Not Reconstructing, But Rebuilding

PAWEŁ KNUT: I’m listening to your story about the rebuilding of Ukraine while simultaneously searching the internet for images that could help me visualize it. I look, for example, at photos of the Capital Reconstruction Bureau, which was tasked with restoring Warsaw from ruins. In the pictures, I see architects, urban planners, and monument conservationists. Sometimes their figures are captured in offices, sometimes on construction sites. They are always surrounded by maps and plans, leaning over them, discussing something. A moment later, I find myself switching to Google Maps, looking at the ruined city of Mariupol from a bird’s-eye view, imagining what its restoration might look like. You are an architect and a researcher of architecture yourself. Do you experience this too?

PETRO VLADIMIROV: I’ve seen this need in many people in Ukraine, especially in the period shortly after the 2022 invasion. At that time, there was a popular online project where people could upload photos of destroyed buildings so that others could design their restoration. I think this act of virtual reconstruction played an important role back then. It provided reassurance and hope: Don’t worry, all of this can be rebuilt—and even better than before.

That project has long since disappeared. It has lost its meaning, and not only because many of the buildings featured were in areas still occupied by Russian forces. Over such a long period, social attitudes have shifted, influencing how people think about reconstruction.

How exactly have they changed?

Everyone is extremely exhausted. Not just because of the hardships of living through war but also due to other social problems that existed even before the war—corruption, for example. This fatigue has shifted the perception of reconstruction from the microlevel to the macrolevel. From imagining reconstruction in terms of specific architectural, infrastructural, or urban planning projects to seeing it as a broader project of comprehensive social transformation. It’s not just about rebuilding the physical spaces where Ukrainians live but also about rebuilding Ukrainians themselves, state institutions, and the overall functioning of the country.
Reconstruction is not only a material process but also a mental one, a transformation that would allow Ukraine to finally break away from the legacy of its existence within the Soviet empire.

The current dominance of the abstract over the concrete is tied to another issue, which becomes clear when we return to the photographs you mentioned. We are not yet at the stage where the employees of the Capital Reconstruction Bureau once stood.

The war is still ongoing.

At the very least, the people in those photographs already knew exactly what they had to rebuild and what resources they had to do it. In our case, the front line is constantly shifting back and forth across Ukrainian territory. How can anyone seriously engage in a reconstruction project for Mariupol right now when we still don’t know when it will return under Ukrainian control? Especially since an open discussion about the possibility of territorial losses and the abandonment of reconstruction in certain areas is currently a taboo topic in Ukraine.

Will this kind of total reconstruction, similar to the rebuilding of Warsaw after World War II, mainly apply to the areas still under Russian occupation?

Yes, and that’s another key difference between the situation in your photographs and the current reality in Ukraine. On the Ukrainian-controlled side, rural and urban areas, as well as the biosphere, are not completely destroyed in the way the left-bank part of Warsaw was after the uprising of 1944. There is destruction, but it does not dominate the landscape of cities and villages to such an extent that grand reconstruction plans seem necessary. Infrastructure is being damaged, of course, but much of it remains invisible in daily life. In Kyiv, for example, one can walk around the city and be reminded of the ongoing war primarily by scattered military checkpoints.

But there are areas that have been completely ground down by military action. These are mostly in eastern Ukraine where the front line currently runs. After the dynamic shifts of the first months of 2022, the front has more or less stabilized and now resembles the trench warfare of World War I. This front leaves behind a landscape like that of the Moon—void of buildings and trees—reminiscent of post-war Warsaw. And typically, only such utterly devastated territories end up falling into Russian hands.

There’s something deeply unsettling about the fact that the Russians are now occupying territories they themselves have wiped off the face of the earth, destroying both the material and biological world. After all, the factories, residential districts, and parks they’ve reduced to rubble are also remnants of their own previous colonial presence in these areas.

