In Poland, drone-making Ukrainian volunteers battle war fatigue

In Poland, drone-making Ukrainian volunteers battle war fatigue
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FILE PHOTO: A serviceman of the consolidated Brigade 'Khyzhak' of the Ukrainian Patrol Police Department walks along a road near anti-drone nets and destroyed military vehicles as he takes part in a mission to protect a road from Russian drones between frontline towns of Druzhkivka and Kostiantynivka, amid Russia's attack on Ukraine, in Donetsk region, Ukraine June 24, 2026. (Reuters)
In Poland, drone-making Ukrainian volunteers battle war fatigue
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Visitors look at a Polish made surveillance FT-5 "Los" drone at the Exhibition of the Polish Armed Forces and the Polish Defence Industry during the "Defence24 Days" – a conference on defence and security attended by various leaders and experts from the region, in Warsaw, Poland, on May 6, 2026. (AFP)
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Updated 30 June 2026 09:22
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In Poland, drone-making Ukrainian volunteers battle war fatigue

In Poland, drone-making Ukrainian volunteers battle war fatigue

Warsaw: Along Ukraine’s front line, demand for drones and anti-drone camouflage netting is only going up.
But in Warsaw, a group of Ukrainian volunteers putting them together say growing fatigue with the war is making it harder to convince people to help.
More than four years after Russia invaded, one association — whose name in English means “Courage Knows No Borders” — is being forced to do more with less.
“The need for nets is huge, we have waiting lists, even though they are woven in Ukraine too,” Ruslana Poplawska, one of the association coordinators, told AFP.
The group gathers every Saturday to weave nets and assemble FPV drones at a site not far from the Russian embassy in Warsaw.
Standing in a line, they pushed strings of dark green fabric through a large mesh grid.
A signed flag from a Ukrainian battalion they supplied is hung on the wall.
In Ukraine, the nets are draped over cars, roads and equipment — hoping to make them invisible to the daily waves of Russian reconnaissance and attack drones.
The Warsaw group has produced some 35,000 square meters since they started in February 2023 — equivalent to five football pitches.
But lately, they have been struggling.
“Volunteering has become more complicated. Many people have stopped. Donations are harder to find, and there is fatigue,” said Poplawska.
“At the start of the full-scale invasion, many Poles came to help us. Unfortunately, now, they’re almost all gone,” she noted.

Fading interest 

The difficulties come amid an uptick in anti-Ukrainian sentiment in Poland.
A December survey by CBOS, an independent Polish research center, found that 48 percent of Poles support accepting Ukrainian refugees — the lowest level since the start of the war.
Half said the level of aid provided to them was excessive.
At the start of the war, Poland opened its doors to people fleeing the Russian invasion. It still hosts around one million refugees, the second most in Europe.
But the 2025 presidential election, won by nationalist Karol Nawrocki, saw a surge in anti-Ukrainian messaging.
And Warsaw-Kyiv tensions erupted in June over World War II history.
New Polish transport rules, introduced in March, make it harder to get humanitarian aid into Ukraine.
Every truck is now subject to cumbersome bureaucracy and form-filling, prompting more and more carriers to cancel trips — including the one used by the Warsaw group.
The 30-odd regular volunteers are determined to carry on.

 ‘Psychotherapy’ 

Olga, from Kremenchuk in central Ukraine, works as a hairdresser six days a week, devoting her only day off to the effort.
She braids nets, but also cuts Ukrainians’ hair for free, asking that the money be donated to the association.
“Fatigue? Our guys over there are even more tired, but they’re holding the front line. When you think about that, you come here and you work,” she said.
The association, whose logo shows a butterfly against a camouflaged shield, “is real psychotherapy,” coordinator Natalia Kulbatska said.
“Here, nobody feels alone,” added Tetiana, a retiree from Sloviansk in the east, a city which has seen more than a decade of intense fighting.
Living by herself in Warsaw, she calls the group “a little Ukraine in the heart of Poland.”
Gathered round a table cluttered with metal frames, electronic components and cups of tea, about 10 men, women and children — were busy on different task: assembling drones.
“Drones are constantly needed,” said Wladyslaw Jentz, organizer of a project that has trained nearly 40 people to build them.
His hands steady, he delicately slid small components together.
In handwritten Ukrainian, a message is scorched onto one part: “Not for sale.”
The group have put together about 100 so far — barely a scratch in the thousands that are used across the sprawling front line every day.
“This is my safety and that of my children,” said the father of three who has lived in Poland for 15 years.
“If Ukraine doesn’t hold out, it will have consequences here.”
Nevertheless, a humanist at heart, he struggles with the idea of building devices meant to kill people.
“It’s hard to accept ... But we live in a time when stopping the occupier has become a necessity to protect lives.”