“I’m a Civilian Who Had to Defend His Country”: The Story of a Ukrainian writer and Serviceman

June 10, 2025
Interview with Artem Chapeye.
article-photo

Artem Chapeye is a Ukrainian writer, a member of PEN Ukraine, a translator, reporter, and traveler. In 2022, he voluntarily joined the ranks of the Armed Forces of Ukraine.

Four of Chapeye's books were shortlisted for the BBC Ukraine Book of the Year Award: Journey with "Mamayota in Search of Ukraine" in 2011, "The Red Zone" — his debut in fiction — in 2014, "Overrun" in 2015, and "The Ukraine" in 2018.

Artem Chapeye's latest book, "Ordinary People Don't Carry Machine Guns", is a raw account of the inner transformation of a person who made the choice to become a soldier. Through careful self-reflection, free of pathos, embellishment, or a desire to please the reader, Chapeye explains how an existential decision leads to irreversible change — when all previous beliefs must be tested against a new, stark reality.

In this interview, Artem Chapeye speaks about the start of Russia's full-scale invasion, reflects on his time in the military, shares what he's been reading, and discusses how the war has reshaped his writing. We also include excerpts from his latest book.

WAR AS A LINGERING GLOOM

The evacuation of children from Kyiv took two and a half days. On the evening of the third day, I reached my hometown of Kolomyia, and the very next morning I went to the military enlistment office.

At the start of the full-scale war, my sons were seven and nine years old. Now they learn about the war from both school and TikTok — these days, the role of parents in this isn't the only one. But of course, the fact that their father is a soldier has a huge impact on them. Sometimes that scares me. My older son says that if he's an adult and the war is still going on, he'll have to join the army. And I really don't want that. If it happens, I'll see it as a personal failure. Because I went to war precisely so my children wouldn't have to.

In the first weeks of the war, it felt as if a black cloud of rage was hanging over us — and everything beneath it was whatever resisted that darkness.

So over time, that feeling of love changes — partly due to hormonal shifts. You simply can't live in the same emotional surge that was there at the beginning. For many people, a prolonged war leads to depressive states. That's natural. War, like any extreme situation, exposes deep social contradictions and provokes division. Those with more privilege tend to take part in the defense less often, while those who are more vulnerable — more often.

Similar patterns have been seen before. For example, during the Vietnam War or even in World War II. Orwell wrote about how, while Britain was being bombed and British soldiers were fighting in France, social gatherings were still taking place in London — with ladies arriving in Rolls-Royces. This kind of social stratification, this injustice — to me, it's a permanent feature of the world.

A PACIFIST TAKES UP ARMS

Until February 24, 2022, I considered myself a committed pacifist. In 2018, I translated a book by Mahatma Gandhi on nonviolent resistance. But as soon as Russia launched its full-scale invasion, it became clear: hunger strikes, petitions, polite letters — the methods Gandhi used to engage with the British imperial administration — wouldn't work in the case of Russia. When bombs are falling on you, you realize those tools just aren't enough.

From the very beginning and to this day, I often find myself humming a line from a Pink Floyd song on The Wall album: "I wanna go home, take off this uniform and leave the show." I consciously try not to change, not to imagine myself as a soldier. I'm a civilian who had to defend his country — above all, his children. Because Ukraine held the line, my kids — who would have remained refugees in Germany — were able to come back home. And that remains my main motivation.

Psychologically, it's deeply uncomfortable for me to notice the shifts — both in myself and others — connected to the idea of military rank. For example, I'm now a senior soldier. Someone else has already become a lieutenant colonel. And the fact that this starts to bother me — that it gets under my skin — is what worries me. It alters your way of thinking, and that's what scares me most. When a war drags on, a dangerous phenomenon emerges — the militarization of thought. In the worst sense of the word: with elements of bureaucracy. I try to resist that.

I do everything I can to remain a civilian at heart — someone for whom it doesn't really matter who's the commander and who's subordinate. Most of the guys in my unit are people who, before the war, worked independently, project to project. They're not used to strict hierarchies.

Of course, war is war. But war and the army are not the same thing. I would prefer to think of the Ukrainian military as a semi-civilian structure — and I believe that's what sets it apart from a professional army, where someone builds a career within a rigid military system.

The group you're in has a strong psychological influence on you. And every day, I try to resist that influence. After the war ends, I want to be discharged immediately — and never wear a military uniform again. That's why I don't care whether I'll ever be a commander. What matters to me is stopping this Russian onslaught and, as much as possible, returning to civilian life.

Before the full-scale invasion, I deliberately kept my distance from the literary scene. Because it, too, affects how you write. I traveled more around Ukraine, talked to very different people — Ukrainians from all sorts of social backgrounds. Hemingway once wrote about this: when you immerse yourself in a literary circle, you eventually start writing like it does. He was critical of how trends in the scene dictate what you should write about --- today it's religion, tomorrow it's politics, the day after that it's art.

