Russia must not be allowed to win this war
In the summer of 2022, Ukraine's eastern front became a place where eight years of fortification gave way under sustained Russian pressure, and the ancient question of how far one power may reach into another's sovereignty pressed itself upon the whole of Europe. NATO's secretary-general, speaking from Norway, named this the continent's gravest hour since the Second World War — a declaration that carried within it both a warning to Moscow and a promise to Kyiv. The war that was launched, in part, to halt an alliance's eastward growth was instead drawing neutral nations toward that very alliance, reshaping the map of Europe in ways its architect had sought to prevent.
- Ukrainian forces abandoned positions near Avdiivka they had spent eight years building, including a coal mine that anchored their defensive line — a retreat that opened a gap Russia moved quickly to exploit.
- Civilians on both sides of the front were dying in the shelling, with at least sixteen reported killed across Donetsk, Bakhmut, Toretsk, and surrounding towns in a single day's violence.
- Ukrainian advisers argued the eastern losses were a deliberate Russian effort to drain troops away from the south, where Kyiv was quietly preparing a counteroffensive to sever Russian supply lines.
- NATO Secretary-General Stoltenberg issued his starkest warning yet — Russia must not win, Western support will be sustained indefinitely, and any attack on a NATO member will be met with the full force of the alliance.
- Finland and Sweden, long committed to non-alignment, had already applied for NATO membership, and twenty-three of thirty member states had ratified their bids — the war accelerating the very expansion it was meant to stop.
On August 4, 2022, Ukraine's military command acknowledged what its soldiers had already been living: they were losing ground in the east. Russian forces had pushed hard enough that Ukrainian troops abandoned positions near Avdiivka, including a coal mine that had served as a crucial defensive anchor. The fighting in the Donbas — the industrial heartland of eastern Ukraine — had become what President Zelenskiy called "Hell."
The pressure was concentrated around Avdiivka and Pisky, a fortified village ten kilometers west of Russian-controlled Donetsk. For eight years Ukraine had poured resources into Pisky as a buffer zone. General Gromov confirmed Ukrainian troops had repelled at least two Russian attacks there, but the broader picture was one of retreat. Russia claimed heavy Ukrainian casualties; neither side's account could be independently verified. Ukrainian advisers argued the eastern offensive was designed to bleed their forces away from the south, where Kyiv was preparing a counteroffensive to recapture territory and sever Russian supply lines. The human cost was mounting regardless — at least five killed in Donetsk city, eight in Toretsk, three more across Bakhmut and surrounding towns.
In Brussels, NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg declared Europe was facing its most dangerous moment since World War Two. Russia must not be allowed to win, he said, and NATO would sustain Ukraine with weapons and aid for as long as necessary. He issued a direct warning to Putin: any move against a NATO member would bring an overwhelming alliance response.
The war was already redrawing the map it had sought to freeze. Finland and Sweden — non-aligned for decades — had applied for NATO membership in direct response to the invasion, with twenty-three of thirty member states already ratifying their bids. The conflict launched partly to halt NATO's eastward expansion was instead pulling neutral nations into the alliance, hardening Western resolve, and accelerating the very future its architect had gone to war to prevent.
On the morning of August 4, 2022, Ukraine's military command acknowledged what its soldiers had been experiencing for days: they were losing ground in the east. Russian forces had pushed hard enough that Ukrainian troops abandoned positions they had spent eight years fortifying, including a coal mine that served as a crucial defensive anchor near the town of Avdiivka. The fighting in this corner of the Donbas—the industrial heartland of eastern Ukraine—had become what President Volodymyr Zelenskiy called "Hell."
The pressure was concentrated around two places that had become synonymous with Ukrainian resistance: Avdiivka itself, a sprawling industrial town, and Pisky, a fortified village sitting roughly ten kilometers west of the Russian-controlled city of Donetsk. For eight years, since Russia first seized territory in the region, Ukraine had poured resources into making Pisky a buffer zone, a place where Russian advances would break. Now Russian forces were testing that buffer with repeated assaults. General Oleksiy Gromov, speaking to reporters on Thursday, confirmed that Ukrainian troops had repelled at least two Russian attacks on Pisky, but the larger picture was one of retreat. Ukrainian mechanized units had been forced back from their positions around Avdiivka after losing the coal mine—a loss that opened a gap in their defensive line. The Russian defense ministry, for its part, claimed it had inflicted heavy casualties and forced Ukrainian withdrawal. Neither side's claims could be independently verified, though video released by Moscow showed tanks and rocket launchers moving across open ground.
