Le Monde, 7/20/25
Sections reserved for soldiers are at capacity. Across the country, teams of architects have been working on memorials that reflect not only the scale of the ongoing carnage but also the evolving ideas about national identity.
It’s a sandy track, well-hidden among the pines, off the highway connecting Kyiv to Odesa in the Hatne region. The outline of a newly dug off-ramp, carved by bulldozers and still unmarked, signals the start of a massive construction site. This is the highway exit that will serve as Ukraine’s future national military memorial cemetery. The project is enormous, highly sensitive and not just because environmental activists and residents of the small village of Markhalivka – 40 kilometers from the capital, but right at the base of the future cemetery – worry about deforestation and the loss of their rural quiet.
In the village, only a new brown sign, the color used to mark national sites, marks the road that leads trucks to the site. It reads in English: “National Military Memorial Cemetery.” A first section, designed to hold 10,000 graves and already laid out with broad granite paths, benches and lime trees, is due to receive its first burial this summer. But in the long term, “130,000 or even 160,000” people will be laid to rest at this future burial ground, explained architect Serhi Derbin, clad in khaki linen trousers and a straw panama hat, under the blazing July sun.
“Here will be the main entrance,” explained the young man leading this project, which has a budget of more than €37 million. “Below, there’s a shelter for 300 people, in case of bombardment.” The reinforced bunker is a first for a cemetery. Over there, a “house of mourning” for ceremonies, should it be cold or rainy. “And here, the memorial,” the architect continued, sweeping his arms wide to indicate the 120 hectares set aside for the future cemetery, and the 260-hectare estate beyond.
Perhaps the construction projects rising across Ukraine say more about the scale of the slaughter than statistics ever could. The number of soldiers killed in action since the start of the Russian invasion remains a closely guarded secret. In February, President Volodymyr Zelensky mentioned more than 46,000 Ukrainian military personnel killed and 380,000 wounded since February 2022, not including the “tens of thousands” listed as “missing” or held captive by Russian forces. The real death toll is likely much higher.
Passion for ‘memorial subjects’
The giant cemetery project, overseen by the Ministry for Veterans Affairs but closely monitored by the president’s office, has not emerged without controversy. “One day in June 2023,” recalled Anton Drobovych, former president of the National Institute of Remembrance, “I got a call from Bankova Street [the seat of the Ukrainian presidency]. They told me the memorial would be built at Bykivnia,” a site near Kyiv where victims of Stalin’s purges in the late 1930s were buried. At the time, Drobovych was serving with “the paratroopers” in the Zaporizhzhia area during the Ukrainian counteroffensive. He jumped: “You want to build a cemetery on what used to be a mass grave? That’s a grave, historic mistake!”
After much hesitation, public petitions and local protests, the Hatne site was chosen. “I was the only competitor, architects here have little interest in cemeteries,” admitted Derbin. Head of a Kyiv real estate project agency, he has been passionate about “memorial subjects” since 2021, working on projects like the towering flagpoles overlooking the cities of Dnipro and Kryvy Rih. War, unfortunately, has brought new perspectives. In Yahidne, a village near Chernihiv where 350 parents and children were held captive in the school basement in March 2022, and 27 died, he is preparing a museum to commemorate the occupation and Russian war crimes.
Each sector of the future Hatne military cemetery will be organized around a central columbarium, designed to encourage more Ukrainians to consider cremation, a practice that remains uncommon. Temporary white oak graves will hold the first “heroes” as well as the remains of unidentified soldiers. “No more than a year,” warned Derbin. “We are in the 21st century. In the age of DNA research, we reject the outdated “unknown soldier” concept.” To aid future identification, details that could help identify the deceased – distinctive marks (tattoos, scars, etc.) and genetic fingerprints – will be inscribed on the headstones of these anonymous graves.
White stone
Burial space is running out across Ukraine. In Lviv, a major city in western Ukraine, the city hall avoided controversy by involving families in its plans. A year ago, it began a wide-ranging public consultation to rethink the redevelopment of its “Field of Mars,” a plot with 1,000 graves adjacent to the famous Lychakiv Cemetery, the city’s version of Paris’s Père-Lachaise Cemetery, where sculpted tombs and statues tell the story of a vanished century: writers’ quills, violins, sheet music and manuscripts. Around 6 pm, as the workday ends, a stream of cars comes to lay flowers on the fresh graves that have appeared since February 2022, their yellow and blue flags – or red and black nationalist flags – snapping in the wind. Here, no two graves are alike.
For 12 months, the families of the deceased gathered in Lviv city hall’s vast hall with a team of architects to rethink a cemetery that had sprung up too quickly. “Lighting, flowers, the stone – we discussed everything. Sometimes widows would come with four children,” recounted Anton Kolomeitsev, the city’s architect. The winning design, chosen on May 30, underwent revisions, but the final plan is now set. Each plot will be redesigned with terrazzo stone, juniper bushes among the graves, niches for candles and so on.
But the “Field of Mars” faces another problem. “There are already only 40 plots left. That will last barely two months,” admitted the young Kolomeitsev in his stylish, minimalist office in the 19th-century city hall. The city is now also planning a new military cemetery. “It will be built somewhere in the city or outside Lviv – an announcement is imminent.” It will likely follow the new trends of Ukrainian funerary aesthetics: park-like spaces, large esplanades for ceremonies, white stone…
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All graves are the same size, regardless of the rank of the deceased. And, for the vast majority of believers, they are decorated with “Cossack” crosses – the Maltese cross shape – a military tradition from the 19th century. The benches near the graves, where families once shared a meal or a glass of vodka, have disappeared: “That was a Soviet tradition,” explained Derbin, “because it was the only place the KGB wouldn’t listen in.”
American influence can also be seen. “I visited Arlington Cemetery near Washington,” said Kolomeitsev, “where veterans of all American wars are buried. Here in Lviv, we too had to answer a difficult question: How do you bring together the dead from various conflicts since the early 20th century?”
Families of veterans of the Donbas war in 2014 want their loved ones included in these new cemeteries. And what about those who defended Ukraine outside front-line brigades – civilians who gathered intelligence for the Ukrainian military in occupied territories, volunteers who evacuated the wounded and families, raised donations or built drones, Ukrainian journalists reporting on Russian war crimes? The debate has not yet officially begun, but the idea has been gaining traction in Ukrainian society. “Military memorials are bricks in the wall of national identity,” argued Drobovytch.
Building cemeteries in Ukraine also means marking, in real time, the shifting frontlines of war – even in the worst ways. In Milove, on the Russian border, architect Derbin’s “bell of memory,” dedicated to Ukraine’s liberators in World War II, has already been toppled. “Before the major invasion [in February 2022], I designed the ‘Avenue of Heroes’ honoring those killed since 2014 in Sievierodonetsk.” That gallery of portraits was dismantled by Russian forces. “They want to erase memory and memories,” sighed the Kyiv architect. “I try to chase the dark thoughts from my mind, but I have no doubt that ‘they’ will bomb a cemetery one day.”
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