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22 min de lecture
All wars produce, consciously or unconsciously, an official narrative of themselves. A couple getting married days before they both head to the front. Grandmothers knitting camouflage nets. This is the narrative with which the West has come to identify the war. It is true and legitimate; the rhetoric of courage and resistance has become the cornerstone of Ukraine’s self-presentation to the outside world since the full-scale invasion. And, given the growing war fatigue, it proves particularly effective in sustaining strategic communication and national morale.
That said, where then does the problem with the heroic narrative lie if it is neither false nor exaggerated? The main problem lies in the fact that presenting it as the only available explanatory framework for the success of Ukraine’s resistance is insufficient. The heroic narrative answers the question “Is Ukrainian civil society brave and resilient?”, but not the question “Why and how is the Ukrainian state able to resist indefinitely in an asymmetric war?” If one analyses only individual courage, one overlooks the explanation of how a large-scale production system has come about or how the military network is coordinated on the front line.
The main explanation lies in the institutions that initiated an accelerated transformation and formalized these individual acts of courage by civil society into institutional infrastructures. To better understand why Kyiv has decided to carry out these rapid transformations, what the turning point was, and why precisely these transformations have been implemented rather than others, we must go back to 2014 and to the most complete expression of these transformations: Brave1. Analyzing the creation of this ecosystem means examining the highest forms of institutional expression through which Ukraine, under the pressure of external aggression, built a multidimensional technological architecture capable of connecting start-ups, investors, developers, and state structures horizontally, almost simultaneously. Under a vertical, centralized hierarchy, these actors would operate in a slow and bureaucratic manner.
This is not about taking credit away from one side and giving it to another, but rather about identifying the problem with how Western media reports on it. By focusing solely on the image of a brave soldier, in most cases, the narrative leaves out the institutional framework — largely built from the ground up as a grassroots movement — that has been able to develop institutional capacity based on that courage.
Furthermore, idealizing individual resistance is politically dangerous. It absolves the external aggressor of responsibility and, to a certain extent, normalizes the suffering of an entire society by presenting it indirectly, almost as a cultural trait or a feature of the national character. It is not presented as the direct consequence of an invasion, in which the attacked society is left with no choice. According to journalist Peter Swope, the media’s idealization of sacrifice in combat ends up distracting from the true brutality of war. Recognizing this does not diminish the value of what Ukrainian civilian society is doing; on the contrary, it restores their humanity and realism, showing that suffering is not part of their nature.
Furthermore, even the war communication under the Ukrainian president’s leadership has avoided constructing an individual-centered narrative. According to NVivo analysis, Zelenskyy said “Ukraine” 1.726 times and “people” 1.236 times in the first six months of the war. The pronoun “I,” used in a personal sense, was almost never recorded. When listing achievements in his speeches, he does not build a personality cult but rather a collective identity, using “we” to refer to the Ukrainian people and “you” to refer to the country’s defenders. Even the highest representative of Ukrainian resistance in the West has structured his communication in the opposite way, centered on collective agency rather than his own personal agency. Therefore, an individual-centered interpretation is an oversimplification observed from the outside, rather than a reflection of how Ukraine explains itself.
It is important to note that the year 2022 marks the beginning of a large-scale invasion, not of Russian aggression. Therefore, 2014, with the annexation of Crimea and the Russian invasion of eastern Ukraine, was the year Kyiv realized that no external guarantees — diplomatic, legal, or military — could replace its own capacity for self-defense. Therefore, it is essential to understand that the main reason the territorial escalation of the war in 2022 did not come as a “shock” is that Ukraine had been investing in its own institutional infrastructure for eight years before it became decisive for its resistance.
