working papers

Peer Reviewed by URGENT Members

URGENT is a nonpartisan research group driven to advance rigorous scholarship and teaching. All opinions are exclusively those of the author and not of George Washington University, the Graduate School of Education and Human Development, or the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, or any of its members or other entities.

Testimonials from Students in Ukraine

The full-scale invasion has been extremely difficult, both mentally and physically—especially during the first year and a half. It’s been incredibly painful to watch what’s happening to our own country: to read the news about casualties after every missile strike, to see all the destruction, and especially to hear the horrifying stories about what was happening in Mariupol. 

Now, over 3 years after the full-scale invasion, we’ve somewhat adapted, but it remains challenging. There are countless hardships: from being unable to simply go to a concert or fly on vacation to living with air raids every two or three days, usually at night, when we wake up to explosions and have to hide in the hallway.  

At the beginning of the invasion, my family’s country house was heavily damaged by shelling. Many of my university classmates volunteered to join the front lines, including one incredibly talented girl who I could only ever imagine speaking at a UN conference or receiving a Nobel Prize—yet she joined the Armed Forces of Ukraine simply because she felt she had to. I still can’t fully process that. 

One of my mother’s brothers is currently serving in the military, and another recently died on the frontlines. We are still in shock. My aunt also suffered a stroke at the start of the invasion due to all the stress, but she’s okay now. 

Studying under these conditions has been very difficult. When the full-scale invasion began, we still hadn’t fully recovered from the disruptions caused by COVID-19. Our studies have been fully online for the past four years, and many classmates fled abroad, so they simply don’t have the physical possibility to attend classes in person even if they wanted to. The hardest part was studying online during power outages, when Russia bombed our energy infrastructure and I had to stand on the cold balcony in winter, trying to catch a bit of mobile internet to join a seminar. 

Despite everything, we have no other choice but to continue to fight, because the Russians won’t stop, and we must survive. I’m deeply grateful to the United States and other countries, and especially to their people, for helping Ukraine in so many ways.

Anonymous

Navigating the balance of continuing my life in times of war has been the most character-shaping experience that I have ever had. As a person who has always been striving for development and being better overall, I found it particularly challenging when I had nothing to do for the first weeks of the full-scale invasion. The classes at university stopped, my parents and I managed to flee Kyiv during the Russian offensive on the capital. My parents also stopped working for this period. I found myself in a little city, in the West of Ukraine, where I had never been before. I felt depressed - to say the very least - especially because I felt that I no longer had hope for the restoration of my previous life. 

I did not have any relatives abroad who would be able to take my parents and me with them. My cousin’s mother was pretty much the only one who fled abroad in the first days. That left us three in a house in the Kyiv region in the first days of the war. I understood that we were all alone and nobody will help us. I remember that my only salvation from depression at that time was that a Ukrainian blogger, in view of the invasion, released in the public domain, free of charge, and investments.

I had started to study French with a teacher while being in the West. I was so eager to learn, that I searched for similar opportunities. Then one of our professors at the time sent us a huge table with foreign universities that were ready to accept us for the exchange period. I emailed over 60 of them, then, on one day, I received a response from one of the most prestigious French universities - SciencesPo Paris [also known as the Paris Institute of Political Sciences], and left the next day. At the time, I was so scared and frustrated with the war in my country, that I did not consider how difficult it could be, considering that I had never been to France before, never lived alone before and barely spoke two freshly-learned words of French.

My parents drove me to Warsaw; I took a flight; got lost on my way to Dijon because I missed my connection at another train station; ran out of mobile Internet; and, was not met by anyone in Dijon, because I couldn’t message anybody. I somehow took directions to the campus from somebody on the street and arrived there with all my luggage, because I didn’t know where to go otherwise. Then, luckily, administration members and local students welcomed me. I moved to my student hosts’ apartment.

I remember going to the local theatre play with other SciencesPo students the same evening - and then crashing and crying in my room – alone and silently. I didn’t want anyone to think that I was ungrateful. I cried because my mind was shocked to see people laughing and enjoying life while something horrible was happening in my country. 

To summarize the following three years, I had to learn the ropes quite quickly and become independent and mature. All of that was mixed with the willingness to still grasp my youth and youthful happiness - but, at the end of the day, it was all just an illusion, as we were inherently different from other students. We did not have the privilege to enjoy life - we had to work endlessly and think of the future, a lot of people started working, oftentimes in unqualified jobs, as they were no longer receiving any help from their families.

Still, somehow Ukrainians managed to master the local language and excel in their studies - I remember being shocked by how many Ukrainians I saw at the B2 French level examination center after only staying in France and learning French for one year - and these people learned at the same time as me. 

