Recent developments on the international stage are a reminder that Ukraine’s survival depends on building a strong, capable army. But a modern and effective military must also shed some entrenched cultural practices often described by servicemembers as “Sovietism.”

Despite major advances in modernisation over the past two decades — progress arguably unmatched by any other army in such a short time — many Ukrainian soldiers still report the persistence of Soviet-style practices. While “Sovietism” is a broad and sometimes vague concept, it is worth defining more precisely which behaviours and systems make this comparison so demotivating in such a vital institution.

In Ukraine, anything associated with the Soviet system is often derisively called “sovok,” a slang term used even by those who never directly experienced the USSR. The word evokes images of inefficiency and indifference — what some describe as “anti-humanism, anti-dignity” — as well as fear of taking responsibility, a compulsion to please superiors, and the practice of performing tasks for their own sake, not for results. The term typically refers to outdated bureaucratic habits and the attitude of personnel delivering public services.

While military service has many motivating and positive aspects, it is usually the organizational shortcomings that circulate most rapidly on social media, fueling negative stereotypes. Efficient, modern processes are often taken for granted, while anything resembling Soviet legacy provokes annoyance and disillusionment, prompting acts of resistance: indifference, passive sabotage, or simply venting frustrations to others.

These frustrations are tied to emotions and behaviours — what people are compelled to do, or prevented from doing. This is the lens through which we studied Ukraine’s basic military training (BMT).

Between April and June 2024, the CBA Center for Initiatives conducted field research on BMT. We interviewed combat brigade personnel, military experts, instructors, and cadets enrolled in the “young fighter course.” We also used mobile ethnography — communicating with cadets via messaging apps — to observe the training process from their perspective. Cadets most frequently compared their experiences at training centers to “sovok.”

We asked participants to describe their daily experiences: what motivated or demotivated them, what seemed effective or pointless. When someone mentioned “Sovietism,” we asked what exactly they meant.

Both cadets and instructors associated Soviet legacy with specific patterns — particularly in attitudes, procedures, and material support.

Cadets and instructors often criticized how the system treats them. Ukraine’s rigid military hierarchy tends to ignore the interests, needs, and feedback of those lower down the chain of command. This leaves many feeling unseen and undervalued, despite their vital role in national defense.

Of course, a top-down attitude toward subordinates exists in militaries worldwide. But in Ukraine, the legacy of Soviet treatment of the “common man” still colors how such behavior is perceived. Many Ukrainians have now experienced how different things can be, whether through travel abroad or respectful treatment by civilian institutions at home. As a result, any display of disregard for the individual is quickly associated with the Soviet past.

Such attitudes are reinforced through everyday interactions, like a culture of fear around asking questions. Cadets reported being ridiculed for asking something during class. This contrasts sharply with training experiences abroad, where Ukrainian personnel said they were encouraged to ask questions and received respectful answers. The result was a deeper engagement with the material and greater confidence in their skills upon graduation.

Inequality in rules — another hallmark of Soviet-style systems — also reflects deeper problems in institutional attitudes. One cadet, for instance, recalled being forced during a nighttime air raid alert to shelter in a cramped, damp bunker, while the same rule did not apply to officers. The bunker itself, a makeshift “underground greenhouse” with a single exit covered by tarp and a thin layer of soil, offered little real protection. The cadets were painfully aware that this exercise was simply for show.

Many also believed that officers were served better food, although this perception is not always accurate. In another case, an officer stood and spoke on the phone for 10 minutes in front of a full battalion formation — something officially prohibited due to the risk of air strikes — while hundreds waited for his casual conversation to end. These incidents often circulate far beyond the unit itself, becoming stories that reinforce the broader narrative of a lingering Soviet legacy.

Another dynamic reinforcing this sentiment is a sense of being misled. This shows up in both small and significant ways. Some cadets encounter bureaucratic roadblocks when trying to join specific brigades, despite promises to the contrary. Others described smaller frustrations. For example, after a live-fire exercise, instructors said the group would stop at a shop to buy essential items on the way back. But when the bus neared the shop, they were told there was no time. Minutes later, back at base, it turned out there was ample free time after all.

Organizational processes were another major source of frustration that cadets linked to Soviet-era practices. Among the most cited: repeated or prolonged formations. At times, cadets stood idly as officers debated the day’s training schedule or settled other administrative matters. One respondent described being ordered to attend a second formation just an hour after the first — this time to be told to clean their tents, a task they had just abandoned to show up.

