Kateryna Rashevska is a Legal Expert and Lead on International Justice and Legal Analysis at Regional Center for Human Rights (RCHR), member organisation of Human Rights House Crimea.
Enduring the harshest winter of the war
How are you today? What is the temperature in Kyiv, and do you currently have heating at home?
Today [12 Feb 2026] it’s around -4°C, which feels almost warm compared to the previous weeks when temperatures dropped to -25°C.
Right now, the temperature in my apartment is tolerable — around 15°C. But this is a recent improvement. After the attack on 8-9 January, it dropped to 9°C. It is not the worst situation in Kyiv, but it felt cold, and the electricity outages were constant. Yesterday, for example, we had power for only twenty minutes during the entire workday.
What helps is strictly following emergency guidance — heating only one small area of the apartment, sealing windows, creating “islands” of warmth. I even had to tape plastic windows like we used to do in the old days with wooden frames, because the frames shifted due to repeated attacks.
I was lucky in one sense — I live in an old building and have a gas stove. When it became unbearable, I turned it on just to warm up. It’s not recommended, but when it’s that cold, you do what you must.
We also have to understand that Kyiv is facing serious problems with public transport due to attacks on critical infrastructure. The metro runs with interruptions, and surface transport is in a catastrophic state. To be honest, the last time I used public transport was probably on 9 January this year. Because of the extreme cold, I know that even believers could not get to Sunday services.
The hardest part wasn’t physical — the body adapts. It was psychological: accepting that the circumstances in which we live and work have fundamentally changed. You can spend time looking for someone to blame, or you can pull yourself together and find a way not to lose your ability and dynamic with which you are used to working.
Defending human rights from a cafe
Your organisation’s office was seriously damaged due to freezing temperatures and outages. What happened?
We planned our New Year team gathering for 9 January. That night, there was a major attack on Kyiv. When we came to the office, there was no heating. At first, we thought it was temporary — a safety shutdown to prevent pipes from bursting. But each day it got colder, and eventually it became impossible to work there at all — it was too cold, too dark and there were frequent power outages. At one point, the temperature inside was around six degrees.
When they tried to restart the heating system, the pipes burst. One of our largest office rooms flooded, the floor lifted, and the next day part of the ceiling collapsed.
At that point it became clear: we would not return. And that office was not just a space to work with colleagues — it was a place where we worked with survivors, partners and journalists. Losing it was a shock.
I always saw the office as my fortress, place of strength without overexaggerating, and one of my favourite places. I lived thinking that whatever happens I could go there, no matter what, it would keep operating.
So the question isn’t where we will work from — we have learned to work from McDonalds and colleagues’ offices. But there should be a place where you can draw inspiration to do your work. And our work is quite complex.
Dignity, burnout and survival
Why didn’t you speak publicly about the loss of the office sooner?
I don’t know whether it’s a good or bad trait, but we are simply not very good at talking about the difficulties we are going through. First, because we know there are people who are much worse off — defenders [military] on the frontlines and families without electricity and water for weeks. Second, because we never want to shift attention away from survivors to ourselves. And third, because for us this is about dignity and coping — not asking for pity.
From the outside, silence can look like “everything is fine.” It isn’t.
We are managing to maintain — and sometimes even exceed — normal working speed under absolutely abnormal conditions thanks to our team spirit, a strong sense of responsibility, and solidarity from partner organisations who opened their doors to us.
This experience [with the office] simply showed me something important: Russian repression will not succeed. Civil society is very strong, there are simply many of us and we are interchangeable. We might not always agree, but in a crisis we unite and support one another — and that is our strength.
You mentioned earlier that the situation for human rights defenders has changed significantly. Can you explain what that looks like today?
We must acknowledge the real conditions in which Ukraine’s civil society operates — conditions created by Russia, including constant threats to safety and life. We see pressure on human rights defenders through intimidation of relatives in occupied territories and organisations being placed on Russia’s “undesirable” lists — including RCHR since 19 January this year — making it more dangerous for survivors to cooperate with us.
Russia does this because we pose a threat — we are carriers of the truth it does not want the world to know.
For 12 years, our organisation has documented war crimes and crimes against humanity and worked with international justice mechanisms. But our priority remains protecting the safety and confidentiality of the survivors we work with.