Even three years since the beginning of the full-scale invasion, I feel inherently different. I would not say that I am necessarily “traumatized,” but I do often feel difficulties in connecting with other people. It goes from the very basic everyday situations (when other students are complaining about the longest time in transport they spent to go to Thailand on a holiday, I just stay silent and say nothing about my 40-hour buses to go home, as the sky is closed) to building actual profound connections. Nevertheless, I am happy to say that, three years in, I managed to get back on track - I work in a Ukrainian-British law firm remotely, I study remotely in Ukraine and abroad, I am also studying two more foreign languages after French and I am learning and getting better every single day.

The journey to make France feel like home took me three years. I went from absolutely hating it here and even being ashamed of saying that I live in France, to actually building a life here and being able to call this place home. Now I know that I  want to go back to Ukraine at the first available opportunity, but I also cannot envision my life without an international aspect in my job or career, suggesting travelling frequently or working with foreign entities.

Anonymous

It was the third year of Russia’s full-scale invasion in Ukraine, when I became a student in Kyiv-Mohyla Academy. Quite a lot of people around me were reluctant about my entering a university in the Ukrainian capital which is being bombed every week. In one scenario, studies would be held online meaning no real student life, which would be sad. In another case, going to offline classes and being at the risk of dying from a Russian drone or a missile would be … disturbing. Yet this did not turn out to be a significant criterion for choosing a university. I was deeply interested in a unique Linguistics program, which Kyiv-Mohyla Academy offers, and I refused to let Russians in any way shape my choice of study.

As of February 2026, it is quite a struggle to make my education efficient and high-quality. Ukraine is facing a severe energy crisis due to Russia’s constant attacks. For now, for the first time during my studies here, our classes are held online so that students living in dormitories can stay in their hometowns, where, hopefully, the situation with electricity, water supply, and, most importantly, heating is better (though even students from Kyiv, like other Kyiv residents, also were advised to temporarily leave Kyiv if possible).

I am such a student myself. Staying at home was clearly the best decision to make, but the situation is still very far from being satisfactory. I am from the Dnipro region, where the crisis is among the worst. I currently may not have electricity for 16 hours per day, which means having no heating and no internet connection for approximately the same amount of time. That, of course, severely limits my ability to perform well academically. Nevertheless, I am doing everything in my power to make my education as good as possible in current circumstances. Fortunately, the professors are very understanding, as they share our struggles, and therefore try to make their classes and tasks as comfortable and inclusive as possible.

This is, as I continue to remind myself, a small but significant way of resisting Russians’ constant attempts to compromise our lives – to live both as if they do not exist and because they do, and we have no other choice but fight them.

Amira

Interview with Chimezirim “Chimee” Nnaji, International Graduate Student and

Recording Artist

By. O. Abiola Akintola

During February 2026 I conducted an interview with Chimezirim “Chimee” Nnaji, a graduate student and singer originally from Nigeria and currently based in Hamburg, Germany. In February 2022, Chimee was pursuing a master’s degree in management in Sumy, Ukraine, as longstanding tensions between his host country and Russia led to Russian military and proxy forces invading on the 24 th . While those who were able to fled the country, thousands of others, including foreign college students, as well as former George Washington University basketball player Maurice Creek, were left to fend for themselves. Eventually Chimee and others made contact with volunteer rescue worker Chris Kubecka, who, along with her colleagues, organized an informal network to assist those seeking a way out of the country. Using Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) and commercially available technology, the students, aided by Kubecka’s network, made it to safer environs. Our discussion focused on his time studying in Ukraine, his isolation during the initial incursion and his journey to eventual safety.

O. Abiola Akintola: Why did you choose to pursue graduate studies in Ukraine specifically, and which school did you attend?

Chimee Nnaji: After running my own business in Nigeria for about two years, I realized I wanted to deepen my expertise in management. My initial plan was to study in the United States; however, despite being accepted by a university, the visa process didn't work out. I turned my attention to Ukraine because I had family members who had studied there and shared very positive experiences with me. Based on their recommendations, I enrolled at Sumy National Agrarian University. I lived in Sumy, a smaller city located quite close to the Russian border. Until the war began, my experience there was actually very good.

