OPINION: Ukraine Trains Police for War and Democracy

At a recent lunch at Ukraine’s National Academy of Internal Affairs, a senior Academy official handed me a photograph of students at a gala dance. At first glance, it could almost have passed for a school prom in the United States. The students were formally dressed, the room was festive, and the mood was unmistakably upbeat.

But the story behind the photograph was not a prom story. It was a story about institutional change under the pressure of war.

The event, called the “Heart to Heart Gala,” was the first class dance the Academy had held. More important, it had been proposed and organized by the student government. Cadets took responsibility for the evening themselves and decided that it would also serve as a fundraiser, with proceeds going to support their brothers serving in the military.

In peacetime, this might sound like a modest act of student initiative. In Ukraine, it reflects something larger. The National Academy of Internal Affairs traces its history back to 1921, and for much of its existence police training was shaped by the Soviet model: obedience to hierarchy and command from above. The Academy’s current leadership is moving in a different direction. It wants future police officers to develop judgment, communication, and a sense of responsibility to the communities they serve.

Ukraine is not only fighting to defend its territory. It is also fighting to build institutions fundamentally different from the Russian and Soviet systems it has rejected. The training of police officers is one measure of how deep that transformation goes.

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The Academy official described the goal as training cadets in “soft skills.” Encouraging student self-government was not an ornamental reform. It was a deliberate effort to form officers who can organize and lead, rather than merely follow orders.

The charity ball was not an isolated case. Cadets have also organized cultural programs, including a poetry evening and a creative project called “Humor in Uniform,” as part of the Academy’s broader work on moral development. In a country at war, such activities are not frivolous. Future officers will serve communities shaped by grief and trauma. Their education must prepare them not only to enforce the law, but also to preserve public trust.

The classrooms reflect the same mixture of old duties and new realities. One room is a hands-on laboratory for first-aid training. Another is a driving school, with desks fitted with steering wheels.

During wartime, however, that room has taken on an additional purpose. It is part of the Ministry of Internal Affairs’ flagship project, “Barrier-Free Driving Schools,” which provides people with disabilities access to driver’s education and retraining on hand-controlled vehicles. In a country where thousands of soldiers and civilians have lost limbs, mobility is not a convenience. It is part of independence, dignity, and reintegration into public life.

Another area of training is devoted to the use of modern drone systems in police operations. Cadets learn to work with first-person-view drones through specialized simulation platforms and tactical programs. Not every Ukrainian police officer is expected to become a military drone pilot. But future officers must understand how drones can help document evidence, assess danger, and coordinate operations in high-risk areas.

This is a new mission for law enforcement. After a Russian strike, police are often among the first to document what happened. Drones can help them assess damage without sending more people into danger. Sometimes the evidence must be gathered before the scene is safe to enter.

That phrase, “before the scene is safe,” is now part of the grim vocabulary of Ukrainian law enforcement. Russian forces have repeatedly used so-called double-tap strikes: an initial attack followed by a second strike after rescuers and civilians have rushed to help the wounded. Because of the double tap, documenting a crime scene can itself become life-threatening.

Outside the main building, hidden in a clearing of a nearby forest, the training becomes darker still. A simulated mass-grave site includes what looks like a partially uncovered skeleton, as if rain has washed away the dirt around the bones. Students learn how to gather evidence from exhumations with the precision required for a courtroom. They must document what they find before anything is disturbed, and this includes preserving personal objects, identifying signs of violence, and protecting the chain of custody.

Since Russia’s full-scale invasion, Ukrainian police have had to investigate evidence of torture, executions, illegal detention, deportation, and attacks on civilians. Accountability for war crimes will depend in part on whether evidence gathered in the first hours and days after a crime is handled correctly.

Policing for a society under attack requires more than legal knowledge and technical skill. It requires moral restraint. It requires psychological awareness. And it requires an understanding that the legitimacy of the state depends not only on its ability to punish crime, but also on its ability to protect the vulnerable and respect the dignity of citizens.

The gala, the drone classroom, and the mass-grave site may seem to belong to different worlds. In fact, they are part of the same education. Together, they point toward a new kind of Ukrainian police officer: trained for war, but also for democracy.

That transformation deserves support. Western governments, civic institutions, universities, and law-enforcement partners should treat Ukraine’s police reform as part of the democratic front line. Helping Ukraine win the war means helping it build the institutions that will secure the peace.

The views expressed in this opinion article are the author’s and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post.