This is how an empire operates. It views land—and everything on it—purely as a resource, an abstract asset to be controlled at will. Russia’s attitude toward land is especially striking in the context of the current Kursk operation where, for the first time, Ukrainian forces have taken control of a part of Russian territory. And what has been the Kremlin’s response? A rhetoric of abstract figures, as if nothing had happened: "We report that only 5% of Kursk Oblast is currently out of our control." That’s it. Kremlin propaganda remains fixated on Ukraine, emphasizing why capturing more of our land is so important. And in pursuit of the equivalent of those lost 5%, Russian forces will now sacrifice tens of thousands of soldiers and massive amounts of equipment in Ukraine.

But none of that really matters—because the empire is always wherever it wants to be.

That is its privilege. And now, as we try to frame reconstruction within the broader struggle of a former colony against its empire, I’m starting to think that perhaps we should be talking not about rebuilding Ukraine but about restructuring it.

Reconstruction should not simply be about restoring what was destroyed by the oppressor’s hand, but about rebuilding after definitively breaking free from its grip. Given the current balance of power and the level of allied support for Ukraine, Russia seems too weak to achieve the total destruction it aspires to. I understand that it’s difficult to make concrete reconstruction plans right now, especially for the eastern regions. But isn’t it likely that, due to their proximity to Russia, these border regions will undergo fundamental changes—even after a peace agreement is reached—shaping the direction of their reconstruction?

Absolutely. They’ve already changed. Just look at the demographics. Many people from eastern Ukraine have either been killed or displaced. Over the past two years, they’ve been trying to rebuild their lives elsewhere in Ukraine or abroad. Women with children have been the primary group leaving for other countries. The longer the war lasts, the harder it will be for them to return. In many countries, children are required to attend local schools, accelerating their integration into new societies.

Beyond that, what’s happening in eastern Ukraine right now is also a total economic transformation. For decades, most regions along the border had strong economic ties with Russian territories on the other side—ties that have now been completely severed, likely for good. Take Kharkiv, for example. To me, the fate of Barabashovo Market—arguably the largest market in Europe—symbolizes the collapse of economic flows that once sustained thousands of livelihoods. In the 1990s and early 2000s, it was a major stop for people traveling from Moscow to Crimea. Because of its geographic position, Kharkiv was a crucial commercial hub. After Russia annexed Crimea in 2014, the city suffered significant economic losses. Large-scale trade dwindled because the key customer base disappeared. Of course, small and medium-sized businesses will always exist, but on a larger scale—and given that Kharkiv is a highly industrial city—it will have to reinvent itself.

We also have to consider that these are regions which will remain under the constant threat of future Russian attacks. In such a situation, how should we approach rebuilding them? Or, to put it in economic terms—what is worth investing in there? Heavy infrastructure, like manufacturing plants that could be destroyed with a single missile? Or something more resilient to precision strikes, such as agriculture? Personally, I believe that the agricultural potential of these lands—blessed with rich black soil—will only grow after the war. Of course, that’s assuming we can demine the territory first, which, according to various estimates, could take up to 10 years.

Are these thoughts—that full-scale war could return to the border regions at any moment—something Ukrainians will live with forever?

Yes, because no one today doubts that peace with Russia will ever be entirely predictable, and having a Plan B will always be necessary. For a long time, these regions will follow the same militarized logic of governance seen in other parts of the world experiencing prolonged conflicts, such as Israel and Palestine.
Just yesterday, I read that a project is underway in Zaporizhzhia to build four schools with underground infrastructure, ensuring they can still function even if missile strikes hit the area again. This is now the new "normal" for these regions.

Prioritizing agricultural development in these regions could also have a strategic military purpose. By doing so, Ukraine would maintain a buffer zone—a kind of sponge capable of absorbing and slowing down another conventional attack by Russian ground forces. Ukraine has space, and that space can serve as a tool for defense. Ukrainians also have experience in managing areas with special purposes—I’m thinking here of the exclusion zone around the Chornobyl Nuclear Power Plant. Do you think the experience of that disaster and its aftermath could help us imagine what the border regions with Russia might become?