As Ukraine sought to regain control of Crimea, which had already been annexed by Russia, then President Petro Poroshenko traveled to the United States to ask Congress for more lethal military aid, including Javelin missiles. However, the Obama administration limited aid shipments to strictly humanitarian and non-lethal assistance (body armor, night-vision goggles, vehicles), resisting requests to send lethal military support. Ukraine’s near-total lack of foreign support in the early years following 2014 was primarily due to the military theory of “escalation dominance”. This theory, developed by Herman Kahn, is illustrated by a ladder with forty-four rungs: at the bottom lies a low-intensity crisis, and at the top, total nuclear war. Dominance over such escalation depends on the actor’s capability and credibility. That actor has the potential to dominate the escalation against the adversary if three conditions are met simultaneously: possessing a real capacity to escalate, credibility that such a possibility exists, and the adversary’s recognition of the possibility of both situations. When applying the theory to the war in Donbas, from a Western perspective, Russia demonstrated this dominance in Ilovaisk and Debaltseve, where, regardless of Ukraine’s advances, Russia deployed additional capabilities and prevailed. In the face of any Ukrainian escalation, Russia would respond with a greater one. Consequently, Washington concluded that any aid would be counterproductive both for the United States and, above all, for Ukraine.
This interpretation of events from the perspective of escalation dominance is neither isolated nor retrospective. There is significant criticism from security think tanks regarding how applying this doctrine defensively has produced the very outcome it was intended to avoid. According to the Atlantic Council, the response to the occupation of Crimea was “a geopolitical blunder of historic proportions that emboldened Vladimir Putin and set the stage for the biggest European invasion since World War II.” The absence of escalation was understood as a deterrent success. However, what it really was is a sign of weakness. Verbal warnings with no real cost —or what James Fearon calls cheap talk— did not alter the adversary’s calculations, since they entail no commitment. The only signals that do imply a cost would be explicit military mobilization or a public commitment that is difficult to retract. Between 2014 and 2018, the White House sent cost-free signals to the Kremlin, without ever turning them into costly and credible signals. It wasn’t until 2018 that the United States provided its first non-lethal assistance, delivering Javelin anti-tank missiles, a move followed by other countries such as the Czech Republic.
The repeated statements by NATO, the EU, the United States, and Germany that they would not become directly involved in the event of a Russian invasion had a significant impact on Russia’s cost calculations. Due to the scarcity of lethal weapons and the lack of involvement by Western allies, the Russian military calculated that the Ukrainian military could not resist indefinitely; therefore, it estimated that the costs of war against Ukraine would be acceptable and limited, without causing significant consequences for the country or its economy.
Many international analyses have noted that the weak response to the annexation of Crimea “emboldened” Russia. This Kremlin perspective confirms how the lack of Western commitment in 2014 was sufficient for the aggressor to conclude that the war would yield more benefits than costs. And that this is not a misperception on Ukraine’s part regarding its Western allies. The fact that two actors with completely opposing interests agree that support for Ukraine between 2014 and 2021 was insufficient to create a real deterrent demonstrates that this is a verified fact from both sides.
Therefore, this is not a matter of unfounded mistrust toward its allies, but rather a realistic assessment of the situation based on empirical evidence. On this basis, Ukraine began to make the decision not to rely exclusively on agreements, external actors, memoranda, or even international organizations to guarantee its own security and territorial integrity. The Minsk process, led by France and Germany between 2014 and 2015, reinforced Kyiv’s conclusion.
If the allies' reluctance to arm Ukraine was a military signal that the West was unwilling to bear the real costs in exchange for Ukraine’s security, the Minsk processes demonstrate the same thing, but on the diplomatic front.
