The Russian Village That Lost Its Men to War

Published: 20 February 2026. The English Chronicle Desk. The English Chronicle Online

In a quiet corner of western Russia, the silence is heavy and unbroken. The small village of Novoye Berezovo — once alive with the sounds of tractors, schoolchildren and weekend gatherings — now carries a different rhythm. Church bells toll more often. Photographs of young men in military uniform line the walls of modest homes. In nearly every street, there is a mother, wife or grandmother grieving a son lost to war.

As Russia’s conflict in Ukraine stretches into another year, its impact is no longer measured solely in shifting frontlines or diplomatic standoffs. In villages like this one, the cost is counted in empty chairs at kitchen tables and abandoned farm equipment rusting in fields that once sustained generations.

Novoye Berezovo is not unique. Across rural Russia — from the republic of Buryatia in Siberia to small settlements in the Volga region — disproportionately high numbers of men have been mobilised, contracted or conscripted into the armed forces. For communities already struggling with economic stagnation and population decline, the war has accelerated a demographic crisis that was quietly unfolding long before the first shots were fired.

Official casualty figures remain tightly controlled, and independent verification is difficult. However, local memorials and regional media reports suggest that losses in certain rural districts far exceed those seen in major cities like Moscow or St Petersburg. Analysts say this imbalance reflects recruitment patterns, with poorer and more remote regions supplying a larger share of soldiers.

In Novoye Berezovo, a village of fewer than 1,500 residents, more than 40 men have died since the conflict escalated in 2022, according to local residents. Many were in their twenties or thirties — farmers, mechanics, factory workers — whose absence has left both emotional and economic voids.

“I buried my son last spring,” says Marina, standing beside a newly built wooden cross in the village cemetery. “He was 24. He wanted to save money to move to the city.” Her voice trembles, but she does not cry. In a place where grief has become communal, tears seem almost exhausted.

The war has reshaped daily life in subtle but profound ways. The local school has merged classes due to declining enrolment, as some families relocate in search of work or to escape the shadow of loss. The agricultural cooperative struggles to find enough labour during harvest season. Elderly residents now tend fields once managed by their sons and grandsons.

Sociologists warn that the long-term effects may be severe. Rural Russia has faced decades of youth migration to urban centres, leaving behind aging populations and limited infrastructure. The war, they argue, has deepened these vulnerabilities. A shortage of working-age men affects not only families but the viability of entire communities.

State media emphasises heroism and sacrifice, often highlighting financial compensation offered to families of fallen soldiers. In villages like Novoye Berezovo, these payments have helped some households repair homes or pay debts. Yet many residents say money cannot replace lost futures.

“There are new roofs,” notes a local shopkeeper quietly. “But fewer young people to live under them.”

Public discussion of the human cost of the war remains sensitive within Russia. Independent journalists and activists who attempt to document casualties face legal and political pressure. Still, word spreads through informal networks — social media posts, funeral announcements, whispered conversations at bus stops.

For some families, pride and patriotism coexist with sorrow. Others question whether their community has borne a disproportionate burden. Few, however, speak openly on record, wary of potential consequences.

In recent months, Moscow has signalled efforts to broaden recruitment bases and reduce reliance on certain regions. Whether this will ease the strain on villages like Novoye Berezovo remains uncertain. Meanwhile, the war continues, and with it the steady departure of men who may never return.

The church at the centre of the village holds memorial services almost weekly. Candles flicker beneath icons as names are read aloud — a ritual that has become tragically routine. Outside, snow covers the ground in winter silence, muffling footsteps and the distant hum of machinery.

The Russian village that lost its men to war is not merely a headline; it is a lived reality across vast stretches of countryside. Its story is one of endurance, grief and quiet resilience. While geopolitical strategies and diplomatic manoeuvres dominate international headlines, in places like Novoye Berezovo the war’s legacy is written in absence.

The fields still need ploughing. The school bell still rings. Life continues, though altered. And in the fading daylight, as smoke rises from chimneys and the village prepares for another cold evening, the emptiness left behind is as palpable as the frost in the air.

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