O. Abiola Akintola: Before the 2022 invasion, what were your biggest concerns or challenges while living in Ukraine?

Chimee Nnaji: Before the full-scale invasion, the primary concern was the growing political tension, but the locals were very reassuring. They insisted that these threats were the norm and had been part of life for years, so we were told there was nothing to worry about. On a personal level, the transition from Nigeria’s heat to Ukraine’s extreme cold was a massive physical shock that required a lot of adjustment. I also had to navigate the challenge of learning a new language that didn't use Latin characters, which made even simple tasks feel complex. Beyond that, I struggled with loneliness. Most of my family and friends [living in Ukraine] were in Kyiv, and while I traveled there often to see them, returning to Sumy always felt like returning to a very isolated and quiet life.

O. Abiola Akintola: Besides Nigeria, which other countries were the international students in Ukraine coming from? What were their main majors?

Chimee Nnaji: Sumy was very much an academic city, and during my time there, I met a diverse group of international students. There were many [other] Nigerians, plus Cameroonians…and a significant Asian population, particularly from [India and] China. [In] fact, I had several Chinese classmates. My course of study was Management but there were several [medical/health-related] students in the city. Since I had only been in the country for four months before the war began, I hadn't met a vast number of people yet, but the presence of African students in Sumy was very noticeable. It was definitely a hub for students from the Global South. I never personally encountered any Americans or Western Europeans during my time there.

O. Abiola Akintola: Were different nationalities treated differently by Ukrainians?

Chimee Nnaji: My experience with treatment in Ukraine was complex. Personally, I didn't face overt racism in daily life, but my entry into the country was a different story. I was initially denied entry and forced to fly back to Nigeria, only to return two days later. The reason given was that the university hadn't confirmed my arrival, but [the Ukrainian officials at the airport] also took issue with the fact that I was carrying a guitar, telling me I “didn't look like a student.” It felt like a subtly racist double standard. I had my visa, funds, and accommodation, yet I was turned away for not fitting a specific profile. During the war, this differential treatment became more apparent through exploitation. While locals often helped one another, international students were targeted for exorbitant fees. I saw taxi drivers charging foreign students up as much as $5,000 USD for a 120-minute drive to Poltava, fees that I don't believe were applied to Ukrainians. It felt like our desperation was being monetized in a way that theirs was not.

O. Abiola Akintola: At what point did you realize an invasion was actually happening?

Chimee Nnaji: By early February, social media was flooded with videos of Russian troops and heavy artillery massing at the borders. While the [images] filled me with fear, most Ukrainians remained calm, insisting it was just the “new normal.” Soon, various countries began issuing urgent evacuation notices to their citizens. In fact, my own landlord left for Iran with his family, which was a major red flag for me. Yet, when I contacted my university, they officially assured me there was nothing to worry about. The reality hit on the morning of February 24. I woke up to over 10 missed calls from family in Kyiv telling me they were waiting and that I had to find a way to get to them immediately so we could flee toward Poland. When I [looked at my] social media, I saw that the Kyiv airport had already been bombed. I packed what I could and rushed to the bus station, which was usually a bustling hub, but found it filled with people and not a single vehicle moving. At that moment, I knew something terrible was happening.

O. Abiola Akintola: Why do you think the Ukrainian government withheld information regarding the invasion?

Chimee Nnaji: Looking back, it’s clear that the effort to keep us calm was tied to what I call "academic tourism." Ukraine is a major global hub for affordable higher education. While the cost of living and tuition are low for us, the collective revenue from international students is a vital part of their economy. Every time I or my peers made inquiries about the rising tensions, the university [dismissed our concerns] as “unnecessary fear.” They needed the environment to appear stable because if the academic sector was destabilized, the financial loss to the universities and the local economy would be devastating. They essentially prioritized economic stability over our safety, keeping students in the dark for as long as possible to prevent a mass exodus that would have collapsed the system. By the time the truth was undeniable, we were already trapped.

O. Abiola Akintola: Overall, what kind of support, or what specific problems, did the Ukrainian government give?

Chimee Nnaji: I felt completely unsafe the entire time. While my friends and family in Kyiv had already escaped to Poland, I was trapped in Sumy. The Ukrainian forces had destroyed the bridges and railways to stall the Russian advance. While that might have been a military necessity, for us, it felt like [the civilians were] being used as a barrier. There were no official humanitarian passages for us at first. In fact, it felt like we were being held as human shields. The city seemingly believed that as long as international students, particularly from China, were present, Russia would hesitate to bomb. While we were being extorted for thousands of dollars by some locals, I eventually had to plead my way through a line of over 100 cars just to find one elderly man willing to drive my friend and [I] to Cherkasy. It was only once we reached Cherkasy [that] we got some government support with a free train to take us toward the Polish border (Medyka). The real turning point was the support I received from humanitarian groups, specifically one led by (volunteer rescue worker) Chris Kubecka. They were a lifeline. While I was still in the thick of it, they were in constant contact, assuring me that things would be fine. When I reached Cherkasy, they paid for my Airbnb, and once I finally crossed into Warsaw on March 7, Chris even covered my hotel. That night in Warsaw was the first time I finally slept peacefully, without the constant terror of bombs or death.