Yes and no. The situation with Chornobyl is quite unique. While the disaster was initially caused by human error, the long-term consequences—meaning the need to maintain that area’s special status—were driven by scientific, not political, reasons. If someone stays there, they will most likely die. With the border regions near Russia, it’s the opposite. The defining factor will be political decisions about what kind of space this should be—more precisely, what it must be. These decisions will largely depend on the ever-changing security situation and how dangerous our eastern neighbor remains at any given time.

That said, I agree with you—life in these buffer zones will likely be different. It’s a historic shift. But I would also caution against thinking that simply building a system of dams and fortifications in eastern Ukraine will make us safe. This war has made it clear that modern armed conflicts are not just about territorial advances. Russian missiles can strike anywhere in Ukraine, spreading terror regardless of location. In many ways, the entire country has effectively become one massive buffer zone.

The idea of Ukraine as a buffer against Russia is undoubtedly quite popular in the West. I’m curious—how do you see the involvement of different countries in Ukraine’s post-war reconstruction plans?

For me, one particularly striking example is the map of Ukraine released during the Reconstruction Conference in Lugano in 2022. It showed different regions of Ukraine marked with the flags of the countries assigned to rebuild them. Do the new relationships being formed with the West feel more like a partnership, or is there still a colonial dynamic at play?

In his reflections on countries that moved out of Moscow’s orbit after 1989, the philosopher Boris Buden insightfully describes the ambiguity of their new relationships with the West. Analyzing Poland’s case, he noticed an interesting paradox: While the Polish society initiated its own democratic transformation in the 1980s entirely on its own terms, its eventual entry into the "democratic club" came with a clear message—"Great, you’re no longer socialist, but now we need to teach you what democracy is." A country that had just demonstrated the essence of the democratic process in practice was essentially told it still had to learn democracy.

The entire EU Eastern Partnership project, which now includes Ukraine, was built on a similar way of thinking: "We will give you money, banks, and audits, and in return, you must learn from us."

Given the current situation, I think the approach toward Ukraine today is somewhat different—less paternalistic and generally less ideologically charged. This shift might be due to the fact that, unlike Poland in the 1980s, Ukraine has had years of turbo-liberal economic policies and has already developed a well-functioning market economy. There’s no need to introduce these structures from scratch, which could explain why the narrative feels different.

To me, it now resembles a business deal—it’s almost like founding a startup: "I’ll give you money, so I have a say in decision-making, but we’ll rebuild together and settle accounts later." The conversation is primarily transactional. I don’t see the same ideological rhetoric that dictates how we must behave to be recognized as a "civilized" country.

Overall, I believe reconstruction will be driven by economic considerations. Ukraine’s government will need enormous amounts of funding, and it’s clear that those funds aren’t available domestically. They will come in the form of loans from other countries and international institutions—and those loans will be structured around one key question: How will this investment pay off?

The Ukrainian authorities also resort to the rhetoric of exchange. For example, when they say: Our people are dying on the front lines, we are buying you security, so, in return, support us in the war and in rebuilding the country. This is strongly emphasized in the language Ukraine uses on the international stage.

I agree—the argument "We are fighting here for you" is an important element of Ukrainian propaganda and a very effective one. I believe that without it, support would be significantly lower. However, it seems to me that at the beginning of the invasion, this was not as obvious. The Ukrainian government managed to frame the war in this way very well. Whether this argument is valid or not, we don’t know for sure. We may never find out whether Putin actually planned to advance further west or if his goal from the start was only to occupy Ukraine or part of it.

When we talk about reconstruction, we are fully oriented toward the future. However, this process is already underway, albeit on a limited scale. Various actors, both state and non-state, are reaching behind-the-scenes agreements and taking action without waiting for a peace treaty.

It’s true—capital does not like to wait, even if it means taking on greater risk. For now, these are smaller projects that, as they say, are “building a presence” in Ukraine. About a year ago, I attended an event in Warsaw where representatives of major Polish businesses gathered to discuss reconstruction. A recurring topic in these talks was who had already “made a deal” with Ukrainian partners and who hadn’t. There was also some disappointment among businesspeople who had previously been involved in providing humanitarian aid, as they had hoped this would automatically secure them contracts. Today, businesses understand that this won’t be the case, as reconstruction will follow a different, fully market-driven logic.

