In a military cemetery in Kyiv, a brother and sister walk among rows of crosses, carrying a bouquet of carnations. Each marker in this section bears the same inscription: “Unknown defender of Ukraine,” accompanied by an identification number and a note that the process of identification is ongoing.
One grave stands apart. A photograph has been affixed beneath the standard inscription, showing Ihor Yalynych, a soldier last seen alive in the Kharkiv region in 2022. After four years of searching, Stanislav and Oleksandra Yalynych had finally found their father.
The identification of the dead is a reckoning that will stretch on for years, representing one of the most enduring wounds of Russia’s war in Ukraine. Some graves may remain nameless forever, leaving families in a state of suspended grief.
For much of the war, there was no designated resting place for the unidentified dead. Bodies were held in refrigerated storage while the national military cemetery was under construction. Even before the cemetery’s completion in January, the first group of unknown soldiers was interred in August. More than 300 now lie beneath numbered crosses, with fresh graves being prepared regularly.
“I was a daddy’s girl, and I took the loss very hard,” said Oleksandra Yalynych, 21. “All these four years, all I wanted was to come and sit with him, to talk. Now I’m glad we found him. Now I have somewhere to go.”
Ihor Yalynych was killed in April 2022 in eastern Ukraine. A career soldier who had served since 2015—the year armed conflict erupted in the Donbas and Russia illegally annexed Crimea—he was stationed in the east when the full-scale invasion began. He returned safely from his first mission, sending photos to his son, but never came back from the second.
After weeks of silence, Stanislav posted an appeal on social media reporting his father missing. An acquaintance recognized Ihor in a photograph circulating on a Russian Telegram channel showing nine Ukrainian soldiers executed and lying in a row. Stanislav confirmed his worst fears upon seeing the image.
Ukraine’s National Police in the Kharkiv region confirmed to The Associated Press that an investigation is underway into the deaths of a group of Ukrainian servicemen whose bodies were discovered in the region in April 2022, as well as the process of their identification.
Ihor’s body remained in the occupied part of the region until it was recovered following the area’s liberation in September 2022. The family then navigated layers of bureaucracy, including mandatory DNA testing, before they could reclaim his remains—a process that took four years.
“It could have been faster if the police hadn’t lost the case,” Stanislav said. He explained that the file was transferred to the police in the Mykolaiv region, his father’s home region, where it sat unprocessed for more than two years.
In response to a written inquiry from the AP, Mykolaiv police did not address the family’s allegations regarding the lost file or the delay, stating only that no criminal proceedings had been lodged regarding Ihor’s identification.
Because the file was missing, Stanislav was only able to submit a DNA sample for comparison about six months ago. A match was confirmed two months later.
At a Ukrainian military funeral, the flag draping the coffin is folded and presented to the family. With no relatives present to receive the flag of an unknown soldier, the state acts as custodian, safeguarding each flag until the soldier can be identified, Veterans Affairs Minister Natalia Kalmykova said.
“Honoring a person who gives their life for their country is, first and foremost, truly needed by those who remain,” she said. “So we understand the price being paid for independence—in our case, our country’s—for our right to choose our own path and democracy in this country.”
Three of those initially buried as unknown have since been identified, she noted.
Part of the reason so many remain nameless dates back to the invasion’s onset, Kalmykova said. Soldiers who enlisted in the early years were not required to provide DNA samples, meaning no database existed. One was established only later. According to a senior military official who was not authorized to speak publicly, about half of Ukraine’s troops have now submitted samples.
In cases where no sample exists in the database, identification requires a close relative to come forward—something many cannot do because they are in occupied territory, abroad, estranged, unaware, or simply gone.
Since the full-scale invasion began, more than 40,000 samples from unidentified bodies have been registered, said Ruslan Abbasov, deputy director of the State Scientific Research Forensic Center of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. Most have now been matched against the 170,000 samples provided by relatives.
Often, Abbasov said, identification extends beyond the laboratory, with investigators seeking alternative ways to obtain a person’s DNA, such as searching apartments or personal belongings left behind.
When an unidentified body is buried, a number is placed inside the coffin, written on the exterior, and inscribed on the cross marking the grave. A registry links each number to a specific body, allowing for the grave to be located once a DNA match is made.
Bodies arrive directly from the battlefield and through repatriation from Russia. Since the start of the invasion, Ukraine has repatriated 24,805 bodies, according to the Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War.
Pockets sometimes contain passports, military IDs, or driver’s licenses. However, DNA testing remains mandatory because there is no certainty that documents found on a body belong to that individual.
Maksym Paziura, a forensic medical examiner, said that in some cases the remains of several people are mixed in a single bag, complicating even the extraction of a DNA sample. Most bodies arrive in advanced stages of decomposition.
His branch in the Kyiv region processes 15 to 20 bodies a day, holding them in refrigeration until they are identified or buried. The workload has grown roughly fivefold compared to peacetime, he said.
“Even if the war ends, we’ll still have a great deal of work,” Paziura said. “Identification is a hard, long process, and it won’t stop when the fighting does.”
For families, identification is not only about emotional closure. Until a death is legally confirmed, relatives cannot settle inheritances, remarry, or claim the compensation owed to families of the fallen.
Abbasov pointed to the Western Balkans, where bodies are still being identified decades after the conflicts there ended. Ukraine, he said, will be no exception.
When Stanislav Yalynych saw his father’s photograph on the grave, a measure of peace settled over him.
“Now it won’t only be us who know our father lies there,” he said. Since the photo was placed, strangers have stopped to ask about him. To Stanislav, it means his father’s sacrifice was not in vain, and his memory will endure.
