The Deserted Streets of Kerchomya
Every few months, Alina makes the long journey from Syktyvkar, the regional capital, back to her home village of Kerchomya. Each visit reveals streets that feel progressively emptier. This remote settlement of just over 700 people in Russia's Komi Republic, nestled in the country's north-west, was never a bustling hub. Wooden houses line its unpaved roads, and during winter, the single route in and out becomes nearly impassable.
However, since Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, residents report a profound transformation. "When I go out for a walk now, I barely run into anyone," Alina explained. "Over the past four years, my village has become deserted. The men are all fighting in Ukraine."
A Village Transformed by Conflict
From the war's outset, the Kremlin has worked to insulate major urban centres like Moscow and St Petersburg from its visible costs, maintaining relatively undisturbed daily life in these cities. Yet in rural areas such as Kerchomya, the consequences are impossible to conceal.
Interviews conducted by phone and text with more than a dozen current and former residents depict a community steadily reshaped by conflict. Several individuals spoke on condition of anonymity for security reasons, with some using only first names or pseudonyms.
According to village head Olga Bulysheva, fifty-six men from Kerchomya have departed to fight in Ukraine, nearly 1,500 miles from home. This figure represents approximately one-third of all working-age men in the village. Twelve have been confirmed killed, with several more believed missing.
Economic Strain and Labour Shortages
Like many villages throughout the Komi region, Kerchomya has long relied on small-scale farming and a limited number of public-sector positions. Even before the invasion, younger residents were migrating to larger cities, while others contended with unemployment and alcoholism.
Now, local people report increasing difficulty filling positions on farms, at the post office, or at the recently opened small bread factory. "Everyone knows everyone here, and every pair of hands is needed," said Vladimir, whose nephew signed a contract and left for the front. "If you lose one or two men, you feel it straight away. The village starts to thin out."
Some residents also complain of rising food prices as Russians nationwide begin to experience the economic strain of the Kremlin's war on Ukraine.
Personal Loss and Grieving Families
When the war began, it wasn't long before the first coffins returned home. Tatyana Popova lost one son at the front in 2023. A year later, she lost another. "It's hard to think back on how I had to bury my own children," she shared.
Nina Ladigina, whose son Anton has been declared missing in Ukraine, recently told a Russian television programme that she still clings to hope for his return. During previous breaks from the front, she recounted, Anton would sometimes withdraw and cry quietly when he believed himself alone. "I just want him back ... in whatever state he is," she expressed.
Patriotic Narratives and Daily Realities
Despite the losses and grief, none of those interviewed openly challenged Moscow's rationale for the invasion or voiced resentment toward the capital. Nor did they dwell on the suffering in Ukraine—at least not in conversations with journalists.
Many instead spoke of duty and sacrifice, repeating the Kremlin's false claim that Russia is defending itself from "neo-Nazis" and western aggression. For those remaining in Kerchomya, the war nevertheless seeps into daily life, lingering in the village's few communal spaces.
The only school now displays plaques bearing the names of former pupils killed in Ukraine. Teachers follow the "patriotic" curriculum introduced after the invasion, which compares current fighting with Russia's sacrifices during the Second World War.
This Valentine's Day, children gathered in the local library to write cards to soldiers at the front. The cultural centre, once used for plays and choir performances, now regularly holds memorial gatherings before funerals. At the village pensioners' collective, women assemble humanitarian aid for troops.
The Digital Shift and Recruitment Patterns
The transformation is visible online as well. On VKontakte, Russia's largest social media platform, the village's official page—typically used to announce ski competitions or road repairs—is now dominated by obituaries from Kerchomya and neighbouring settlements. Posts advertising odd jobs or secondhand goods increasingly sit alongside recruitment advertisements. Local people have replaced family pictures on social media with black ribbons or candle avatars.
"We are proud that our boys are defending Russia," stated Bulysheva, the village head. "Our guys are really brave. Maybe they're a bit crazy here, but in a good way."
Yet Kerchomya is not exceptional in the number of men prepared to sign military contracts. Analysis by the BBC Russian Service and independent outlet Mediazona, which have tracked confirmed Russian military deaths since the invasion began, reveals that a disproportionate share of the more than 200,000 identified fatalities originate from rural areas and small towns.
Two-thirds of Russia's confirmed losses come from settlements with fewer than 100,000 residents, according to Mediazona's data. The outlet described these as "poor regions with a high number of volunteers."
Economic Incentives and Regional Disparities
In Komi's isolated villages, where monthly wages often range between 30,000 and 40,000 roubles (£285 to £380), a military contract offers a rare chance for upward mobility. Recruits are promised a lump sum of up to 1 million roubles—several years' income by local standards—followed by salaries that dwarf ordinary civilian pay.
This economic disparity helps explain why recruitment has proven most effective in poorer, peripheral regions, analysts suggest. Mediazona recently made it easier to trace the war's human cost—and its uneven geography—by publishing a map of Russia dotted with confirmed military deaths across the vast country.
The interactive graphic resembles a night-time satellite image of the nation. Instead of city light pollution, however, it is marked by the names of dead soldiers, densely clustered in provincial cities and towns while noticeably sparse in Moscow's wealthier districts.
In Rublyovka, a guarded neighbourhood west of Moscow that houses Russia's political and business elite—and lies close to Vladimir Putin's residence—only a handful of names appear. "It was always the Kremlin's priority to keep Muscovites happy and shielded from the war," commented a Kremlin insider. "Any serious discontent only becomes dangerous if it comes from the capital."
Recruitment Challenges and Future Prospects
As losses mount, a crucial question facing both sides is whether Russia can continue drawing recruits from villages like Kerchomya to sustain its slow, grinding offensive. For the first time since the war began, Russia's battlefield losses appear to be outpacing recruitment, according to a senior western official speaking recently on condition of anonymity.
"We see that Russia is no longer able to call up quickly enough to replace those dying on the battlefield in Ukraine," the official stated. Russia is currently recruiting an estimated 30,000 to 35,000 people monthly. However, a sharp rise in casualties this year, combined with signs of slowing enlistment, has left Moscow struggling to maintain operational tempo along the front.
The official cautioned that the Kremlin still possesses tools at its disposal, including raising enlistment bonuses even higher to attract fresh recruits and increasingly turning to foreign fighters, particularly from poorer countries in Africa and Asia.
Unbroken Spirit and Continued Recruitment
In Kerchomya, there remain men who express willingness to go to Ukraine. Aleksei, whose brother was killed in Ukraine last year, revealed he has considered signing a contract himself, driven by a desire to avenge his sibling's death. "The boys are out there defending the motherland," he said. "It's hard to stay here and just watch."
The village's story reflects broader patterns across Russia's rural landscape, where economic necessity, patriotic sentiment, and personal loss intertwine to shape communities bearing the war's heaviest burdens.