We are not playing hide-and-seek. [Russia’s] job is to withdraw their troops from our territory. Our job is to defend the rights of those harmed by those troops. Everyone must do what they are supposed to do.
Pursuing justice is a task for decades. We are working today for results we may only see in the long term, often in conditions that are far from stable.
Burnout comes faster when you are constantly balancing between living and surviving. But we cannot afford the luxury of burnout.
Human rights defenders in Ukraine must stay united until we can finally exhale — whenever that may be, maybe even never – like in Plato, either I will end first, or the war will. We must preserve our strength, because the processes we are working on are critically important for survivors, for Ukraine, and — without exaggeration — for international justice.
Facing shifting realities and international law
Recently, in conversations with journalists and in public appearances, I have been urging people not to ignore the reality we are facing.
International law will not look the way it was envisioned after the Second World War.
The global legal order began to erode with Russia’s aggression in Chechnya, Georgia, Moldova, Crimea and finally collapsed entirely with the full-scale invasion [of Ukraine]. But this does not mean things will only get worse — it means they can become better once we recognise the scale of the problem.
Once you face reality you have a chance to stabilise and then a potential to succeed. We are living in turbulent conditions where ignoring reality is dangerous.
Recognising this is the first step toward rethinking international law and the role of international organisations.
For example, we no longer see the United Nations as a mechanism for immediate response, but rather as a platform for pursuing justice, preserving truth, and documenting history. But was that what it was created for? I don’t think so.
What has changed most is the environment — especially geopolitics. Elections in many countries, shifts in sanctions policy, and political hesitation around international justice mechanisms all shape the conditions in which we work today.
We see the difficult position of the International Criminal Court, and many organisations are cautious about publicly highlighting cooperation with it, because of fears related to the United States. But we have chosen not to step back.
The ICC needs support now more than ever — it remains the only institution capable of holding top officials accountable.
War crimes against children – defending those who cannot protect themselves
How has the focus of your work changed over these years?
At RCHR, we document international crimes, prepare sanctions proposals, respond to international courts, and support national institutions, and our work goes far beyond one category of victims, though I am often perceived as a children’s rights defender — and I’m comfortable with that.
Most of my internal resources go in that direction because I am deeply troubled when those who cannot protect themselves suffer — in this case, children.
This is one of the factors that shaped my focus on this issue and why deportation and forced transfer first caught my attention.
At first, we focused exclusively on abducted children. Then we began focusing on children living under occupation, because these processes were often interconnected — deportations frequently started from occupied territories, or children were taken to so-called “re-education” camps and not returned. That made it important to examine indoctrination both in Russia and in the occupied territories.
Later, we expanded our focus to children in Ukraine-controlled territories because of Russian attacks. We are seeing a growing number of cases of Russia using children — mostly teenagers — to place markers, collect information, and pass it to the enemy. This requires a proper response.
Attacks on critical infrastructure have worried me for a very long time, because of the number of children now living in survival conditions when they should be living in the most friendly environment possible. These attacks prompted us to prepare a special communication that we will share with UN bodies, special rapporteurs, and the International Criminal Court, because these actions may constitute one of the six grave violations against children in armed conflict, denial of humanitarian access, as well as war crimes and crimes against humanity. This cannot go unnoticed.
Despite everything, we continue documenting international crimes, supporting survivors in seeking justice, and helping authorities build strong national institutions — it is in our direct interest that they are capable of conducting investigations, that respect for international humanitarian law becomes part of our culture, and that the rule of law is ensured domestically.
How do you assess recent international developments, including the UN General Assembly resolution on returning deported Ukrainian children?
This was a significant victory. Ninety-one states plus Costa Rica voted in favour of the new resolution on returning Ukrainian children. Yes, it uses diplomatic language, and it cannot return children on its own, but it preserves the truth — including references to abduction, indoctrination, focusing on drawing attention to Russia’s refusal to return children – as they want to keep them forever.
Russia aggressively tried to push its narrative at the United Nations, distributing so-called analytical briefs and attempting to derail the vote. Even during the adoption of the document, the Russian representative cynically asked how states could vote to “return children to war,” without mentioning who started the war.