When inspections, foreign delegations or journalists visit training centers, processes and even food offerings are suddenly upgraded — an echo of the Soviet obsession with external appearances.

Instructors, too, voiced the same frustrations but added their own. Many complained of long hours spent filling out paperwork and writing reports, often continuing late into the evening after a full day of training. Paper-based bureaucracy, they noted, was another holdover from the Soviet era.

Formal assessments that few take seriously, or adherence to illogical rules simply to avoid sanctions from superiors, were also cited repeatedly.

Attitudes and processes often overlap. For example, the process of distributing gear at the start of basic training can be inefficient or chaotic. Cadets are sometimes told to accept gear in the wrong size, or to sign for equipment that will be issued “later.” In contrast, a cadet who trained in the UK recalled being carefully fitted with the correct-sized uniform at the start of the courseand even referred to an ophthalmologist to be issued prescription glasses.

Due to the urgent needs of frontline units and the requirement to keep training centers dispersed, the material base for both daily life and instruction remains limited. Every missing item — training grenades, blanks, tablets, drones — or infrastructure element such as hot showers, washing machines, rest areas, or secure lockers, evokes comparisons with stories about the Soviet army during the Second World War.

Construction and maintenance tasks are often assigned to cadets themselves. As a result, “fatigue duty” becomes synonymous with enforced, non-core labor — another callback to Soviet military practice — and takes time away from instruction. When cadets are later evaluated on material they never covered, it is not always clear whether the lesson was skipped or if they missed it while on work detail.

At times, instructors have to purchase training materials or even basic stationery with their own money, or ask friends and cadets to chip in. This scarcity of educational resources, coupled with personal financial investment, may explain the overly cautious use of shared training tools: it’s often better not to let cadets use them freely because there’s only one for the entire group.

Another material shortcoming in some training centres is the poor quality and unappetising food. The same applies to the frequent absence of essential medicines. When paired with what cadets described as a lack of care for their health, this emerged as one of the most frequent and emotionally charged complaints. It also reinforced the perception of Soviet-style neglect for the individual.

All these categories — attitudes, processes and material conditions — are closely interlinked and require a systemic, holistic approach. Together, they form what many cadets and instructors broadly describe as Sovietism. Even if some issues are partially addressed, say, by equipping training centres with modern gear and better infrastructure, this would only go so far. The Soviet legacy would persist, as its roots lie not in resources but in interpersonal dynamics and bureaucratic culture.

To genuinely dismantle this legacy, reforms must tackle multiple factors at once. Our research shows that even at the basic training stage, such improvements significantly boost motivation and readiness, leading, ultimately, to more effective operations and saved lives. This is especially true in the early stages of service.

Countering the Soviet-style mindset requires a diametrically opposed organisational culture — one that prioritises communication, transparency and mutual respect culture. In training, this means that processes should be co-created through consultation, clearly communicated in plain language, and leave room for feedback from those involved. It also means building trust across all levels of command, valuing input from subordinates and respecting their decisions. One model already exists: the training of Ukrainian personnel in certain EU countries. 

There, coordination, consultation and consistent, transparent communication are the norm and nobody is punished for the insufficient results. For example, in the UK, all NCOs and officers in basic training receive regular briefings that provide real-time updates and the context behind decisions made two levels above their own. This helps them accurately interpret the situation and explain it to others, fostering trust and deepening engagement.

To address gaps in everyday material support, those that central planning cannot foresee, the UK also provides small discretionary budgets: £700 per group per training course, to be used under basic expense reporting. This approach empowers instructors and fosters responsiveness.

Such an organisational culture — opposite to Soviet-style bureaucracy — is also rooted in education: continuous professional development and broadening the perspective of every level of command. It demands a leadership style that is responsive, context-aware, and grounded in meaningful dialogue with subordinates.

This model evaluates outcomes not by box-ticking or paperwork, nor through sporadic inspections, but by understanding the actual situation on the ground — something only possible with long-term trust and mutual respect.

There are already examples of such leadership within the Ukrainian army. Local teams have succeeded in building effective microcultures where Soviet-style inefficiency and indifference are largely absent. These examples prove that the demoralising weight of the Soviet legacy is upheld by specific, changeable practices — and that even within a rigid system, those practices can be replaced and normalised.