The Future of Ukraine in the EU

It had been a year since Elena and her family left their home in Mariupol, a year since the war had torn through their lives like a storm no one could have prepared for. The morning they fled, the sky was painted with an eerie orange glow, not from the rising sun but from the fires raging in the distance. The sound of explosions, once unfamiliar, had become a part of their daily lives. But this day, Elena knew they had to leave. Her son, Maksim, had stopped asking when the war would end. Her daughter, Sofia, had grown quieter, no longer begging for stories about the future. They had to leave—for their children, for a chance at safety.

Now, sitting in a small apartment in Warsaw, Poland, Elena looked out the window at the busy street below. It was quiet, but the hum of life was unmistakable. Children laughing, people shopping, and the comforting aroma of freshly baked bread from the bakery next door filled the air. Poland had been kind to them, offering them a place to stay and a community that embraced them with empathy. But every day, Elena felt the weight of uncertainty pressing on her chest.

In Ukraine, they had once lived a simple but happy life. Elena had been a schoolteacher, her husband, Petro, a mechanic. They weren’t wealthy, but they had each other, their children, and a sense of purpose. That purpose had evaporated in the months following the Russian invasion, replaced by fear and survival. Now, the future felt like a blank page, but not the kind of blank page full of possibilities—this one felt void of direction, with no idea of how or when the next chapter would begin.

"Do you think we'll ever go back?" Maksim asked one evening, his voice tentative.

Elena looked at her son, barely 13 years old, yet aged beyond his years by the things he had seen. She wished she could tell him yes, that they would return to Ukraine, that their home would still be standing, that they would pick up the pieces and rebuild. But she didn’t know if that was true anymore.

“I hope so, my love,” she whispered, brushing a strand of hair from his forehead. “I hope we can.”

In the news, the 2024 European elections were everywhere. For most Ukrainians in exile, these elections were about far more than European policies. They were about Ukraine’s future—about the possibility of becoming part of something bigger, something safer. Since the war began, Ukraine had officially applied for EU membership, and the idea of joining the European Union felt like a lifeline for so many. For Elena, it was the thread she clung to in the face of an uncertain tomorrow.

“I read today that the elections will decide a lot,” Petro said as he entered the room. He had been working odd jobs since they arrived in Warsaw, fixing cars when he could find work. His hands were still stained with oil and grease, but his eyes were always on the news, always watching.

“What do you mean?” Elena asked, trying to keep her voice steady.

“The new European Parliament could influence Ukraine’s membership in the EU,” he replied. “Some parties are in favor of fast-tracking it, others… not so much. They’re worried about corruption, about the war still going on.”

Elena felt a cold wave of anxiety wash over her. "But how can they turn us away now? After everything we've been through?"

Petro sat down next to her, his face etched with the weariness of a man carrying the weight of his family's future on his shoulders. "I don't know. I think they care, but they’re also afraid. Europe is struggling with its own problems—energy, inflation, migrants... and they’re afraid Ukraine will bring more instability."

The silence between them was thick with unspoken fears. Elena glanced at their children, who were playing with a deck of cards on the floor, oblivious to the conversation. They had lost so much, and the idea of Europe—of being part of the EU—was the one thing that had given them hope. The possibility of being denied that hope was too painful to bear.

That night, as Elena lay in bed, her thoughts wandered back to Mariupol, to the life they had left behind. She remembered the smell of sunflowers in the summer, the taste of borscht that her mother used to make, and the way the city buzzed with life. She remembered the pride Ukrainians felt after the 2014 Maiden Revolution, the hope that their country was finally stepping into its own future, free from Russian influence. But now, everything was uncertain.

As the days passed, the European election debates grew louder. Elena followed them obsessively, reading every article, watching every news broadcast. Some politicians spoke with warmth about Ukraine, about the importance of supporting a country fighting for democracy on Europe’s doorstep. Others were more cautious, warning that fast-tracking Ukraine’s membership could destabilize the EU further.

For Elena, it wasn’t about politics. It was about her children’s future. About a place where they could grow up without the constant threat of war hanging over their heads. Where they could go to school, learn, and dream of something bigger than survival.

On election day, the streets of Warsaw buzzed with anticipation. As a Ukrainian refugee, Elena had no vote in this election, but it felt as if her future was being decided nonetheless. The radio was on all day, every result bringing a wave of emotion. In her heart, she prayed that the politicians who saw Ukraine not as a burden but as a brave nation deserving of hope would win. She prayed that Europe would open its arms, not just as a political act, but as a symbol of solidarity with a country that had sacrificed so much for its right to exist.

The election results trickled in. Pro-EU parties had gained ground, but so had those wary of expansion. The fight for Ukraine’s future in the EU was far from over. But for the first time in months, Elena allowed herself a sliver of hope.

"Maybe... maybe we'll get there," Petro whispered that night, pulling her close.

Elena nodded, blinking back tears. She wasn’t sure where "there" was, but for the first time in what felt like forever, she believed they could find their way.

And that, she thought, was enough for now.