These were peace plans promoted by the then-Ukrainian president that covered a range of multidimensional areas: security, humanitarian issues, economic matters, and political aspects. The first agreement was signed in September 2014 following the “Ilovaisk tragedy,” and Minsk II in February 2015. Although both agreements call for a ceasefire, the withdrawal of heavy weapons from the border, and a special status for the separatist regions of the Donbas under OSCE supervision, ceasefire violations were reported within minutes of their entry into force. However, since the operational failure of the agreements is already widely documented, what has received little analysis is why the agreements were designed in such a way that, even as the plans were being carried out, many analysts took it for granted that they would fail. There were no direct obligations imposed on Russia in the conflict, as Moscow presented itself as a mediator rather than a belligerent party, positioning itself on the same level as France, Germany, and the OSCE — even though it was providing military support to the separatist forces on the ground. Failing to recognize Russia as a party to the conflict on paper, even though it was demonstrably managing the conflict in practice, gave the Kremlin free rein to ramp up or scale back the intensity of the invasion as it saw fit at any given moment: intensifying the fighting when it was in its interest to pressure Kyiv, or scaling it back to ease international pressure on Russia. All of this came at no real political cost, something that would have occurred had Russia been recognized as an aggressor state and a party to the conflict.
This fundamental design flaw meant that, with the Minsk agreements, the same outcome occurred as had already been analyzed on the military front: a commitment without any real cost, leaving the door open for noncompliance. Just as verbal warnings were issued without being backed by lethal weapons, frameworks for compromise were established but were not supported by binding enforcement mechanisms.
The military and diplomatic findings lead to the same conclusion through two independent lines of reasoning: neither military aid — limited by escalation dominance — nor the diplomatic framework — constrained by poorly drafted agreements — established enforcement mechanisms. This dual confirmation explains why Kyiv concluded that no external guarantee can replace its own capacity for self-defense.
That is why Ukraine’s institutional transformations —uneven, imperfect, yet progressive and real— began in 2014 and not in 2022. It was not the large-scale invasion that led Ukraine to reach these conclusions, but rather reaffirmed them. Consequently, Ukraine’s resistance and resilience since 2022 are not a spontaneous response, but rather the result of a state that had spent eight years building institutional infrastructure that the shock of 2022 would ultimately put into practice.
In light of the lack of an international response to the events in Ukraine, both Kyiv and Ukrainian civil society responded with profound internal transformations in the defense sector, some of which had to be built from the ground up. These three transformations cannot be understood in isolation, as it is precisely the simultaneous existence of all three changes that explains why and when Ukraine decided to merge these three elements — which had been developing separately for nearly a decade — starting in 2022. This led to the creation of Brave1, but first, it is necessary to explain the three components of its origins.
The first transformation was the shift away from centralized command doctrine toward mission command, a long-standing doctrine widely embraced by modern military forces. This model emphasizes the importance of leaders who trust their subordinates, granting them the freedom to make critical decisions in real time and to adapt to circumstances without the need for rigid and constant guidelines. In 2014, the Ukrainian army lacked all the characteristics of this model; the various Ukrainian army battalions lacked initiative and had no practical interoperability. By the time authorization to carry out an attack was issued, the tactical opportunity had already been lost.
With support from the United States and certain European NATO member countries, Ukraine established for the first time a professional noncommissioned officer (NCO) corps, a role that had been almost nonexistent. This marked the first step toward adopting decentralized decision-making and building a mechanism of mutual trust among the ranks. These units acquired key competencies to refine mission command: shared understanding, commander’s intent, mission orders, disciplined initiative, and risk acceptance, which gave them a significant advantage over Russia.
The second set of reforms is based on a shift in procurement priorities and the end of the monopoly on arms production. Before 2014, Ukroboronprom (a conglomerate of companies within the country’s military-industrial complex) determined which weapons were developed, directing production toward its own interests in maintaining Soviet-era weapons systems rather than developing new capabilities. For such a company, it was more economical and easier to produce the same tanks and ammunition without changing the production line, rather than investing in new technology, researchers, risk-taking, and more time. Therefore, while it is true that there have been changes, they were minimal: 20% of R&D projects in 2020 had been underway for twenty or more years without any tangible results, acting as mechanisms for siphoning off public funds. Ukroboronprom was characterized by major corruption scandals, excessive classification of information, and an overly top-down decision-making process: only 13% of the General Staff’s requests for new or upgraded equipment were fulfilled between 2014 and 2020.