The reality is that Russia started this war and can end it – the ball has been in Russia’s court all this time.
Support came not only from Ukraine’s partners but also from many countries of the so-called Global South. For them, protecting children in armed conflict is also a matter of national and regional interest, and Russian propaganda failed to convince them otherwise. Russia will, of course, continue trying to persuade the world that ‘everything has been misunderstood’.
We saw similar patterns between 2014 and 2022, when children were taken from [occupied] Crimea and Donbas and adopted by Russian families, while the international community spoke little about it. Russia is now trying to repeat this on a much larger scale.
Around 90% of children deported after 2022 remain under Russian control. With every passing year, the chances of their return decrease. Children are deprived of their identity, or it never forms as Ukrainian — they are being assimilated, indoctrinated and militarised.
This is not about twenty thousand children [officially recognised as abducted]. It is about at least 1.6 million children in occupied territories or more, the precise number is unavailable as there is no access to the birth registries in the occupied territories, and the number of those who fled from war to Russian-controlled areas is unknown.
I agree with the director of the Ukrainian Institute of National Memory, who said that Russia is fighting for our history and our children — and I would add, for the right to speak for us and tell our story instead of us.
Despite holding prayer services in Russian Orthodox churches for improving women’s fertility – this is not a joke – the natural population growth rate is constantly falling among Russians. They have not come up with anything better than just artificially stealing other people’s children and making them their own children.
This is incredibly cruel, because of what happens in a child’s mind when they later realise they were lied to by adults they trusted. Rebuilding trust and understanding the truth takes a very long time.
This is a cognitive war — a war of interpretation — and it is extremely dangerous. Russia no longer denies facts but reframes them.
If, before, this was largely an information war about facts, today it is a battle over interpretation. Russia is the best documenter of its crimes — publishing information, photos, and videos of where children are taken — but then claims this is not abduction but “rescue,” not forced transfer but “protection of children’s best interests”.
One of the recent cases with kids taken from North Korea to what they called a “simple camp”, of course not mentioning re-education or the fact that North Korea is an aggressor state that sent its troops to fight for the Russian Federation [against Ukraine]. And Ukrainian children are sent there, but Russia says they are not Ukrainian but ‘Russian kids’. There is an iron barrier, and we have to cross it somehow. It showcases a threat – any recognition of occupied territories as Russian would create serious legal risks, allowing Russia to claim these are now “Russian children,” making cases of forced citizenship much harder to prove.
We cannot allow that. On the legal front, this is a war we must win.
There is currently no single institution capable of definitively establishing the truth, and this is a long-term risk.
Peace without justice is not peace
Why do human rights still matter when many argue that security or peace should come first?
Peace without justice is not peace.
The negotiations process remains largely closed to the public, however the plans discussed so far say little about the situation of people living under occupation, including 1.6 million children who are not legally classified as abducted. Without clear protections, their situation may be ignored. There are no clear guarantees on freedom of movement or humanitarian access on Russia’s controlled territories either.
There is an illusion that after signing such a peace agreement, Ukrainian identity would be guaranteed on territories under its control. Russia started this war “for history and children,” and [maintaining Ukrainian identity] is against Russia’s strategic objectives. Instead Russia will continue russification, forced passportisation, and indoctrination while claiming compliance with international law. This creates a constant threat for all the neighbouring and not only, countries, for many years to come.
Decreasing economic pressure and lifting sanctions simply because an agreement is signed, will allow Russia to use the opportunity to rebuild and attack again. What I see today is not readiness for a fair and lasting peace from Russia — but militarisation of children, glorification of war, amnesty for criminals, and deep dehumanisation of Ukrainians.
A just peace will come only when Russia is forced to recognise Ukraine’s sovereignty and when the cost of war becomes too high.
Any agreement that ignores people — occupied civilians, deported children, survivors — is feudal in nature and sounds medieval. I am not sure anyone besides Ukraine is focused on ensuring that peace is truly just and sustainable, and not for the term of some world leader, but in the long term.
“I believed we could change the world”
What was your personal motivation for working in civil society?
