A Soviet-era colonel responsible for drones and surface-to-air defenses in Ukraine's Donetsk area—his gruff personality alone may have been what's held Russia at bay in this region until now—told me during a September trip to tell my president and Congress to send him more weapons.
"We use them well," he joked, "and the Russians know it." It was also clear from observation and more conversation that something, maybe out of politeness, was being left unspoken: the U.S. and Western allies had given Ukraine enough to defend itself, but not enough to win.
As the second anniversary of Russia's full-scale invasion nears, we risk abandoning Ukraine by our inaction. I'm a conservative. I am ashamed Republicans in Congress are balking at continued military aid for Ukraine. Speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) won't even call the bill passed in the Senate last week up for a vote.
In Ukraine, they call me Sasha. Partly in jest; it's a nickname. Practically, Sasha is a way to avoid the "th" sound in my name, Seth, which non-English speakers have a hard time pronouncing, usually saying "SET" or "SESS."
Regardless, I embrace Sasha. The name fostered instant connections with my new Ukrainian friends. Sasha is a very common name, so being the American guy with the same name as many soldiers brought smiles. It was also an alternative persona of sorts by which I could experience the terrible unfolding of history through "Ukrainian" eyes.
Before the trip, I was conflicted about support for Ukraine. I share a deep-seated love for liberty that resonates strongly with Ukrainians' fight for freedom. I'm particularly concerned about religious freedom violations perpetrated by Russia. Still, I expect our leaders to prioritize America's needs and to be wary of entanglement in foreign wars. What seemed like a blank check commitment from Washington early on concerned me, especially given Ukraine's reputation for corruption.
I think a lot of American conservatives feel this way—philosophically supportive of Ukraine but hung up on principle and logistics, and hesitant to keep paying for "someone else's" war. But the world is too complicated now for that to be absolute. Plus, a broader clash of civilizations is playing out in Ukraine, a serious escalation of the stakes, of which we cannot help but be a part.
Our initial support was loud and tangible and gave Ukraine the confidence to run head-on at the Russians. It is contemptible we'd encourage the Ukrainians to bear the full weight of our proxy war with Russia—truly on behalf of Western civilization—and not equip them to win that fight. If we don't back Ukraine with what it needs we will have blood on our hands, and historians will point to these years as the moment America blinked during the civilizational struggle and cemented its retreat as leader of the Free World, thus leading the Free World itself into retreat.
Two weeks witnessing the war on the ground moved me from skepticism to definitive support for Ukraine. Our team of four from Virginia delivered medical kits containing high-quality tourniquets and chest seals in batches to soldiers as we snaked along the frontline. From Kharkiv in the northeast to Bakhmut and Donetsk Oblast in the southeast and over to Kherson in the south, we were typically less than 10 miles from the front, waking up to the sound of machine guns, tanks, and the thud of artillery. I have a photo of my GPS pin about a mile from Avdiivka, which fell to Russia days ago partly due to a lack of ammunition, which American dithering helped cause.
The soldiers we met were often just coming off a shift at the front, with blank eyes and always exhausted. I was struck by their determination. We would ask "for whom or what are you fighting?" Never was "Ukraine" the answer, at least not one of the first few. The response was almost always "my children" or "my grandchildren." "My wife and unborn daughter." "Freedom—I remember Soviet times and I will not go back, cannot go back to that."
House Republicans must take up and pass the Senate's bill. It's certainly not perfect, but hardline posturing means nothing is accomplished on the U.S. southern border and nothing is done to shore up Ukrainian allies who are bearing the mortal cost to oppose Putin.
Sitting on the charter bus that was to take us back to Poland, we were joined by a couple and their three- or four-year-old son. It became heart-wrenchingly clear that this young father was a soldier seeing his wife and son out of Ukraine to safety. This family's anguish summarized what I witnessed in Ukraine—an evil ripping apart of something good and beautiful. The war has steeled a people to do what's necessary to defend their homeland, while tearfully looking back at what was, hoping it'll still be there when this is all over.
As the bus slowly pulled away, father and son pressed their palms together on either side of the window. "Why are we leaving daddy?" the boy asked.
I, too, have a four-year-old son. That young soldier could have been me. Perhaps his name was Sasha.
Seth Grutz is a public relations professional from Virginia and an advisor to The Renewal Initiative.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
Uncommon Knowledge
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
Newsweek is committed to challenging conventional wisdom and finding connections in the search for common ground.
About the writer
To read how Newsweek uses AI as a newsroom tool, Click here.