Right now, it just so happens that I interact a lot with career military personnel. Before that, the greatest sense of euphoria I felt came from simply being an ordinary soldier among ordinary Ukrainians — mostly from the western part of the country. Builders, carpenters, mechanics, small business owners — true representatives of the people. When you look at our company, you see a rough cross-section of Ukrainian society: a few manual laborers, a few villagers, some city dwellers, a few technicians, one businessman, and one intellectual. For a writer, being in that environment is an incredibly valuable experience.

During my first year of service, I kept my writing background from my comrades. My call sign was "Reporter," because I worked as a journalist back in 2014. Only after my book was reissued and people started posting about it on Facebook did the information gradually come out.

By that time, my comrades had already gotten to know me as a person: they saw that I wasn't avoiding duties, wasn't trying to get closer to the higher-ups — quite the opposite. There's a good saying in the army: "Stay away from the command, stay close to the kitchen." When they later found out I was also a writer, their respect for me grew.

I remember when we were heading out for a rotation, one of the commanders who already knew me a little admitted: "I thought this writer guy would try to avoid assignments, stay on the sidelines." But over time, he told me his impression had changed. He saw that I was trying to be on equal footing with everyone else.

SOLDIERS NEED GENUINE EMPATHY

There's a stereotype that soldiers don't like to open up about their experiences. But it's not that they're unwilling — it's more about not everyone being the right person to share with. I had a painful moment when someone asked me something personal.

By then, I hadn't seen my children in over a year. I opened up about it, even teared up — and the response was, "Ah, yeah," followed literally a second later by, "Hey, have you seen the new season of Black Mirror?" Moments like that make you realize people don't really care. And that's when a soldier stops talking — not because they don't want to speak, but because they see there's no real empathy. People listen out of politeness.

Since the end of 2022, I've been going to therapy, and since mid-2023, I've been on medication. Because there comes a point when you just can't take it anymore. Those who don't have access to a specialist — therapy is expensive — often start drinking instead. It's cheaper, but destructive.

A WAY BACK TO WRITING

For three years, I didn't have any opportunity to write at all. The first two years, there simply wasn't enough physical time — shift after shift, task after task. Then, for another year, I lacked the mental energy. Only now am I slowly beginning to return to writing. I'm not sure if this is just a break or a consequence of the war, but I write differently now. More deeply. When I reread my old texts, I catch myself thinking they seem childish, somewhat naïve. Or maybe I've just lost my optimism.

The war has clearly shown me that justice is more of a Hollywood or Christian myth.

So far, I don't see any realistic scenario where Putin will be held accountable before the Hague Tribunal. Most likely, he will just die a natural death at age 90. The war has made my views more realistic.

This year, I started working on a new book. The language in it is completely different from what I wrote before. Since 2022, I tried my hand at fantasy and science fiction — but each time I felt it wasn't quite right. In the end, it became something like a fusion of genres: a bit of alternative history, a bit of fantasy, a bit of virtual reality.

The hardest part was finding the right tone. Especially now, in the current situation, when we don't know how it will all end. We don't know how much of Ukraine Russia will still manage to occupy, or what will happen next. The tone of a winner and the tone of one who loses are very different. Right now, we're somewhere in the middle. We just don't know yet.

BOOKS AS A COMMON GROUND

After 2022, I started rereading everything related to war. Including Tolkien. It's well known that The Lord of the Rings is really a book about war. But at the same time, I'm increasingly irritated by books and films about war created by people who have never actually experienced it. Everything feels stereotypical, embellished.

Among what I genuinely like right now are Kurt Vonnegut's "Slaughterhouse-Five" and Joseph Heller's "Catch-22". I appreciate Vonnegut for his humanity that persists against all odds. Heller captures very precisely the state of war we're living through now. There's a lot of dark humor — the same kind that surrounds us in real life. The main character keeps asking himself: "Why me?" Yes, Hitler needs to be stopped. But why does it have to be me? I ask myself that question constantly, too.

Humor is a huge help in war. Especially the ability to joke about yourself. Without it, you simply can't get by.

NO SUCH THING AS “GOOD” COLONIALISM

In my opinion, foreigners generally have a fairly realistic understanding of the war in Ukraine. But there are those who consider themselves smarter than everyone else—a sort of uninformed sense of superiority. It’s like a conspiracy theory—whether left or right doesn’t matter. The core idea is always the same: “The authorities are hiding the truth, but we see it.” It’s especially painful when people from the Global South believe this rhetoric. That’s why I try to write a lot for that audience. It really hurts me when former colonies—the ones who should understand us because we were also colonized—take the side of the empire, simply because it’s a foreign empire.

If you suffered under British, French, or American colonialism, that doesn’t mean Russian colonialism is somehow good just because it conflicts with Britain or France. It’s colonialism nonetheless.


We recommend reading: Artem Chapeye for Al Jazeera


This publication was compiled with the support of the International Renaissance Foundation. It's content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the International Renaissance Foundation.

Nika Krychovska
Journalist at UkraineWorld