In 2012, I visited Crimea for the first — and unfortunately only — time, at the Artek camp after winning a Ukrainian competition [for talented youth]. It was an international session with young people from around the world, and we wore T-shirts that said: “Let’s change the world for the better.” I truly believed it. Sometimes I wonder about the other kids who were there with me — where they are now.
I always wanted to be a goodwill ambassador. I had very idealistic aspirations and always wanted to help children — maybe in a somewhat naïve and romantic way. Even now, in my free time, I tutor several children in French, because children can teach us so much. One of the things they teach us is to dream and believe even when logic tells you that nothing will work — when your rational adult mind, your experience, the laws of physics, and even international law all tell you it’s impossible. Children say: let’s try — maybe it didn’t work for others, but it will work for us. And that is something I carry with me. I don’t see barriers in front of me.
This work is exhausting and rarely brings quick results, but I cannot stop — because the processes survivors depend on would stop too.
So much of what we do, we do beyond any project framework. We do it because we believe it will change the world for the better — just like it said on that T-shirt.
The environment you grow up in matters. It taught me that you are responsible for the world, what comes next, and for making sure it is good.
Looking into the darkness
As Ukraine enters the fifth year of full-scale war, how do you reflect on this moment?
Recently I read an essay by Olena Styazhkina about how we grow accustomed to war — not as something that weakens us, but as something that makes us different, stronger, strips away illusions, and helps you see and manage risks more clearly. She wrote about looking into the darkness not as a victim, but as a predator.
Today, in 2026, in the fifth year of the full-scale invasion, we must recognise that the world is in darkness — and this is not only about Ukraine.
These “dark times,” as they were called during the Second World War, may have returned. History, unfortunately, is cyclical. What does it mean for us to look into the darkness as predators? It means continuing to defend what we value — international law, the interests of victims of its violations, of war crimes, and our state.
Everyone who is fighting today, in whatever field or on whatever front, is giving our state a chance to exist.
Our task is not only to avoid losing the war, but also not to lose the peace. This is crucial when it comes to justice. If we lose justice, we lose the future. And we cannot allow that.
Holding perpetrators accountable, calling things by their proper names, and winning the cognitive war — this war of interpretation — through international judicial and quasi-judicial processes are among the strongest guarantees of non-repetition, alongside security guarantees from partners.
What support does Ukrainian civil society need?
What we need most is coordination and unity of effort, because no single organisation can cope with such an enormous scale of international crimes.
We also need space in the information sphere — airtime — so that Russian propaganda does not dominate it, as it continues to invest millions in propaganda content and distributes it through multiple channels, including diplomatic missions abroad.
We need states to remain faithful to their international obligations — continuity matters more than new promises. Attempts to reshape processes in institutions like the UN or the International Criminal Court undermine Ukraine.
Many issues now require not only think tank analysis or NGO expertise but also global academic engagement. This means countering Russian propaganda narratives in academic spaces as well. Russian studies programmes still exist worldwide, and Russian influence remains significant. Scholars should continue promoting accurate research about what is happening.
It is crucial to continue supporting organisations that assist survivors and to support Ukraine as a state, because if the frontline collapses, human rights work will no longer be possible.
Kateryna Rashevska is a legal expert at the Regional Center for Human Rights. She is a PhD fellow at the Institute of International Relations (Taras Shevchenko National University of Kyiv). She is a member of the Interdepartmental Commission on the Application and Implementation of International Humanitarian Law in Ukraine, the Expert Council at the Representation of the President of Ukraine in the Autonomous Republic of Crimea and the SQDI (Société québécoise de droit international). Kateryna protects the rights of vulnerable categories of victims of international crimes, namely children, at the ECHR, the OSCE, the EU, the OHCHR and the ICC. She is an author of the Submissions to the ICC related to international crimes committed against the Ukrainian children by Maria Lvova-Belova and Vladimir Putin. She is also an author and a driver of the draft resolution of the UN General Assembly on the repatriation of illegally deported children. Together with the team of the Regional Center for Human Rights, Kateryna developed and now advocates the concept of a unified legal mechanism for the return of displaced Ukrainian children.
Following the damage to RCHR’s office and recognising the urgent need for relocation, HRHF supported RCHR through its risk fund, partially covering the relocation and other associated costs. RCHR is also grateful to Civil Rights Defenders for their continuous support.
