Blair McDougall, the Labour MP for East Renfrewshire, has just returned from Ukraine.
In a diary for HuffPost UK, he explains why he believes Vladimir Putin’s invasion of its neighbour “has failed”, and why the West must now give Ukraine all the support it needs to end the war.
As we drive through the Polish countryside towards the night train that would take us over the border and into Ukraine, the fog becomes thicker and thicker. If there was any anxiety about leaving the safety of the EU among our delegation of MPs, the weather isn’t helping.
The huge sleeper train emerges from the gloom and the friendly Ukrainian rail workers showed us to our cabins. Ukraine’s railway workers are the unsung heroes of the war there. Despite constant bombardment the trains run on time. In truth, the service is better than here in the UK.
That is the first thing to understand about Ukraine: despite Putin’s best efforts it remains a functioning, vibrant, European country. He has failed.
In my previous life working with pro-democracy campaigners, I had loved working in Ukraine. As we pull into Kyiv in the early morning, I wonder whether the city would feel different from the hip, bustling place I remembered. It still has the same heart, a defiance, but there is now a sadness too.
Official memorials to the war dead are complemented by the city’s graffiti artists stencilling the faces of lost friends onto the walls. The midnight curfew curtails the nightlife. War disabled walk the streets selling patriotic trinkets.
We visit a rehabilitation centre where amputees from the front now fight to rebuild their lives. Dimitri has a boy the same age as mine. He tells me how his vehicle was chased by a Russian drone. He came to and found his left leg was where his right leg should be. He is now strengthening his stumps for the day when prosthetics can be fitted. He jokes about shopping for shoes.
I ask what his hope is for the future. He says he wants to live without shame. Listening to him and his comrades it is me who feels ashamed. I wonder how many of them could have been spared their struggles had we in the West been more decisive and more generous.
My shame turns to rage at our next visit. Okhmatdyt children’s hospital was targeted by the Russians in July. Standing amid the ruined building I see deep gouges cut by shrapnel in concrete, tarmac and brick; and then imagine what it must have done to the soft bodies of the patients.
On the far side of the building, away from the worst of the blast, children are still cared for. We meet twins, Sophiana and Luciana, who share the same curly hair and an infectious laugh. They are so beautiful and full of joy that I forget the horror of what happened here. But when I remember that they, these tiny children, were the intended target, I feel sick with anger. Bombing hospitals is not an accident of war, it is Kremlin policy.
I struggle to sleep that night and on my phone I watch the prime minister emerging from the White House where he was making the case for using Western arms to destroy those missiles and bombs at source inside Russia. When I finally drift off just before 2am, I’m almost immediately woken by the wail of the air alert. Thirty missiles and Iranian-made drones have been launched. Russia’s despotic allies don’t share the West’s squeamishness about allowing their weapons to be used freely.
“Bombing hospitals is not an accident of war, it is Kremlin policy.”
With more seasoned guests carrying bedding downstairs, I make my way to the underground car park and settle down onto some bean bags in a corner. It’s a macabre novelty for us visitors but an everyday routine for Ukrainians. Snores echo in the darkness as I track the attacks online. Around 4am the all clear sounds and we go back to bed. You begin to understand why there are so many coffee shops in Kyiv.
The Ukrainian politicians we meet are genuinely grateful that the UK is consistently the first-mover among allies - but they plead with us to push others to reject the false threats of escalation that come from Putin. The risk is theirs not ours. They aren’t asking for our sons and daughters but rather for our shells and drones.
Words like democracy and freedom are abstract for us in our comfortable lives of complacent freedom. Driving away the next day from the village of Yahidne, past the bowed heads of the sunflowers in the fields, I properly understand why these words have more meaning for Ukrainians. This was where 370 civilians were crowded into a school basement for a month.
We descend into the darkness down narrow stairs and stand in the tiny rooms – think about your living room – where hundreds were squashed in. On the walls are drawings scratched in the darkness by children and a list scrawled by adults of those who were taken out and executed by the Russian troops.
Ukrainians are utterly extraordinary. One woman barely out of her teens, casually talks about how she used homemade bombs to destroy the invaders tanks. Another, Olena from Chernihiv, has one of those brilliant, smiley faces that glows with pride when she talks about her hometown. When she tells us of the bombings that killed dozens queuing at a pharmacy, or of the rapes and murders she witnessed, or of the hardships of occupation, her face completely drains of life.
It is clear that Ukrainians will never, ever give up. They have suffered too much for the freedom they have preserved.
We visit a newly extended graveyard. My rough count is of 900 new graves. Each one has a portrait of the men and women who died. Loved ones keep candles burning or leave cans of the departed’s favourite drink. I notice one middle aged soldier died on the same day I was elected to parliament. A few rows behind a newly dug grave lies open, waiting.
We move on to a drone manufacturer where young men and women are assembling what look like over-sized Airfix models. I notice on top of a cupboard that they have a model of a Spitfire. I talk about how the silhouette of that aircraft became an emblem for the UK’s victory over fascist aggression and I wish that their distinctive aircraft becomes a similar symbol. When we get back in the minibus the air raid alert sounds again from our phones.
There is a strong sense that the war is now in a new phase where the shape of an eventual peace will start to form. Kyiv seeks to degrade Russia’s ability to fight by inflicting huge losses on them in the Donbas, to humiliate Putin by holding the Russian territory they have taken, to cement their victory in the Black Sea and permanently expel the Kremlin’s fleet from their waters. Russia throws men into suicidal attacks as they seek to destabilise a country they previously hoped to conquer.
In the UK our leaders have said that we will be with Ukraine “for as long as it takes”. This is essential, but as well as our long-term commitment we need to continue to be the voice for urgency.
When the democracies have given Ukrainians what they need they respond with courage, creativity and out of a commitment to our liberal democratic values. When the West prevaricates, their men and women die needlessly. When we appear weak, the dictator in the Kremlin and authoritarians the world over, are made stronger. We are all made less safe.
Winning the argument with our allies on long range strikes is about destroying, at source, the missiles and glide bombs that are doing so much damage. It can also be about a shift in western posture. If we can move the coalition on long range strikes, it can be the start of a more confident strategy, one that calls Putin’s bluff, delivers victory in Ukraine and deters authoritarians around the world.
One Ukrainian woman in uniform, who swapped a life as a club promoter for the front line, challenged us to decide whether we believe democratic values are real and whether we are willing to fight for them. Ukrainians haves shown those values are real. It’s long past time that we in the West decided that they are worth fighting for.
* Blair McDougall is the Labour MP for East Renfrewshire and is a member of the All-Party Parliamentary Group on Ukraine.