They are just Shaheds!

A person stands beside the remains of a Russian-made, Iran-designed Shahed-136 drone, known in Russia as a Geran-2, alongside a decoy drone known as a Gerbera, displayed with other Russian drones, glide bombs, missiles, and rockets in Kharkiv, Ukraine, on July 30, 2025. (Scott Peterson / Getty Images) Prefer on Google Steve Medeiros Socio-cultural anthropology PhD Candidate in the Experimental Anthropology Lab A few days into the U.S.-Iran war, after Iran attacked many of its neighbors, my friend in Kyiv asked her 11-year-old son if he had heard about what was happening. Unworried, he replied they were firing " just Shaheds ," and continued playing his game. Ukrainians by now have seen thousands of such attacks. Russia had been pounding Ukraine's energy infrastructure particularly hard lately, leaving precious little time for electricity to charge devices or for kids to play their video games. Iranian Shaheds have now become a less worrisome risk for many across Ukraine compared to other kinds of strikes. My friend told me this story so casually with a chuckle. "Can you believe it?" She had said to me, partly incredulous, partly amused. But her eyes, of course, belied sorrow. She acknowledged this was чорний гумор — dark humor. Laughing at the absurdity of tragic and morbid things — dark humor — can be a sort of coping mechanism and is often associated with soldiers and first responders . During my time in Ukraine, I've also encountered this dark humor from ordinary civilians, particularly in cities regularly hit by Russian strikes . At times, our conversations echoed those I remember from my own military service. Dark humor surely has a place among Ukrainian warriors in the trenches. But that these same cognitive mechanisms of coping emerge as a necessity among the civilian population is its own form of tragedy, worthy of cynical humor. I am an American social anthropologist studying the social consequences of Russia's war in Ukraine. So, I packed a laptop, notebooks, and a few essentials and traveled to Ukraine during the winter of 2025. My research is done at an interpersonal level, and I try to capture a glimpse of people's experiential reality. I engage with people as they live their daily lives, and I have worked alongside volunteers, visited hospitals, and attended family dinners, concerts, and funerals here. After four years of war, the deep wounds experienced by Ukrainians rightly evoke profound sorrow and rage. Not unlike Londoners during the German Blitz, for whom surviving the night and approximating normalcy during the day was its own form of resistance, Ukrainians endure with an indomitable spirit. They have reconfigured all aspects of their lives to survive nights of ceaseless drone and missile barrages, and long, cold winters without heat or electricity. Humor and laughter, like dancing and music , are powerful forms of resistance and solidarity. Ukrainian soldiers prepare Spear munitions in a dugout near the front line in Zaporizhzhia Oblast, on March 12, 2026. (Francis Farrell / The Kyiv Independent) I am told the peculiarity of Ukrainian humor predates this war and emerges from a centuries-long struggle for independence and sovereign cultural identity. Through war, famines, oppression, and genocide, a stout and uniquely Ukrainian personality (and humor) emerged. A friend said that for Ukrainians, difficult and traumatic things are "easily joked about." And it is a sign of strong character that they are "able to laugh in the face of death, confirming life." But the large-scale war has heightened the bitterness of humor. Another friend told me that although Ukrainians have always had a heavy wit, "we joke about death a lot more now." So, why do we even do that at such difficult times as war? Everyone wants friends and to be part of something; it is what makes us human . And language can help reinforce our sense of belonging to a particular social group. This is why we all have " inside jokes " shared among groups of friends, family, or colleagues. Humor shared with others triggers the brain's reward system, reinforces who is "one of us," and engenders a sense of psychological comfort and familiarity. Laughter decreases stress hormones while releasing dopamine, oxytocin, and endorphins — so-called "feel good" hormones. Sharing humor requires a certain degree of trust. Telling a joke always carries the risk of embarrassment — if it's well received, it builds connection; if it falls flat or is misunderstood, it can create distance. Dark humor is higher-stakes because it is inherently provocative, increasing the risk of discomfort rather than laughter. Precisely because of this risk, edgy humor can function as a kind of "inside joke," reinforcing closeness through shared experience. That is to say, if you have experienced what I have experienced, then you probably understand the intention of my humor. This same strategy served my fellow soldiers and me well on deployment so many years ago. It helped release tension and reinforced our bond. Humor can serve the same function for civilians enduring Russia's invasion. Certainly, morbid humor is not for everyone and isn't a magic cure-all. But when humans find themselves in impossible situations, mentally and spiritually exhausted, they can join together in ridiculing the absurdity of the reality they face. In this way, it is a confirmation of life. The fact that aerial attacks are so common in my friend's young son's life — and he's one among millions — and that he can distinguish between Shahed drones, ballistic missiles, and cruise missiles is both tragic and grotesque, and worthy of bitter derision. Editor's note: The opinions expressed in the op-ed section are those of the authors and do not purport to reflect the views of the Kyiv Independent. Steve S Medeiros is a socio-cultural anthropology PhD Candidate in the Experimental Anthropology Lab at the University of Connecticut; a US Army combat veteran; and Affiliated Researcher at The William Joiner Institute for the Study of War and Social Consequences (WJI) at UMass Boston. His work is focused on sociality and psychological kinship in Ukrainian volunteers during Russia’s invasion of Ukraine.