Russia’s war of attrition on Ukraine is wearing down the people

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I have returned to Kyiv. And I have come back with a feeling that is difficult to explain: the war has not ended; it has become part of everyday life.

It is no longer only about what is happening on the front. There is another war, perhaps less visible from the outside, that seeks to wear down the population, disrupt every aspect of daily life and make living in Ukraine a little more difficult each day.

As we approached Kyiv, we looked out the windows. In some stretches, the explosions had torn down the large screens installed alongside the road to protect against the noise, and on the other side, damaged or destroyed homes could be seen.

No one needed to explain much to us. The road spoke for itself.

The scars of war were there. Getting around is not easy either. There are times and places where traveling by road entails risks. That is why every journey is prepared, coordinated and made as safely as possible.

Things as ordinary as traveling from one city to another are no longer ordinary.

During a visit to a hospital, alongside the president of the Generalitat (the regional government of Catalonia, whose delegation I traveled with) and his delegation, we heard a very loud explosion.

It had not occurred where we were. We continued visiting the wounded for a few moments, but shortly afterward the visit had to be interrupted: the hospital had to prepare to receive wounded people. And that impressed me.

In Ukraine, an agenda can end within seconds because an attack has just occurred and there are lives to save. What for us was an institutional and humanitarian visit to strengthen ties of cooperation and learn about the reality became, for doctors, nurses and health care workers, an emergency once again. That is war.

A war on daily life

We have seen food warehouses destroyed by bombardments. And one wonders: what is the point of attacking the things that feed the population? Health care resources, infrastructure, energy and places essential to everyday life are also being affected.

Because a war is not fought only by destroying military positions. War is also waged when an attempt is made to make the lives of the population unbearable.

When you make it difficult for people to have food, electricity, medicine or a home to sleep in, you are attacking something much deeper: the possibility of continuing to live normally. And that is one of the things that concerns me most about what I have seen.

I have the impression that Russian President Vladimir Putin is playing a war of attrition: day and night, drone after drone, alarm after alarm, attack after attack.

In Kyiv, sirens are part of life. You are talking, having dinner, working or trying to sleep, and another alarm sounds. And then another.

You look at your phone, ask questions on what that could be: drones? Missiles? Where are they headed?

For us, it may be an experience lasting a few days; for them, it is their life. Too often, nighttime no longer means rest. It means uncertainty.

And the terror consists not only of a bomb falling on your home or the hotel where you are staying. It also consists of living while wondering when the next one will come.

How do you sleep like that for months? How does a child study? How does a mother work? How does an elderly person live? And, above all, how do you endure it for years?

Rebuilding under constant threat

I was especially moved by hearing the accounts coming from Kharkiv (Ukraine’s second-largest city, near the Russian border and among the most heavily and repeatedly struck since the invasion began).

There, almost every day, damaged homes have to be repaired and rebuilt, and families who have lost everything have to be assisted and supported. At the same time, displaced people continue to arrive from other places, people fleeing in search of somewhere a little safer.

I found myself thinking about something apparently simple: rebuilding in the morning what may be destroyed again at night. And the next day, starting over. That is also resistance.

Not only that of the soldier on the front, but that of the person who opens their shop in the morning, the doctor who returns to the hospital, the teacher who continues teaching, the person who collects broken glass, covers a window, prepares food or welcomes a family that has had to leave its home.

After this trip, I am left with an uncomfortable question: Is the population also being deliberately worn down until it eventually leaves?

Because making it increasingly difficult to live in a city can also be a way of trying to defeat it.

Repeatedly attacking energy, food, infrastructure or basic services; preventing people from resting; keeping millions of people under the constant threat of drones and missiles — all of this wears people down. And Ukraine has been resisting a full-scale invasion for more than four years.

It is resisting, yes. But resistance also makes people tired.

Putting faces to the numbers

Being in Kyiv with the president of the Generalitat and his delegation and the mayor of Barcelona (Jaume Collboni, who traveled alongside Catalan president Salvador Illa on this September 2026 solidarity mission, which also met with President Volodymyr Zelensky) reaffirmed something I have felt for some time: we have to go, we have to see and we have to listen.

Because from a distance, war risks becoming numbers: so many drones, so many missiles, so many dead, so many wounded. When you are there, the numbers regain faces.

The hospital has doctors. The destroyed house had a family. The bombed warehouse contained food that someone was waiting for. And behind every alarm are people who are afraid. That is why Ukraine does not need our pity. It needs us not to forget it.

The danger of growing tired

This is perhaps my greatest fear after returning. Putin is playing a war of attrition. He wants to wear Ukraine down.

But there is another danger: that we will grow tired of Ukraine before Russia grows tired of attacking it.

That the images will stop shocking us, that the sirens will become background noise to us, that we will think, “Ukraine again.” No.

While we debate whether we are tired of this war, there are millions of people who cannot turn it off by changing the channel. They are still there: sleeping when they can, working, rebuilding, burying their dead, caring for their wounded, raising their children and trying to live.

Solidarity cannot have an expiration date. It is not only about helping Ukraine resist. It is about defending a people’s right to live, to remain in their homeland and to build their future in peace.

I have returned from Kyiv tired, worried and also deeply challenged. And I return with an even stronger conviction: if they do not grow tired of rebuilding what others destroy, we cannot grow tired of standing by their side.

Because in the face of those who never tire of doing evil, we cannot tire of doing good.

I conclude with Pope Leo XIV’s appeal at Sunday’s Angelus, Sept. 6, 2026:

“With a sorrowful heart, I have followed the news of the latest violent attacks that have recently struck several cities and civilian infrastructures in Ukraine, causing the deaths of innocent people. My heart goes out to the suffering people, who for years have lived in anguish and fear.

I renew my appeal to put an end to the violence, to stop the destruction and to open hearts to dialogue and peace! I hope that the efforts undertaken in these days to resume negotiations will bear concrete fruit and open space for diplomacy.

Let us raise our prayers to the Lord, that concord may prevail in all the conflicts of the world.”

This is a translated and edited version of the column that first appeared on Religion Digitial and has been republished with permission by Global Catholic.