Ukraine on the brink: A Canadian journalist’s blunt warning about the war-torn country

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Bociurkiw turns to broader Canadian policy with pointed suggestions.

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First, expel Russian diplomats. Every other G7 country has done so since 2022; Canada has not. Bociurkiw dismisses fears of reciprocity: “We know Russia is waging hybrid warfare here, including election meddling. Our friends in Ottawa seem to think if we expel theirs, they’ll expel ours and we’ll lose so much. We can get other countries to represent us.”

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Second, he voices frustration over social media. Many younger CUAET arrivals post TikToks critical of Canadian housing, homelessness, drug use, cost of living and even ethnic tensions. Bociurkiw pushes back online, urging gratitude.

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His worry is twofold: the clips hand Russia propaganda ammunition, and they gift Canadian immigration skeptics powerful visuals.

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“Criticism is normal in a democracy,” he says, “but our parents came here with almost nothing and endured tough times.” If you truly despise it here, he adds, there are no exit controls; you can leave.

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Third, and more measured, he urges Canada to help rebuild Ukraine’s shattered independent media. Martial law forced channels into a single 24/7 “United News” telethon — patriotic, repetitive and increasingly unwatched. Advertising is banned, funding is strained, and many journalists have been killed, drafted or fled. “I feel we’re not far from Ukrainian media joining the Afghans, Persians and others who have fled their countries,” he warns.

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Bociurkiw speaks from lived experience. In Odesa — once Ukraine’s most entrepreneurial city — the energy is fading. Friends are leaving; restaurants, bars and businesses are closing for lack of staff and customers; men hide indoors to avoid mobilization sweeps. Drones strike closer: one hit an apartment building just 500 metres from his home recently. His “green zone” near foreign consulates no longer feels safe.

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“In war,” he says quietly, “you find your senses become very well-attuned. Your hearing, your sense of smell, eyesight.” The drones flying overhead are louder, faster, more powerful now.

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“You start to see this hollowing out of people’s eyes because they can’t sleep,” he adds. “It’s the loss of spirit… the mental health collapse that’s very difficult to portray in a media interview.”

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Journalist Michael Bociurkiw has become one of the most credible English-language voices on the ground in Ukraine. Photo by Donna Kennedy-Glans

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When will it end? Bociurkiw’s answer is blunt: “When either Putin decides he can declare victory, thus ensuring his political survival … or he gets assassinated.

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“Ukraine is still fighting,” he assures the room. “It will fight to the end. This is an existential war.”

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Events following his spring talk in Calgary attest to Ukraine’s resilience. Earlier this week, smoke rose over St. Petersburg just as the Kremlin-hosted “Russian Davos” — the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum — was opening. Ukrainian drones had struck a nearby oil terminal and a naval hub. In Washington, “a small but significant band of Republican lawmakers broke ranks to advance both an Iran war powers resolution and legislation that could unlock fresh U.S. military aid for Ukraine,” Bociurkiw shares in an early June media briefing. And in Brussels, the EU moved against four Chinese companies accused of fuelling Russia’s war machine, doubling down on its strategy of targeting Moscow’s enablers.

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Yet in his talk in Calgary, Bociurkiw took great care to challenge Western narratives of endless resilience. No society can endure this level of trauma indefinitely; people are reaching a breaking point. The drip-feed of Western support has prolonged the conflict without delivering decisive advantage.

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“Whether it’s the missiles, either defensive or offensive military kit, or really hardcore sanctions,” he says, “I think many Western leaders are actually still afraid of Putin … we’re afraid that if we push him too hard, he’ll do the worst and reach for the nuclear button.”

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His message landed with quiet force in Calgary. The diaspora wants to help, but sentimental solidarity isn’t enough.

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