What made this moment particularly grave was not just the tactical loss of terrain, but what it signaled about Russian strategy. Ukrainian officials believed the eastern offensive was designed to bleed their forces, to force them to pull troops away from the south where Ukraine was preparing a counteroffensive aimed at recapturing territory and severing Russian supply lines. "What is happening in the east is not what will determine the outcome of the war," said Oleksiy Arestovych, an adviser to Zelenskiy, speaking to YouTube viewers. The real battle, he suggested, would be fought elsewhere. Yet the cost of holding the line in the east was mounting. In Donetsk city, Russian-backed officials reported at least five people killed by Ukrainian shelling, with bodies visible in social media footage scattered across a central street, blood on the pavement. Ukrainian officials countered with their own casualty figures: three civilians killed in Bakhmut, Maryinka, and Shevchenko; eight more dead in Toretsk from Russian artillery. The war was grinding through the civilian population as much as through military units.
In Brussels and beyond, Western leaders were watching with deepening alarm. NATO Secretary-General Jens Stoltenberg declared, in a speech delivered in his native Norway, that Europe faced its most dangerous moment since the end of World War Two. Russia, he said, must not be allowed to win. To prevent that outcome, NATO and its member states would need to sustain Ukraine with weapons and military aid for as long as it took—a commitment with no clear endpoint. Stoltenberg went further, issuing a direct warning to Vladimir Putin: if Russia attempted against any NATO member what it had done to Georgia, Moldova, or Ukraine, the entire alliance would respond with overwhelming force. The message was unmistakable. NATO was drawing a line.
That line had already begun to shift the map of Europe. Finland and Sweden, countries that had maintained military non-alignment for decades, had applied for NATO membership in response to the invasion. Twenty-three of the alliance's thirty member states had already ratified their applications, including the United States. Russia, which shares a long border with Finland, had warned both countries against the move. But the warnings had come too late. The war that Putin had launched to prevent NATO expansion was instead accelerating it, pulling neutral nations into the alliance's embrace and hardening Western resolve to sustain Ukraine's resistance indefinitely.
Citas Notables
What is happening in the east is not what will determine the outcome of the war— Oleksiy Arestovych, presidential adviser to Zelenskiy
If President Putin even thinks of doing something similar to a NATO country as he has done to Georgia, Moldova or Ukraine, then all of NATO will be involved immediately— Jens Stoltenberg, NATO Secretary-General
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why does losing a coal mine matter so much? It's one position among many.
Because it's not just terrain—it's the architecture of a defense. Ukraine spent eight years turning Pisky into a fortress. The coal mine was part of that system. Once it's gone, the whole line becomes permeable.
And the civilians being killed in Donetsk and Bakhmut—are those numbers significant, or is this the scale of war?
Both. The numbers are small enough that they don't dominate headlines, but they're large enough that families are being destroyed. That's the texture of this war. It's not one catastrophic moment. It's steady attrition.
Stoltenberg says Russia must not win. But what does winning look like for Russia at this point?
That's the question no one can answer with certainty. Russia says it wants full control of Donetsk province. But whether that's the actual goal or a negotiating position—that's still unclear. What's clear is Putin isn't backing down.
Finland and Sweden joining NATO—is that a victory for the West or a sign of how badly this has gone?
It's both. The West gets stronger militarily. But it's also proof that Putin's original justification for the invasion—preventing NATO expansion—has backfired completely. He's gotten the opposite of what he wanted.
So what happens next in the east?
Ukraine is betting it can hold long enough to launch a southern counteroffensive. Russia is betting it can break Ukrainian forces through attrition. One of those bets will be wrong. We just don't know which one yet.