The War Next Door: When the Battlefield Is Measured in Streets, Not Miles

In most modern conflicts, the battlefield is imagined as a distant place: a front line marked on maps, often in rural terrain, far from the rhythms of civilian life. In Ukraine, however, the war has collapsed the space between combat zone and community. Here, the front is not a remote abstraction; it is often measured in the distance from one street corner to another, in the sound of artillery carried over the roofs, in the visibility of smoke rising beyond the last apartment block. For many towns and cities, the war is not “out there” but literally next door.

Urban geography under siege

In Donetsk, Bakhmut, Avdiivka, and more recently in parts of Kharkiv and Zaporizhzhia regions, residents have found themselves living in neighbourhoods where a short walk can mean crossing from a zone of relative quiet into one under active fire. The urban fabric—streets, tram lines, parks—becomes a patchwork of danger and safety, and that patchwork shifts by the hour. The ordinary markers of distance no longer matter; one can be physically close to the frontline without any buffer of wilderness or demilitarised zone.

This compression of space means that soldiers and civilians share a single geography. Troops may billet in school buildings, artillery units may set up in industrial yards, and medical teams operate out of basements once used for community storage. Such proximity intensifies the experience of war for civilians, who live in constant awareness of both their own vulnerability and the presence of those defending them.

Psychology of proximity

Living next to the war brings unique psychological pressures. Air raid sirens in distant cities may be an inconvenience; here, they are a prelude to impacts seconds later. Residents learn the difference between outgoing and incoming fire, and between the distinctive whine of a shell and the sharper sound of a mortar. Children grow up counting the pauses between explosions to judge whether to run for cover.

Paradoxically, this proximity can foster both fear and resilience. The ever-present risk strips away illusions about safety, but it also binds communities together in mutual support. Neighbours form watch groups, coordinate supply drops and share generators, creating micro-networks of survival. The war becomes not just a national or regional crisis, but a deeply personal relationship with one’s immediate surroundings.

Shifting boundaries

When battle lines run through built-up areas, boundaries are unstable. A street held by one side today may be contested tomorrow. This fluidity forces civilians into constant reassessment—whether to stay, evacuate, or return. For some, moving just a few hundred metres can mean the difference between life and death; for others, evacuation is an impossibility due to age, health, or family obligations.

For the military, the narrow distances change the calculus of defence. Fighting for a single street or block can be as strategically important as holding an entire district in a rural conflict. Drone reconnaissance and urban combat tactics dominate; artillery and small-arms fire operate in close quarters.

Cultural life amid combat

Remarkably, cultural life persists even when the front is a matter of streets. In cities like Kharkiv and Mykolaiv, theatres and art galleries have reopened between shellings, concerts are staged in metro stations, and street artists reclaim bombed facades as canvases for patriotic murals. The very act of cultural expression becomes a form of resistance, asserting the value of normal life in defiance of constant destruction.

Lessons from the war next door

The Ukrainian experience underscores that modern warfare increasingly blurs the line between combat space and civilian space. In conflicts where urban areas are directly contested, humanitarian corridors, civilian protection measures and reconstruction planning cannot be treated as post-conflict concerns—they must be integrated into military and political strategies from the outset.

For Ukraine’s cities, the war next door is not a metaphor but a daily reality. Streets once defined by the nearest café or market are now known by their distance to the nearest trench or barricade. And yet in these compressed geographies, the spirit of the nation is forged—not in the abstract distances on a map, but in the lived experience of every street where life refuses to yield to the advance of war.