As various cases of corruption within Ukroboronprom came to light, external pressure grew from Ukrainian civil society anti-corruption organizations, notably NAKO, the Independent Anti-Corruption Commission, which monitors corruption, advocates for transparency, and upholds accountability in support of Ukraine’s national security and sovereignty. It was founded in 2016 as a joint initiative of Transparency International Ukraine and Transparency International Defense & Security. Thanks to pressure from NAKO and Western partners, in 2017, it committed Ukroboronprom to undergoing an international audit. And in 2018, it pledged that the audit would meet international standards and include an assessment of its corporate governance in accordance with OECD standards. NAKO participated directly in drafting the bill to reform the conglomerate, submitting specific amendments to the Ukrainian Parliament, Verkhovna Rada, prior to its adoption, specifically regarding designating the Cabinet of Ministers as the sole managing entity for the transformed defense industry companies, thereby minimizing conflicts of interest, among other measures.
The result was a law signed by Volodymyr Zelenskyy in 2021, which mandated the transformation of Ukroboronprom into a joint-stock company under OECD corporate governance standards. With a single shareholder — the state, represented by the Cabinet of Ministers — the law established the corporate restructuring of its 118 scattered enterprises with the explicit goal of introducing modern corporate governance standards to protect them from risks of corruption, conflicts of interest, and direct political influence, and to enable the creation of joint ventures with domestic and foreign partners, as well as technology transfer and the attraction of direct investment, including foreign one, for the manufacture of modern weaponry.
The final component of Brave1 is the growth of a drone culture. Until 2014, the Ukrainian Armed Forces did not have a modern drone. The closest thing they had was the Tupolev Tu-143, a short-range tactical reconnaissance unmanned aerial vehicle (UAV) developed by the Soviet Union during the Cold War. As such, it was already nearly ineffective for modern military operations. The response to this gap did not come from the Ministry of Defense, but rather from civil society and volunteers. During the Russian invasion of eastern Ukraine, Volodymyr Kochetkov-Sukach and other colleagues founded Aerorozvidka, a nongovernmental organization that closely supports the Ukrainian military and is dedicated to building or modifying commercial drones,which they can purchase from readily available retail stores, to make them ready for use in a military context. At the same time, Come Back Alive, one of Ukraine’s largest NGOs, was founded to raise funds for the purchase of unmanned vehicles, intelligence equipment, and even to provide training for soldiers.
Over time, both organizations evolved to play a key role in these transformations. Aerorozvidka pioneered multirotor unmanned aerial vehicles such as the octocopter R18, capable of carrying payloads or performing precision munitions drops, with vertical takeoff, a 40-minute flight time, and a payload capacity of 5 kg. Come Back Alive became one of the first organizations to obtain the license to purchase military and dual-use goods, including lethal weapons, internationally.
However, the fact that it originated in civil society rather than within a state structure posed real limitations and demonstrated the need for Brave1. The integration of weapons developed by civil society startups was slow and uneven. For example, the Furia reconnaissance UAV developed in 2014 by the Kyiv-based company Athlon Avia was not officially adopté until 2019. Innovation existed, but it took time to build a bridge between these innovations and the institutions to formalize these developments.
Therefore, the three main pillars that underpinned the creation of Brave1 are:
Thus, the problem was not a lack of will or legislation, but rather the absence of an ecosystem capable of merging these three transformations into a system that could operate at the speed demanded by large-scale warfare.
This institutional ecosystem is also one of the main reasons why both military and financial aid from allies is proving so effective. Although in some respects this aid is essential, as Ukraine still relies heavily on US-supplied air defense systems – particularly the Patriot systems – to protect its critical infrastructure. However, if this aid is viewed solely as the sole explanatory factor for the country’s resilience, it overlooks Ukraine’s own agency and this developing ecosystem. Such aid has functioned indispensably as a multiplier; however, it can only operate on a foundation that already exists within the country. If the institutional infrastructure were absent and unable to integrate, operate, and deploy the aid effectively, the aid would have been far less effective than it is now.
