US election weighs on Ukraine’s frontline soldiers
As she sweeps up broken glass outside her shop, Inna realizes her country’s future rests with Americans voting over 5,000 miles away.
“We hope the woman, Kamala Harris, will win and support us,” she says.
A Russian bomb had shattered her shop windows—a regular occurrence in Zaporizhzhia. Nearby, a 10-meter (32-foot) wide crater scars the road.
“We’re, of course, concerned about the election outcome,” she adds. “We want to defeat the enemy!”
For Ukraine to have any chance of that, it depends on U.S. support.
In 2023, on this southeastern front line, Ukraine launched a counteroffensive intended to push out Russian forces. But with limited progress, Ukraine’s aim has shifted to survival. Daily, missiles and glide bombs strike its towns, while soldiers endure relentless Russian attacks.
Democratic Vice-President Kamala Harris has suggested military aid would continue under her leadership, but a Republican-controlled Congress could limit her powers. Military support—exceeding $50 billion to date—may dwindle if Donald Trump is re-elected.
Whoever wins the U.S. presidency will profoundly affect Ukraine’s borders and all who live within them.
If, for example, they forced Ukraine to give up land and freeze the front lines, then regions like Zaporizhzhia could become suddenly divided like North and South Korea after the ceasefire that halted fighting – but never officially ended the war there – in the 1950s.
Trump has said he would “work out something” to settle the war and suggested Ukraine may have to give up some land.
A second US option would be to pull its support completely, which would mean over time that Russian forces could eventually engulf the entire region and even more of Ukraine beyond it.
The third scenario of Ukraine completely liberating its occupied territories is looking less and less likely.
It’s this lack of battlefield progress that has made the merits of supporting Ukrainian troops like Andriy increasingly up for debate across the Atlantic.
He’s in charge of his unit’s fleet of US-made armoured vehicles on the front lines. When they’re not used for moving soldiers, they sit under camouflage netting along tree lines.
“If aid stops or slows, the burden will fall on the shoulders of the infantry,” he explains. “We’ll fight with what we have, but everyone knows Ukraine can’t do it on its own.”
Andriy and his fellow Ukrainians are nervously awaiting the US vote on 5 November. The uncertainty is stifling battlefield ambitions and frustrating political efforts to secure more help.
Western allies often look to America’s example when deciding how or whether to support Kyiv’s war effort.
“When we hear how one candidate, who is less willing to help us, is leading in the polls, it’s upsetting and frustrating,” says Andriy. “But we’re not going anywhere.”
Amidst the autumnal farmland, the soldiers are keen to demonstrate the American kit they use – drones, grenade launchers and mounted machine guns.
All, they say, far superior to their Soviet-era alternatives.
Whether it’s through Ukraine’s natural resources or business ventures, President Zelensky is also trying to pitch his country as an investment opportunity to his allies.
Drone pilot Serhiy explains how they can give direct feedback to Western manufacturers.
“We have an online chat with them, and we make suggestions,” he says with a grin. “Improvements are already happening.”
As demonstrated with drone manufacturing, the war in Ukraine is forcing innovations domestically. It’s also allowing Western companies to test their products in an active warzone.
Billions of dollars of Western aid has also driven reforms in some areas of government. Kyiv wants to show it’s a horse worth backing.
The question is whether these advances will be eclipsed by a conflict increasingly going Russia’s way.
With an army typically only being as strong as its society, we head to meet someone who experienced Russian brutality first-hand.
Lyubov’s daughter and grandchildren fled to the US at the start of the full-scale invasion.
We last met in her front-line village of Komyshuvakha two years ago, after the invading troops had destroyed her home.
This time, she seemed happier, despite living close to the fighting for so long. In the warm confines of her new flat, I ask her whether Ukraine should negotiate to end the war.
“What about those who gave their lives?” she replies. “I see the end of the war only when we reach the 1991 borders of our country, when Crimea, Luhansk and Donetsk were ours.”
There is almost endless coverage of the US election on Ukrainian news programmes, with war projections based on the potential winner.
Kamala Harris is undoubtedly seen as Ukraine’s preferred candidate, and journalists are trying to combat Russian disinformation against her.
But across Ukraine’s south and east, we find a growing number of people who want the war to end immediately, and see a Donald Trump presidency as the best chance of bringing respite.
We spoke to many of these people around the embattled eastern town of Pokrovsk, where Russian forces are inching closer.
There’s a feeling here that Ukraine should have negotiated at the beginning of the full-scale invasion, to prevent the death and destruction they’ve seen since.
Both sides engaged in talks in those early months of 2022. But evidence of alleged Russian war crimes halted attempts at diplomacy, and strengthened Ukraine’s resolve to fight on.
“Death is not worth territory,” as one woman put it. “We have to stop this war, and Trump is the person who knows how to do that.”
Eleven years of Russian aggression is enough for some.
For the politicians in Ukraine’s parliament, it is not an openly shared sentiment. While there is still cross-party support to keep fighting, President Zelensky’s “victory plan” has been criticised for not having a clearer timeline.
But across Ukraine’s south and east, we find a growing number of people who want the war to end immediately, and see a Donald Trump presidency as the best chance of bringing respite.
We spoke to many of these people around the embattled eastern town of Pokrovsk, where Russian forces are inching closer.
There’s a feeling here that Ukraine should have negotiated at the beginning of the full-scale invasion, to prevent the death and destruction they’ve seen since.
Both sides engaged in talks in those early months of 2022. But evidence of alleged Russian war crimes halted attempts at diplomacy, and strengthened Ukraine’s resolve to fight on.
“Death is not worth territory,” as one woman put it. “We have to stop this war, and Trump is the person who knows how to do that.”
Eleven years of Russian aggression is enough for some.
For the politicians in Ukraine’s parliament, it is not an openly shared sentiment. While there is still cross-party support to keep fighting, President Zelensky’s “victory plan” has been criticised for not having a clearer timeline.
As for Lyubov, she certainly wasn’t going to voice her preference on who should win the White House:
“I would like a true friend of Ukraine to win, who will continue to support us. But who it is going to be, I cannot tell you.”
As much as I admire Lyubov’s inner steel, she reflects an increasingly popular and uncomfortable contradiction: a desire for Russia’s defeat, while also wanting the bloodshed to end as soon as possible.
The pendulum between US interventionism and isolationism is closely watched and felt in Ukraine.
Ever since it voted overwhelmingly to be an independent country in 1991 during the collapse of the Soviet Union, Ukraine has had to fight for its sovereignty.
It’s found itself on the edge of a geopolitical tectonic plate, trying to align itself with the West as Russia pulls it the other way.
Moscow’s full-scale invasion means Ukraine needs the helping hand of America to stop it from being torn apart.