O. Abiola Akintola: What was the Russian forces' stance toward the students?

Chimee Nnaji: Personally, I never heard of any international students having direct encounters with Russian forces. At the start of the war, the general understanding among us was that they were being careful not to involve foreigners in the conflict. This was certainly my experience, and the experience of the students I was escaping with as we navigated our way out. We also tried not to have any encounters with them. While I was in Sumy, the [center of the city] hadn't yet been hit by major bomb attacks, though the outskirts were already under fire. It hurts deeply to read now about how much the city has been destroyed since I left. While we never saw the Russian forces face-to-face, their presence dictated every move we made. We relied on a Telegram group where Ukrainians shared real-time intelligence on troop movements, which made our escape slow and jagged. We had to navigate through bushes and marshy roads covered in dirty snow to avoid the main paths. Along the way, I saw the true cost of the fighting: damaged Ukrainian tanks and charred Russian ones, some riddled with bullet holes and stained with blood. I never had direct contact with a Russian soldier, but I felt their impact in every mile of that frozen landscape.

O. Abiola Akintola: What technology was used that impacted your movements? What helped you?

Chimee Nnaji: Technology was our most powerful tool for survival. [Again, the] primary resource was a massive Telegram group that seemingly included everyone in Ukraine. It provided near-instant updates. If a bomb dropped, it was uploaded there in seconds, allowing us to track the danger in real-time. For navigation, Google Maps was indispensable, especially once we reached Cherkasy and had to find our way through unfamiliar territory. Even ride-sharing apps like Bolt played a heroic role. When we arrived in Cherkasy late at night, a Bolt driver [took] us safely to the Airbnb Chris had arranged. Later, Bolt even helped us secure a ride at the Medyka border between Ukraine and Poland. Communication within the Nigerian student community happened primarily through WhatsApp. We used it to coordinate our next moves, whether people were headed back to Nigeria,…across Europe, or trying for the U.S. Finally, I have to mention my hardware: a 20,000mAh New Age Power Bank. In a situation where you are constantly moving through “hidden” routes, power is life. [The power in the Power Bank] lasted me four days and kept me online the entire time. By sharing my live trip and real time updates with Chris’s [WhatsApp chat] group ‘TASKFORCE SUMY,’ they could see the exact path we took and use that data to advise other students on how to navigate the same escape. Without that constant power and connectivity, the escape might have been impossible.

O. Abiola Akintola: How helpful were the embassies and diplomats?

Chimee Nnaji: For those of us trapped in Sumy, the silence from the official channels was deafening. We pleaded with the Nigerian Embassy to help create a humanitarian corridor, but nothing materialized between the start of the war and March 6th when I finally escaped on my own. I tried to be understanding, [as] the destroyed bridges and active combat made logistics nearly impossible. But the feeling of abandonment was real. I saw Indian students, feeling forgotten by their own embassy, eventually stage a desperate march toward the Russian border, willing to risk everything just to move. While the Nigerian government eventually arranged transportation after I had already left, it felt like too little, too late for those of us in the initial wave. Figures like Abike Dabiri from the Nigerians in Diaspora Commission made many social media posts, but from where I stood, I saw very few tangible results on the ground. Once in Hungary, the government did offer $100 and a free flight back to Nigeria. Some Nigerian students took [this option,] but for me, going back wasn't an option. I had invested so much in my education and I wasn't willing to give up on my Masters degree. I held onto the hope that I could either transfer to another European university or that the war would end quickly enough for us to return to Ukraine and finish what we started.

O. Abiola Akintola: How did students get out? Were there deaths or injuries?

Chimee Nnaji: Most of my friends and I managed to get out and have since built safe lives across Europe, in places like Ireland, the UK, and Germany. While I don't personally know any students who died during the escape, I’ve heard of some who were so moved by the cause that they stayed to join the Ukrainian forces, lured by the promise of citizenship and some financial incentive. Tragically, many more remain unaccounted for as the death toll continues to rise. While I saw many reports of racism on the trains in other cities, my experience in Cherkasy was actually orderly; they prioritized women, children, and then foreigners and older men. My true tragedy, however, happened once I reached Poland. At the Medyka border, there was a free bus waiting to take refugees to Warsaw. When my three friends and I (all Black students) tried to join the queue, the police stopped us. Even after explaining we were students fleeing the same war as everyone else, the officer gave us a sarcastic smirk and told us the bus was "for Ukrainians only." When I tried to protest, he pushed me so hard I fell to the ground. We were forced to watch people of a different skin color board that free bus while we had to find and pay for a private taxi to Warsaw. It was a heartbreaking welcome. After weeks of surviving a war, that was my first experience of overt racism in Europe.

