September 1 marks the first day of school in Ukraine — a day of flowers, ceremonies, and new backpacks for most children. But for thousands still living under occupation, there was no celebration.

Instead of lining up for photos, Ukrainian children in occupied towns were hiding Wi-Fi routers, moving desks away from the walls, and whispering their lessons so no one would hear them speaking their own language. This is not a metaphor. It is their reality.

Marina, a mother of three, recalls how Russian soldiers set up their command center on the ground floor of the school: “There were antennas everywhere. They knew Ukrainian forces wouldn’t strike a school — so they used the kids as protection.”

Svitlana, mother of Yaryna, says her children studied online in a Ukrainian school only by hiding their router: “We put it in the attic, because Russian soldiers patrolled the streets and shot at any routers they saw on poles.”

For Olena’s family, even language had to be hidden: “We moved the desk away from the neighbor’s wall so they wouldn’t hear the children speaking Ukrainian. They had to whisper during class.”

Iryna, also a mother of three, describes who is teaching in occupied schools: “Tractor drivers and market vendors. A former produce seller teaches biology. The principal is a manicurist. What can they possibly teach our children?”

Yulia tells of how dangerous it is to express a Ukrainian identity: “A boy in our building wrote in an essay, ‘I want to be the President of Ukraine.’ Half an hour later, his parents were summoned to the police.”

Bullying, too, has become a weapon. Vira, mother of Vitalii, explains: “Children whose parents worked for the Russian police or Rosatom beat other kids, shoved their heads into toilets, filmed it, and posted it online. They knew nothing would happen to them.”

Even teachers are punished. Natalia remembers what happened to one who refused to collaborate: “They dragged her from her home and took her to a basement. Two days later, she broke down completely — she lost her mind and became paralyzed.”

And for Stas, an 18-year-old student, even books were denied: “I went to the library and asked for something in Ukrainian. They said the books were ‘in storage.’ In truth, they were burning them.”

We have already helped more than 850 children return to Ukrainian schools. But thousands more remain trapped in occupied territories, where education is used as a tool of control and erasure.

Every donation gives a child the chance to study freely, safely, and in their own language.

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