The platform was officially launched in 2023 as a joint initiative of the Ministry of Digital Transformation of Ukraine, the Ministry of Defense of Ukraine, the General Staff of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, the National Security and Defense Council of Ukraine, the Ministry of Strategic Industries of Ukraine, and the Ministry of Economy of Ukraine.
To date, it is the only technology platform that acts as a bridge for cooperation between defense technology companies, the state, and the armed forces, as well as with investors, voluntary organizations, the media, and all those who are helping to bring Ukraine closer to victory through technology. Its primary aim is to create a fast track, free from the bureaucracy that hinders decision-making, for the development of defense technologies, covering all stages of their creation, from the initial idea through to formal military certification.
Brave1’s approach has several key objectives: to invest in and prioritize the needs of the security and defense forces; to create a platform that brings together all industry stakeholders; to ensure interaction with the defense forces and gather feedback on the technology’s use; and to provide comprehensive support for priority projects at this time.
However, it is first worth explaining in detail how Brave1 operates across the board in order to understand its impact and development. The application process is initiated by the developers themselves when they register on the Ukrainian Startup Fund (USF) portal, a relatively straightforward procedure with minimal red tape. There is a screening process that excludes companies with links to Russia or with questionable records regarding tax compliance or legality. Prior to Brave1, there was no single point of entry for defense technology developers, which hindered many manufacturers in the early stages of development. Once approved, the project is passed on to a committee of around 80 experts with scientific, technical, and military backgrounds. Each project is assigned to three of these experts, who assess it against various criteria — scalability, relevance to national security, applicability on the front line, etc. — and award it a score, with a minimum threshold of 6 required. Projects falling within the bottom 50 percent are not accepted. The top 50 percent become official Brave1 participants, with a status known as ‘BRV1’. And of that group, only the top 20–25 percent become eligible for grants, which range from $50,000 to $200,000 per product, not per company, meaning that a single company with several developments in progress can apply for multiple grants at the same time.
Selon official figures, by April 2025, Brave1 had distributed some $30 million across approximately 500 grants. For foreign developers, the ‘Test In Ukraine’ initiative was launched in 2025, offering the opportunity to test their systems in real combat conditions alongside Ukrainian units with extensive battlefield experience. To date, 45 companies have joined the initiative. Finally, in order to be validated, Ukrainian products require a NATO Stock Number (NSN) so that they can be procured by the state. This is a process that can take up to two or three years in EU countries or the United States.
However, to accelerate innovation, Brave1 supports developers throughout this process, reducing the timeframe to two to three months. In Brave1’s first year, it operated primarily as a grant scheme, awarding 186 grants worth $3 million to fund the development of ideas and prototypes, rather than finished products. One of the companies benefiting from these grants described Brave1 as a government ‘angel investor’ for awarding small grants to new projects, start-ups, and early-stage R&D. Another company praised the platform for helping them organize field trials of their products in collaboration with Defense Forces units. Two years later, in 2025, the number of inventions had multiplied; however, the most significant change was what this had enabled: real, completed projects ready for deployment. Due to the large number of such projects, Brave1 Market was launched in April 2025: an online platform where military units can log in and browse the available catalog of over a thousand products, ranging from drones to AI-based tools. Purchases are made just as one would for an everyday online shop, placing an order directly using the unit’s budget, thereby saving the time traditionally involved in the procurement process.
Looking at how Brave1 operates, it is clear that it has effectively integrated the documented reforms. On the expert committee, the members have shifted from military to civilian personnel, with each project being assessed on a case-by-case basis. Prior to the 2014 reforms, an order had to pass through the entire chain of command before it could be executed. At Brave1, neither the civilian nor the military waits for the other; there is no rigid hierarchy. This has enabled a project to progress from registration to securing a grant in a matter of weeks rather than years – a process that previously took much longer under the old General Staff system. Furthermore, it enables the technologies most needed in the context of the conflict to reach the battlefield much more quickly, without the tactical response being delayed by the passage of time.