However, we must remember that there is no vacuum on the other side of the front line. A particularly interesting case for me is my hometown of Luhansk. A good indicator of what might happen can be found in local real estate prices. Right after Luhansk was occupied in 2014, property prices dropped significantly. Recently, they have returned to pre-2014 levels, as if market logic itself is trying to tell us that we already know whose hands these properties will remain in. But that doesn’t necessarily have to be the case.

Capital has already placed its bet on the winner.

In this regard, Donetsk is in a worse situation because it is located right next to the front line. Luhansk has been luckier. Physically, it has survived—but symbolically, it has ceased to exist.

What do you mean?

I left Luhansk before 2014. I never saw the so-called "Luhansk People's Republic." I only remember Ukrainian Luhansk and the connections tied to it. Of course, I feel nostalgia and sentiment, but that city no longer exists. The buildings may still be standing, but the people are gone.

There’s a saying I like: If there are no apples in winter, there’s no point in thinking about apples. There’s no one for me to mourn. That’s how I’ve rationalized this loss for myself, and I’ve accepted that I will probably never return. Millions of people share a similar experience today.

However, I differ from many because I anticipate that, despite all the harm caused by the Russians, some form of contact with them will be necessary for Ukraine’s reconstruction. Not today, not tomorrow, but at some point in the future, it will be inevitable.

Openness to such a scenario is very unpopular right now. The prevailing view is that beyond the border there is something impenetrable—something like an ocean. A massive force that cannot be tamed, only endured.

Fatigue and hatred mean that Russia does not exist in public discussions in Ukraine, let alone as a potential partner.

Perhaps what is happening now will lead to a new approach to relations with Russia—one that is more decolonized, with a gradual departure from the former roles of suzerain and vassal. In fact, the process of reconstruction is also becoming a process of resetting relationships, both with the East and the West.

A figure who could serve as an inspiration in navigating such agreements is Nestor Makhno, the Ukrainian anarchist of the 20th century. In his thinking, he drew heavily on the history of the Cossacks, the Haidamaks, and the Zaporizhian Sich. His figure seems important in the context of our conversation because Makhno’s political and revolutionary practice was built around the ability to constantly maneuver—fighting and negotiating with opponents at the same time. He fought against the Bolsheviks, then made deals with them—all to preserve the Makhnovshchina, the anarchist republic he created. As they say in my region, coffee does not contradict tea.

My grandmother, also Ukrainian, by the way, would sometimes ask to be served both drinks at the same time.

See? There’s something to that! What’s important is that Makhno was deeply local. He was a patriot of his homeland and fought for this local identity. I don’t want this to sound as if I’m against Ukraine as a nation-state. What I mean is that instead of straining to find a single common denominator that unites all Ukrainians, we could think of Ukraine differently.

For example, in Switzerland, people speak several different languages, yet those who live there feel they are better off together than apart. Ukrainians are also very diverse—East and West, Ukrainian Tatars, Ukrainian Jews. It’s an incredibly diverse society.

Despite this, we are currently witnessing the construction of an image of Ukraine as a nation-state. Of course, that is easier for the West to understand. But the real Ukraine is much more complex.

Interview by Paweł Knut; Translated by Kate Tsurkan; Photo by Kharkiv City News: "Barabashovo marketplace in Kharkiv after bombing"

This article came out of the collaboration between the IWM and the Polish online magazine Dwutygodnik. It was first published in Ukrainian and Polish.

Petro Vladimirov is a curator and architect. He is the founder of the TBA Contemporary Art Gallery in Warsaw, member of the board of the Polish BRDA Foundation, and co-founder of the WINDOW project, in which windows from Poland are being collected and shipped to Ukraine and reused for the reconstruction of bombed houses. Vladimirov graduated from the Department of Architecture at the Wrocław University of Technology.