O. Abiola Akintola: How were you and the other students coping emotionally/mentally?

Chimee Nnaji: Mentally and emotionally, I was in survival mode for a long time. Even months later, I suffered from nightmares triggered by the sounds of bomb alarms, bombs and the trauma of the escape. However, my transition was made significantly easier because of assistance provided by Chris Kubecka and her group. In Warsaw, they provided a five-star hotel, fresh clothes, and supplies, a level of care that gave me the breathing room tothink about my future. I knew I couldn't stay in Poland after my experience, so me and my friends looked toward Germany. Chris and her team organized our transport to Berlin, where a welcoming queer community hosted us. Eventually, I was connected to the Hähnel family in Hamburg through this same group. They were a musical family who truly took me in; they even set up a music studio for me since I had lost all my equipment in the war. They became my sponsors, signing the legal guarantees that allowed me to bypass the €12,000 blocked account fee required for a student visa. They even supported my therapy to help me process the war. I am acutely aware that my experience was an exception. While I was supported by the Hähnels and the Nigerian community in Hamburg, many other Nigerians were stuck in refugee camps. Without a university placement to continue their studies, many were given warnings to leave the country. I had a path to stability and a 50% tuition subsidy because of the "Ukraine situation," but for many others, the struggle to stay in Europe became a second war of its own.

O. Abiola Akintola: Where did the students end up? Were they able to return to school?

Chimee Nnaji: For the most part, the student body was completely fractured. Most of my Chinese classmates returned home and, to my knowledge, never completed their studies. The disruption was simply too great. Even for those who stayed in Europe, the path was rarely linear. My close friend and classmate from Sumy, Victor, initially moved to Bremen with the hope of finishing his degree. However, the lack of sponsorship and the sheer difficulty of the German system proved to be an insurmountable barrier at the time. He eventually relocated to the UK, where he has finally been able to continue his path, now pursuing PhD research. The war essentially acted as a Great Redirector; it shattered many academic dreams entirely, while forcing others onto much longer, more exhausting paths to reach their goals.

O. Abiola Akintola: Are you still in contact with those you helped and/or helped you?

Chimee Nnaji: I remain in close contact with most of my friends from that time, and of course, with Chris. There is a profound sense of shared history between us. When we speak now, there is an overwhelming feeling of gratitude and relief. They are incredibly happy to see how far I’ve come; from those frozen, uncertain days in Sumy to building a life in Hamburg. For Chris and the volunteers, seeing us succeed is the ultimate validation of the risks they took. We don’t just look back at the trauma; we look back at the incredible human effort that made our survival possible.

O. Abiola Akintola: What advice would you give to other study-abroad students?

Chimee Nnaji: My biggest piece of advice is to never rely solely on an institution for your safety or your future. You must conduct thorough, independent research before moving anywhere to study. Be clear on every step of the journey, from the logistics of your arrival to the actual quality of the education and, most importantly, your path for growth after graduation. Most universities are businesses; they will rarely share information that might discourage you from coming or devalue their brand. You have to be your own advocate and your own researcher. On a personal level, I am a firm believer in God, and I know He directed my path. Looking back, every challenge I faced in Ukraine, as terrifying as it was set me up for the life I always dreamed of. While I went there for education, the war unexpectedly allowed other parts of me to shine. My voice and my story opened doors I never could have imagined. Sometimes, the most difficult paths are the ones that lead you exactly where you were meant to be. I wish you all the best on your own [journeys].

Interview with Chris Kubecka, Cybersecurity Expert, Journalist and Volunteer

Rescue Worker

By. O. Abiola Akintola

During February 2026 I conducted several interviews with Chris Kubecka, a United States Air Force Veteran, renowned cybersecurity expert and journalist. In February 2022, Kubecka was in Ukraine to provide support for the country’s infrastructure as longstanding tensions with Russia led to Russian military and proxy forces invading on the 24th. While those with means fled the country, thousands of others, including foreign college students, as well as former George Washington University basketball player Maurice Creek, were left to fend for themselves. Quickly realizing the increasing instability of the situation, Kubecka, along with colleagues, organized an informal network of volunteers. Using Open Source Intelligence (OSINT) and commercially available technology, Kubecka’s network guided thousands of civilians to safer environs.  Our discussion focused on her assisting the foreign students stranded in Ukraine during the initial incursion.    