As previously analyzed, Ukroboronprom’s main problems were sluggishness, secrecy, and the fact that the conglomerate decided what to produce based on its own interests, rather than the needs of the war. Brave1 overcomes these problems in several ways. Its platform enables thousands of developers and start-ups to compete for the same grant under a scoring system that is the same for everyone, moving away from prioritizing one company over another based on interests beyond technological development. Consequently, its criteria are based on what is actually needed on the front line right now, rather than what is easiest to produce. The official criteria and scoring are provided by various experts with direct knowledge of combat. Each project is analysed and assessed according to the specific needs of the moment.
However, so far, we have explained how companies and developers connect with the State. It is precisely the Army of Drones Bonus System that explains how the individual actions of each soldier on the front line can drive and improve the production of an entire country, determining what is to be produced within the country.
The Army of Drones Bonus System answers the question of who decides which of the products on the Brave1 Market should be produced in greater quantities and at what time. Only those on the front line know which specific drone model is most effective against Russia’s latest electronic warfare system, which is constantly evolving.
This mechanism, launched in 2025, sees every Ukrainian unit that eliminates Russian military targets using drones and provides video evidence receive a set number of points based on the damage inflicted. These ‘e-points’ can be redeemed on Brave1 to purchase new Ukrainian drones or the equipment they need most at that moment. Delivery is handled via DOT-Chain Defense, which usually takes around 10 days, or 6 if the product is in stock. According to the most reliable sources, 20 points are awarded for each attack that causes damage and 40 for each attack that results in destruction — although the points vary depending on current military priorities. Currently, in order to adapt to the needs of the front line, points are awarded not only for eliminating enemy forces and disrupting mining operations, but also for reconnaissance and logistics missions. Each point is worth around 10,000 hryvnias — $224 at the current exchange rate. In 2025, 4 billion UAH was raised for equipment requested by units in just 2.5 months, and up to 820,000 enemy targets were struck.
But what is significant is the points system: whilst 12 points are awarded for killing an enemy soldier, capturing one with the aid of a drone is worth 120 points. Although there is debate amongst analysts regarding the legitimacy of a points system and whether it dehumanizes the conflict, this design is not arbitrary. Under the Geneva Conventions and international humanitarian law, there is an obligation to protect prisoners of war, evacuate the wounded, and minimize suffering and casualties in combat. In practice, this is a complicated task, even though these obligations are legally binding, as it is often more difficult and costly to capture a soldier than to kill them. The points system resolves this dilemma, making compliance with international standards a worthwhile endeavor for soldiers, whilst also enabling Ukraine to use captured soldiers to negotiate a prisoner-of-war exchange with Russia.
The system offers several strategic advantages that demonstrate the rapid transformation of Ukraine’s military institutions. Each verified video provides unique battlefield data that progressively enhances learning, leaving behind, once and for all, the outdated Soviet-style organization of previous years. Direct access to equipment via Brave1 eliminates the bureaucratic and slow system documented previously, which had been the greatest obstacle to date. The ability for a soldier to purchase equipment gives them a strategic advantage, as they know first-hand what is most needed at that moment. Tracking and verification generate measurable results, determining which types of drones are most effective and in what types of combat, as the largest orders are based on operational evidence rather than economic interests. This advantage has given rise to something that companies such as Ukroboronprom were unable to create: a system that constantly adapts and improves, as it is directly connected to those using the weaponry on the front lines.
Each soldier acts independently, procuring the equipment and deciding when and how to attack. The change lies in the fact that these individual decisions, though scattered, have been formalized into data that determines what is produced on a national scale. This is not a sudden development, but rather an accumulation of transformations that have become institutionalized in the midst of asymmetric warfare.
