– In just two weeks of school, they’ve had only two full days of classes. The rest? Interrupted by air raid alerts. The teacher, alongside the students, sits in the shelter until the all-clear is given. What kind of education is that? – a mother of a first-grader reflects.
This year, her daughter began school in Kryukivshchyna, located in the Kyiv region. After initial testing, her daughter was placed in the “Intellect” program for primary school students. “It all comes down to the child’s abilities and skills,” the mother says. Still, it’s widely believed that this program is more demanding than the more commonly used New Ukrainian School curriculum.
The mother is generally happy with the education, and her first-grader loves going to school. However, there are two significant concerns. The first, as already mentioned, is the looming presence of a hostile neighbour. Frequent air raid alerts in the region have made some parents consider transferring their children to schools in Kyiv, where, they claim, the alerts are less frequent. The second issue is a shortage of available spots in classes and schools overall. While the Russian missile threat and the subsequent disruption of classes became more prominent after the full-scale invasion, the issue of insufficient schools in cities—especially in the suburbs of major urban centres—existed long before the war.
Since the Russian invasion in 2014 and the occupation of Crimea, many Ukrainians from these regions have relocated to places like Bucha, Irpin, and Hostomel. Even before the events of 2022, I frequently heard stories about how difficult it was to secure a place for a child in a school or kindergarten. Private institutions have provided some relief, springing up “like mushrooms after the rain” in response to modern demands. However, this solution isn’t accessible to everyone. The high costs of private kindergartens and schools remain a significant obstacle for many families.
Take Kryukivshchyna, for example. It has just one public school. Yes, it’s growing—a new building has gone up recently—but at the end of the day, it’s still just one school. Back in 2001, the village had a population of 3,509. Today? The number has skyrocketed to 11,846, and I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s still an underestimate.
Here’s the kicker: the school is built to hold 784 students, but right now, there are 2,158 enrolled. This year alone, nine first-grade classes have opened, each with 30 students. The first-graders are lucky—they get to attend school in person every day, provided air raid alarms don’t interfere. But for everyone else? It’s a “week on, week off” routine. One week, they’re in class; the next, they’re stuck at home, learning online.
This method of organising the learning process is evidently dictated by necessity, likely stemming from the constraints of available shelter space. Yet, the quality of education within these parameters is difficult to comprehend. The challenges are stark—young primary school students are grappling with the basics of school life, while older students ought to be diligently preparing for their multi-subject exams. The repercussions of this arrangement will soon become apparent as these students transition into higher education.In his article, The Need for Interpretation, Ukrainian philosopher Taras Liutyi touched on this dilemma:
“During lectures, particularly public ones, I am often asked if there’s a single publication or book that holds all the guidelines—something that can be universally applied. But this turns the individual into an operator rather than a free creator. They struggle to understand that the humanities demand their active involvement, immediate and genuine reaction, continuous reflection—not just mechanical fact-handling.”
The underlying message resonates in today’s context: education, especially in trying times, must go beyond rote learning and prepare students for a more thoughtful, engaged approach to the world.
Some issues seem nearly impossible to resolve, like the relentless air raid alarms and the constant threat of missile strikes. But even in the midst of war, a solid educational policy is essential—from designing programs that address modern challenges to ensuring there are enough schools and kindergartens for all.
As I ponder the situation, a story comes to mind: last winter, a kindergarten in the capital collapsed because they had dug a shelter around the entire building. Later, I learned that another kindergarten, the one I walk past every day, won’t open for at least two more years. The reason? The funds allocated for the shelter were exhausted by digging a foundation around the whole structure, even though the original plans called for something much smaller.
As always, the questions keep piling up, but the problems remain unchanged…