O. Abiola Akintola: You were in Ukraine to support the country’s infrastructure in case of a large-scale cyberattack courtesy of Russia. How did you end up contributing to an emergency evacuation mission?

Chris Kubecka: I arrived in Kyiv on February 20, 2022, via Air France. I had been brought in through a private-sector network and was staging there in case of a major cyber escalation, specifically involving nuclear infrastructure. My role was informal but serious: I was preparing for the possibility of a cyber disruption targeting either a nuclear production facility or a decommissioned site. At the time, we hoped escalation would remain in the cyber domain, though Western intelligence [agencies were] warning kinetic war was possible.

At 4:00 a.m. on February 24th, I woke up thinking I had fallen off a cliff in a dream. It wasn’t a dream. It was the Russian shelling.

I left Ukraine shortly after and crossed into Siret, Romania. Once there, I was contacted about large groups of foreign students who were trapped, initially over a thousand. Many were in Sumy (near the Russian border) which was under active shelling and encirclement.

In addition to staging for potential cyber escalation involving nuclear infrastructure, I also found myself documenting what many experts consider the world’s first large-scale digital violation of the Geneva Convention. While I at the border during the early days of the invasion, Ukrainian systems were struck by the HermeticWiper malware, a destructive wiper virus designed to erase and disable systems rather than extract data. The timing was not accidental. It coincided with mass civilian displacement.

The attack contributed directly to humanitarian disruption. Border processing systems, communications, and coordination mechanisms were impacted at a moment when thousands were attempting to flee active shelling. [Using a] wiper in that context is not simply a cyber event. It is the deliberate degradation of civilian infrastructure during an evacuation. I reported on these events to The Washington Post and VentureBeat, highlighting the intersection between cyber warfare and humanitarian law. What we were witnessing was not theoretical cyber escalation. It was digital force multiplying physical chaos.

I had previously helped evacuate an American basketball player (former GWU player), Maurice Creek, from Mykolaiv, and that operation had drawn media attention. That prior experience, along with my network, is likely why I was contacted again.

There was no hesitation [on my part]. It was automatic. I had helped effect several evacuations in previous war zones and crisis. 

O. Abiola Akintola: What were the biggest concerns during your new mission?

Chris Kubecka: Sumy was under active bombardment. Russian troops were present inside the city. The Ukrainian mayor was deposed and replaced by a Russian-installed authority. One of those installed figures was later assassinated.

Rail transport was largely nonfunctional. Fuel shortages complicated bus movements. Misinformation spread quickly. In one tragic case verified by the BBC, hundreds of men drowned after false information circulated that they could cross a river and be rescued by Romanian authorities.

But beyond logistics, the largest threat was volatility. Active shelling, cyberattacks disrupting telecom and energy systems, GPS manipulation, and degraded mobile networks created an environment where plans could collapse instantly.

O. Abiola Akintola: Which countries were the students from? What were the main majors represented?

Chris Kubecka: The majority were [from] what is often referred to as Global South. West African countries, India, Bangladesh, but not exclusively. Some were European or from elsewhere.

Many were medical students, as Ukraine has long been a destination for international medical education. [But] there were also students studying computer science, business administration, and other disciplines.

O. Abiola Akintola: How were different nationalities treated?

Chris Kubecka: It varied widely, depending on the location and circumstances.

There were credible reports and firsthand accounts of discriminatory treatment at certain border crossings, particularly against African students. Not everywhere, but enough to create fear and delay. I commented publicly about that at the time.

Martial law generally restricted Ukrainian military-aged men from leaving, but it did not typically apply to foreign nationals.

O. Abiola Akintola: How did the universities (and/or any other educational institutions) in Ukraine help (or not help) the students during the invasion?

Chris Kubecka: [According to the students,]…the universities did not prepare. The students were largely left on their own. I was told [that] the universities told the students nothing would happen, [and/or] if it did it would stay in the East. This was a common [mix of] belief [and hope] at the time. That translated into the students being unprepared. 

O. Abiola Akintola: What kind of support did the Ukrainian government provide?

Chris Kubecka: When I arrived on February 20th, Kyiv was functioning normally. I did not sense officials were minimizing invasion risk. There was hopeful thinking, but also preparation. Ukrainians are resilient and were already mobilizing.

Some information was withheld [by the government], but not extensively. In wartime, there is always tension between preventing panic and maintaining transparency.

Humanitarian corridors required negotiation, with Russian forces, Russian-installed authorities, diplomats, bus operators, and anyone who had leverage in each situation.

