We were sitting in a radio studio in central Kyiv, where an American volunteer soldier and I were being interviewed about the challenges faced by foreign troops.
As a Ukrainian veteran who sometimes helps them navigate these issues, I shared what I have seen from the inside, while he spoke from his experience serving in the Armed Forces as a foreigner. About 20 minutes into the conversation, the interviewer leaned forward with a question that caught me by surprise.
“Can I ask you something? Why don’t you just go home? Why are you — and so many others — still here?”
The soldier paused before answering.
“I can only speak for myself,” he said. “But I didn’t come to take from Ukraine. I came to protect freedom.”
It wasn’t a rehearsed line. It wasn’t meant to sound heroic. It was simply true.
He had been seriously wounded in combat. Almost everyone in his unit had been killed or wounded. Yet, years later, neither he nor most of his comrades had received their UBD — the document confirming combat participation that opens the door to veteran status in Ukraine.
Without it, they cannot access many of the benefits they earned: free or discounted services, veteran support programs, grants to start a business, and other assistance.
Some volunteers were even told to pay for their UBD, a demand that is openly corrupt and which came from inside their own units. So they paid. And they waited. And months later, many still had nothing.
As a Ukrainian veteran, it is deeply painful to look into the eyes of people who fought in Kherson, Avdiivka, and the 2023 counteroffensive, who were wounded alongside Ukrainian soldiers, and who still struggle with something as basic as military paperwork.
Military documents are much more than a piece of paper. They establish a soldier’s legal relationship with the state. They determine whether someone can prove their service, obtain and use veteran status, access benefits, or navigate countless interactions with public institutions.
Most importantly, they tell a soldier that the country recognizes their service.
Recently, I began trying to understand why one foreign volunteer had still not received his military ID. The deeper I looked, the clearer it became that this was not one person’s problem. It was a symptom of a much larger issue.
The official explanation is straightforward. Five months ago, Ukraine stopped issuing paper military IDs as part of the transition to the digital Army+ system. But because foreign volunteers still cannot access Army+, they are instead issued a temporary A4 paper certificate without a photograph. Officials acknowledge the gap, but say volunteers were “warned” about it in advance.
That’s true, but only up to a point.
First, this problem did not begin with Army+. Long before that, many foreign volunteers were applying for and not receiving military IDs. In some units, receiving one seemed almost random. I know one group of around 40 foreign soldiers in which only three were issued military IDs while everyone else — serving under exactly the same conditions — received nothing. Others have been waiting for the most basic military document since 2022.
Second, many volunteers are never clearly told what’s happening. Instead of receiving an honest explanation, they are usually told that their documents will be ready “soon.” Soon after another signature. Soon after another procedure. Soon after another update. Weeks become months. Months become years.
Third, the temporary document many foreign volunteers receive — the sheet of paper without a photograph mentioned above — is not an adequate substitute for either a military ID or Army+. It creates practical difficulties every time a soldier needs to identify themselves, prove their military status, or access services available to military personnel.
Finally, the bureaucracy is inconsistent. Some Ukrainian units that chose not to adopt Army+ continue issuing the old, paper military IDs.
For Ukrainian soldiers, bureaucratic dysfunction is frustrating, but familiar. We have spent decades learning how to navigate institutions that do not always function as they should. This is a feature of life in many East European countries, where many decades of authoritarian government have weaved a dense and sometimes-impenetrable bureaucratic web.
Foreign volunteers do not understand this, and they do not deserve it.
Many came from countries where institutions generally follow the rules. They expect that if regulations say a document will be issued, it will be issued — or at the very least, that someone will explain why it has not been.
When that does not happen, the consequences extend far beyond paperwork. The problem becomes psychological.
Some begin questioning whether their service matters as much as everyone else’s. Whether they are valued equally. Whether the country they chose to defend truly sees them as part of its armed forces.
That perception may not reflect anyone’s intention. But perceptions shape trust. And trust is a strategic resource.
Ukraine rightly asks democratic societies to continue supporting its fight for freedom. Thousands of foreign volunteers answered that call with something more valuable than political solidarity. They left their homes, families, careers, and safety to defend a country that was not their own because they believed Ukraine’s fight was also a fight for the values they shared.
Those volunteers will eventually return home. They will become veterans, journalists, entrepreneurs, public officials, and community leaders. They will tell others what Ukraine was like, not only on the battlefield, but inside its institutions.
Every unnecessary bureaucratic failure becomes part of that story.
Ukraine cannot control every battlefield outcome. But it can control how it treats the people who volunteered to fight for it.
This is not an argument for special treatment.
It is an argument for consistent procedures, transparent communication, and implementing rules that already exist. Administrative reforms during wartime are difficult. Delays happen. Digital transitions are complicated.
But bureaucracy should never become another battlefield.
Ukraine’s greatest strength has never been bureaucracy. It has always been people willing to defend freedom — Ukrainians and foreigners alike.
Those who volunteered to fight for Ukraine should not have to spend years fighting to prove that they did.
Lera Burlakova is a Democracy Fellow at the Center for European Policy Analysis (CEPA). She is a Ukrainian journalist and former soldier who served as an infantrywoman from 2014-2017 after joining up following the Russian invasion of Crimea. Her war diary, Life P.S., received the UN Women in Arts award in 2021. She lives in Kyiv and works as the Campaigns and Media Coordinator for the new Amnesty International Ukraine team.
Europe’s Edge is CEPA’s online journal covering critical topics on the foreign policy docket across Europe and North America. All opinions expressed on Europe’s Edge are those of the author alone and may not represent those of the institutions they represent or the Center for European Policy Analysis. CEPA maintains a strict intellectual independence policy across all its projects and publications.
