind Spot in the Reform: Soldiers Freed from Russian Captivity

The Ukrainian military reform of June 2026 does not address—or addresses insufficiently—the fate of Ukrainian soldiers released from Russian captivity through prisoner exchanges. More than 3,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been released since the start of the conflict through painstakingly negotiated exchanges. These soldiers return in often precarious physical and psychological condition—victims of documented torture, malnutrition, and multiple traumas. Their reintegration into the military is a humanitarian and institutional challenge that the reform barely addresses.

Former prisoners of war are returning to a system that has few mental health resources to support them. The Ukrainian Armed Forces Medical Corps is already overwhelmed by the treatment of physically wounded soldiers. Specialized units in psychotraumatology remain insufficient despite efforts by NATO and international NGOs to train professionals. These soldiers, freed from captivity, find themselves facing a system that does not always know what to do with them—whether to send them back into combat quickly or grant them the recovery time they need.

The Ambiguous Legal Status of Long-Term Veterans

Beyond prisoners of war, the reform leaves the precise legal status of Ukrainian soldiers enlisted since 2022 unresolved—those who fought under the emergency mobilization regime, without the formal protections of regular contracts. These soldiers—perhaps 150,000 to 200,000 people—find themselves in a legal gray area: neither fully under contract under the new system nor released from their obligations. The reform was intended to clarify this status. It has done so partially, without resolving all ambiguities.

This legal ambiguity has concrete consequences: for pension rights, for the conditions of potential demobilization, and for the recognition of injuries and trauma. Lawyers specializing in Ukrainian military law publicly highlighted these gaps in the weeks following the announcement of the reform—noting that some soldiers could find themselves in an even less legally protected situation after the reform than before it, if the implementing regulations do not fill the identified gaps.

The Ukrainian state is asking its soldiers to make a sacrifice that goes far beyond what a modern democracy normally demands of its citizens. In return, it owes them absolute legal clarity regarding their rights, their status, and the conditions of their discharge. This legal gray area is not an administrative detail—it is a breach of a moral contract. And in a war that has lasted for more than four years, such breaches of moral contract are piling up, with devastating effects on cohesion.

What the Reform Actually Achieves

Let’s be fair in our assessment. Ukraine’s military reform represents a real improvement in formal conditions of service. Salaries are increasing substantially. The contractual framework has been clarified. The deferral mechanism, though insufficient, formally recognizes the length of service of veterans from the very beginning. These are tangible advances, achieved under extraordinarily difficult circumstances.

The Zelenskyy government has made difficult choices in a context that offered only bad options. Maintaining a functional army while managing the frustration of long-serving troops, continuing to mobilize new recruits, and reforming the institution in the wake of scandals like Skelia—this is a remarkable, if imperfect, exercise in institutional balancing.

What the Reform Does Not Address

The reform does not address the fundamental issue of rotation and demobilization. It does not resolve the crisis of trust between long-serving soldiers and their institution. It does not create the independent oversight mechanisms needed to prevent new scandals like Skelia. And it does not tackle the 200,000 soldiers who are absent without leave with enough courage or generosity to hope to convince them en masse to return.

This is a management reform, not a visionary one. It manages the immediate problem without fundamentally transforming the relationship between the state and its soldiers. To do that would require a deeper national conversation about what Ukrainian society owes to those who have given everything—and how it intends to compensate them beyond the monthly bonus.

Ukraine deserves an honest assessment: this reform represents real progress achieved under impossible conditions by a government that does not have the luxury of perfection. But it is not enough. Ukrainian soldiers have given their lives, their youth, and their health for the survival of their country. They deserve more than improved salaries and ambiguous contracts. They deserve a reform that matches the magnitude of their sacrifice. That is not yet the case.

Signed, Maxime Marquette, columnist