In Kharkiv, the situation revealed another dimension of support that often goes unreported. While the city was under Russian occupation and active military pressure, a Ukrainian officer personally escorted a student leader who was responsible for approximately 92 trapped students and their families. The officer effectively acted as a human shield, accompanying him through dangerous areas to secure food and medicine whenever and wherever it could be obtained. This was not a formalized government program. It was an individual act of duty and protection carried out in a fluid and hostile environment. The officer’s presence reduced the likelihood of harassment or violence during movement and signaled that, even amid occupation and chaos, there were Ukrainian officials willing to assume personal risk to safeguard foreign civilians.

Wartime support is rarely uniform. In some areas, coordination was difficult and corridors required negotiation. In others, individual officers and civil servants demonstrated extraordinary courage. Both realities coexisted. It was complex and often unstable. [For 

example,] Ukrainians were directed to remove all street signs to confuse Russian troops.

O. Abiola Akintola:  Why do you think information may have been withheld during the invasion?

Chris Kubecka: In my view, it was not widespread concealment. It was a combination of operational security, preventing panic, and the fog of war. Once kinetic invasion began, uncertainty evaporated. The reality was visible and audible.

O. Abiola Akintola: What was the Russian forces’ stance toward the students?

Chris Kubecka: It depended on the region. In some cases, corridors were negotiated. In others, chaos prevailed. Some students were forcibly taken into Russia. Others were trapped for weeks. [Students in Sumy] were effectively encircled for about a month before corridors opened. This was not a uniform environment. It was mixed, but in several instances, it was violent and coercive.

There were documented cases of students being shot at, detained, forcibly transported, [pressured, intimidated, or used as leverage in local power dynamics]. One student was shot multiple times near Kyiv. In Sumy, Russian troops attempted to push students onto buses bound for Russian territory. When students refused, shots were fired at their feet to attempt to compel compliance. In Kharkiv, students seeking food were intercepted by armed personnel, restrained, and taken to a detention site where they were mistreated before being released, still bound, zip tied, and injured, from a moving vehicle. There were also attempts to remove female West African students separately from larger groups. Given the context and patterns of abuse documented in occupied territories, those attempts raised serious concerns about sexual violence. These were not isolated misunderstandings. They occurred within an environment of occupation, active shelling, and collapsing infrastructure.

Because formal diplomatic mechanisms were either slow or ineffective in several cases, evacuation efforts expanded beyond volunteer coordination. Active communication channels were established that included Nobel laureates, international business leaders, diaspora leadership, crisis management professionals, and humanitarian intermediaries. This informal coalition applied diplomatic and reputational pressure to help secure humanitarian corridors and safe passage.

This was the operational reality.

O. Abiola Akintola: What role did technology play?

Chris Kubecka: Technology was central. I monitored Telegram war channels for troop movement updates, alongside open and closed-source intelligence from trusted networks. OSINT helped determine safer routes. Closed-source intelligence helped validate risks.

There was widespread mobile network degradation and GPS manipulation. Cyberattacks disrupted energy and telecom infrastructure while evacuations were occurring.

We relied heavily on encrypted messaging, although not everyone was comfortable using more secure tools. Russian signals interception was a concern, and there were credible indications of spyware and infiltration attempts.

Technology both enabled and endangered movement. In practice, our operations relied on an extensive mix of digital tools. We used mapping applications, geolocation services, satellite imagery, visualizations, open-source intelligence platforms, closed-source intelligence shared through trusted networks, and a wide range of communications tools. Including X, LinkedIn, Discord, Telegram, WhatsApp, and other encrypted messaging applications. It often felt like hundreds of parallel channels operating simultaneously. Starlink did not significantly factor into our early operations, it was too early in the invasion timeline.

At the same time, that digital dependence introduced serious risk. There were coordinated misinformation efforts aimed at pushing students and families onto weaker or less secure communication platforms. In several instances, we observed spyware activity and intercepted communications attributed to Russian actors or affiliated units. There were credible concerns that interception was being used to locate vulnerable individuals or their families before evacuation could occur, including for coercion or ransom.

We also had to consider the elevated risk surrounding high-profile individuals. In a previous evacuation involving American basketball player (former GWU player) Maurice Creek, there had already been precedent of foreign athletes being detained and used as leverage in geopolitical negotiations. During the Ukraine operation, Dutch contacts (such as DutchOSINT Guy) informed us of chatter indicating that Russian troops were actively searching for him. That risk altered how we structured movement, communications, and visibility.

Additionally, aid organizations we coordinated with experienced cyber breaches during the crisis period. Major humanitarian entities, including the Red Cross, reported cyber incidents at the time, further complicating coordination and trust in digital systems.