The contrast with the West does not lie in its having been slow to adapt, but rather in that, when it finally does adapt, it openly acknowledges the source of that knowledge. This reverses the usual logic of flows and empirically refutes the narrative portraying Ukraine as a passive recipient of aid: Ukraine is generating an institutional model that the international system is increasingly actively importing.
In Germany, the number of major arms procurement projects approved by the Ministry of Defense has risen from 55 to 97 in just one year, a record high. The German government itself has a déclaré that the growing investment in defense is partly due to lessons learnt from the Russian-Ukrainian war, driving the faster implementation of critical defense measures.
In the case of the United States – a country traditionally seen as an exporter rather than an importer of military doctrine – the Defense Innovation Unit (DIU) launched Project G.I. in June 2025, an initiative designed to rapidly accelerate the development, testing, and deployment of unmanned aerial systems (UAS) and supporting technologies, with a fund of 20 million dollars. This is an » that, according to several experts, is inspired by Ukraine’s rapid innovation on the battlefield. The aim is for development companies to maintain constant contact with drone operators rather than primarily with procurement officers, thereby bypassing the existing hierarchy. The relationship with DIU and Brave1 is no coincidence; in 2023, a forum on the future of unmanned systems had already been co-organized in Warsaw, with the participation of the director of DIU. It has even been acknowledged that the main objective is to reduce delivery times, something that had already been identified and rectified in Ukraine.
These changes, driven by lessons learnt from Ukraine, are not limited to countries but also extend to organizations. Earlier that same year, NATO and Ukraine joined forces to establish the Joint Analysis, Training and Education Centre —JATEC— in Poland. This is the first joint organization between Ukraine and NATO, where personnel from both countries work to identify and apply lessons from the war in real time and translate them into new strategies, policies, and operations. Subsequently, in 2025, UNITE–Brave was launched, a joint program aimed at scaling up innovative technologies that have been prototyped and tested, focusing on strengthening air defense and frontline communications security. Its funding for 2026 is expected to amount to 50 million euros.
What is significant about the transformations taking place in other countries and organizations outside Ukraine is the direction of the learning process: they are explicitly adopting the institutional design that Ukraine is developing under the pressure of war. It is not Ukrainian individual courage that is being adopted, but specific procedures tailored to each country’s unique context: shorter procurement timelines, more horizontal committees and more direct channels between the developer and the operator.
If the Ukrainian resistance were to exist solely thanks to this individual “heroism”, there would be no military doctrine to export or replicate in other countries to cut through that bureaucracy. Ukraine is not only resisting; it is exporting institutions of war to actors on whom it traditionally relied for learning. The traditional flow of military knowledge in transatlantic relations —from world powers to smaller countries such as Ukraine— is being constantly reversed.
The main research question was: through which institutional infrastructures has the courage dispersed throughout Ukrainian society been formalized into a capability that can sustain an asymmetric war indefinitely? The origin of the answer lies in 2014, when it became clear to Kyiv that no external guarantee can replace self-defense, forcing the initiation of parallel yet converging transformations. And that, already under pressure during the large-scale invasion, efficient mechanisms for war-fighting institutions have been developed.
It also calls into question narratives in which Western military and financial support are presented as the sole explanation for Ukrainian resistance. Although this aid is indeed essential in many cases, as has been argued, it is only possible thanks to an institutional framework that Ukraine is building on its own. Without this ecosystem, the aid would have been less effective.
What has also been demonstrated is that these innovations are not anomalies that only function in a war setting, but rather reproducible and exportable models that are already being put to the test in other countries currently at peace. Furthermore, the Brave1 case study demonstrates how, even starting from a centralized, sluggish state apparatus mired in corruption scandals, it is possible to build horizontal defense innovation systems that are adaptable to the realities of the moment.
For the West:
For the EU:
À l’intention de l’Ukraine :
