On the 24th of February 2022, Russia launched a full-scale attack on Ukraine by land, sea and air. CSIS reports that, since then, joint Russian and Ukrainian casualties may be as high as 1.8 million total. In addition to military and civilian deaths, Ukraine has lost almost a quarter of its pre-war population, with Ukrainians either emigrating or being abducted by Russian forces. Over four years later, despite Ukrainian forces reclaiming territory such as the Dnipropetrovsk region, the war shows no imminent signs of ending. In an interview with The New Statesman, Ukrainian author Oleksandr Mykhed refers to the idea of Ukraine’s future as a ‘luxury’, the imaginative product of ‘impatient’ Westerners.

“The aid they transport can often be the difference between life and death”

This war cannot simply be wished away, a fact recognised by the Cambridge-based charity Convoy4Ukraine, which drives crucial aid to Ukraine biannually. Convoys last a week. As the drivers approach Ukraine, volunteers either choose to return home at the Polish border, stay in Lviv, or drive further east to Kyiv, a city still frequently targeted by air strikes. The charity is not interested in carrying hand-me-downs. Rather, the aid they transport can often be the difference between life and death, including, but not limited to, gauze, medicine, generators, and even whole ambulances. It has been estimated that each vehicle has the capacity to save around 50 lives; on February’s convoy alone, 21 vehicles (including seven ambulances) were delivered. Since 2022, the Cambridge, Northamptonshire and Ireland convoys have transported a total of 263 vehicles, with over 500 volunteers involved. Founder Tom Walston has compared the growth of Convoy4Ukraine to that of a start-up, from a small charity to “one of the most significant international aid convoys to Ukraine”.

“I don’t want to be the person who said ‘I could have done something’ and then chose not to”

When speaking to the participants of February’s convoy, who range from Cambridge locals to students, a shared disinclination towards passivity becomes apparent. Those who go on convoy are motivated not by notions of heroism, but rather the simple desire to act. This is a perspective perhaps best elucidated by Walston – when asked about his motivations for starting the charity, he frankly states that, after hosting Ukrainian guests under the ‘Homes for Ukraine’ scheme, he had a “dawning realisation that this is something really big, and this is something that I can do something about”. Similarly, convoy volunteer Guy Brandon explains that “I don’t want to be the person who said ‘I could have done something’ and then chose not to.”

The process of the convoy itself can be gruelling. The volunteers drive from various starting points in the UK to the Polish-Ukrainian border, often totalling up to seven hours driving time a day. Aid is then delivered to Ukrainian partner charities to be distributed around the country, and most volunteers choose to stay on some extra nights in Ukraine. Many of the volunteers highlight the apparent normalcy of life in the country; one mentions Lviv’s “gorgeous churches,” whilst another comments on the “cafés and restaurants” that remain open. Nonetheless, there are reminders of the war everywhere. In Lviv, there is a curfew between midnight and 5 am; under the hotel in which the volunteers stayed is an air raid bunker. Volunteer Paul Gibson also remarks on the city’s lack of young men, as well as the many funerals (sometimes as many as 17) that take place every day.

“Don’t think this isn’t anything to do with you. Because it is”

Convoy is an effective mode of transportation not only because of the sheer quantity of aid it enables the charity to carry, but also because it serves as a reminder of our proximity to the war. American volunteer Seneca Bowers explains that her motivations for joining the convoy stem partly from the fact that “Ukraine has lost a lot of media attention in the US,” and the same can be said for the UK. Despite the unlikelihood of a ceasefire or a peace agreement in the near future, Ukraine has dropped off the radar of many UK news outlets. Pitted against Trump’s populist rhetoric and the chaos of the war in the Middle East, the war has lost its ability to garner engagement. It has become easy to ignore. The process of driving to Ukraine, however, acts as a reminder of how close to us this war is happening. Gibson recalls a conversation with a Ukrainian firefighter: “He said, through a translator, ‘it’s on your doorstep. This is on your doorstep’. He was staring at me with his big eyes. ‘If Ukraine falls, who’s next? Moldova, Lithuania, Poland? So don’t think this isn’t anything to do with you. Because it is.’”

Despite its brevity, multiple volunteers have described the convoy as “life-changing,” precisely because of the manner in which it has changed their perspectives on the war. When consuming information about the conflict through foreign news outlets, it becomes all too easy to create a mental divide between ‘them’ and ‘us’, thus maintaining the belief of infallible security. To experience the country itself is another matter – when speaking to impacted Ukrainians, seeing vast memorials for Ukrainian soldiers, or even treating a Ukrainian policeman who has been the victim of a terrorist attack, as a Dutch volunteer medic did during February’s convoy, the gap between ‘them’ and ‘us’ can no longer be sustained. Gibson comments on the feeling of “constant stress” when inside the country, and the consequent realisation of how privileged he is to be able to return to a secure home. “This is daily. You can’t escape it. I nip there for two nights and come back to normality in Cambridge. They’ve got this daily grind, and they’ve had it for four years.”

The charity’s next convoy is scheduled for later this year, and convoys will continue for as long as they are necessary. Despite the uncertainty of the war, Convoy4Ukraine recognises that maintaining the regularity of their trips is crucial, not only for replenishing aid supplies, but also to remind the country that it has not been forgotten. One volunteer admits that “I personally cannot really think of a way that this conflict can end, or at least end in a way that it won’t heat up again ten years down the line,” but nonetheless insists “we’ll be here next winter; four years in, we’re still standing pretty strong, so we’ll do another four if we have to.”