Technology was indispensable. It allowed real-time mapping of troop movements, route planning, and rapid communication across borders. But it was also a contested domain. Every message sent carried both lifesaving potential and exposure risk.

[For the students, communication] happened through everything available: [The aforementioned apps,] phone calls, emails, and diaspora networks.

O. Abiola Akintola: How helpful were embassies and diplomats?

Chris Kubecka: Mixed. [Eventually,] the Indian government became more structured in its evacuation efforts, though interactions with them varied depending on the diplomat involved.

Some foreign embassies were responsive; others were slow or inconsistent. In some cases, students were effectively told to “make your way to the border.” No embassy meaningfully provided buses [from Ukraine to safer locations]. 

[Certain] African embassies were slow politically constrained. In some cases, students felt used as political pawns. Bureaucracy sometimes delayed action and increased fear. 

In addition to broader strategic considerations about information flow, there were also cases where misinformation directly impacted students’ safety. Some West African embassy officials, likely unfamiliar with digital geolocation and communication technologies, advised students not to enable location services on their phones, claiming that doing so would trigger landmines and put them at risk. This advice was unfounded and contributed to confusion and fear among those trying to flee. In several instances, students were given conflicting or inaccurate guidance from diplomatic channels while volunteer OSINT networks were working to provide real-time, evidence-based information about troop movements, routes, and safe corridors. The Vice/Motherboard investigation “Inside the OSINT Operation to Get Foreign Students Out of Ukraine” highlighted how volunteer OSINT efforts, including geolocation and mapping tools, were providing actionable intelligence precisely because some official sources were not equipped to interpret or relay that information effectively.

Ultimately, much of the [evacuation-related] operational movement inside Ukraine relied on volunteer networks coordinating transport, corridors, and communications. [Most of the evacuation-related operational movement,] to be honest. 2/5 stars as a rating overall for embassies and diplomats when it came to the students. 

Chris Kubecka: Independent witnesses and journalists later verified the timeline of our involvement in the Sumy evacuation efforts. Communications from students active in the evacuation groups confirm that I was participating in coordination channels prior to direct contact with many of them, sharing route options and facilitating discussions with officials and humanitarian actors regarding safe passage. Following successful evacuations, we also assisted several students with temporary accommodation to stabilize them after arrival.

These accounts are documented in message records and interviews conducted with journalists covering the evacuation effort. I communicated with the Red Cross in a personal capacity. 

O. Abiola Akintola: How did you finally get the students out? Were there deaths?

Chris Kubecka: [Eventually, we were able to conduct] evacuations…through Romania, Poland, Hungary, and Moldova. Active coordination lasted close to 90 days.

Among the Sumy student cohort, we are not aware of deaths. However, in a separate operation involving orphans in Mariupol, individuals were killed when a theatre was bombed. That was one of the moments that hit hardest emotionally. [Again, also some students] were transported into Russia against their will.

In total, our broader network directly or indirectly assisted thousands, students, Ukrainians, nursing home residents, and others.

O. Abiola Akintola: How were you and others coping emotionally?

Chris Kubecka: I slept, but not well [and not much]. My (US Military) SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) training activated automatically. I rewrote and adapted survival guidance for students in real time.

Mentally, I compartmentalized during operations. Emotionally, it hit hardest after events like the Mariupol theatre bombing. There was anger. Helplessness. Frustration. Political complexity layered over human suffering. Afterward, I sought therapy.

Most students describe their experience similarly: shock, survival mode, disbelief, and eventually a determination to move forward.

O. Abiola Akintola: Where did the students end up?

Chris Kubecka: Many returned home. Others relocated within Europe to continue studies. Some were able to resume education, [while] others were displaced long-term. Some experienced detention or bureaucratic complications at borders.

I remain in contact with some of them. The dominant theme now is resilience, and lingering disbelief at what they endured.

One, Chimee Nnaji, recently signed a recording contract with an album on Spotify. 

O. Abiola Akintola: Considering your experience, what advice would you give students studying abroad in (politically, environmentally, etc.) tense regions?

Chris Kubecka:

• Register with your embassy immediately.

• Understand the regional political landscape before you go.

• Have an evacuation plan before you need one.

• Maintain offline maps and physical copies of key documents. Bring a small compass as well. 

• Do not rely solely on social media for situational awareness.

• Build relationships locally. Community matters in crisis.

• Assume infrastructure (power, telecom, GPS) can fail.

Most importantly, understand that geopolitical tension is not abstract. It can shift overnight.

Preparedness is not paranoia. It is now a necessity in the current hybrid war affecting the globe.