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200 Forensic Experts Against a Mountain of Grief: Ukraine’s Race to Name the Thousands Fallen

“Through our work, want every single living member of the Armed Forces of Ukraine to know firstly, no matter who you are or how you were killed, we will get you home. And secondly, we want every enemy soldier to know: we will find you, and we will make you pay for every single body you see here strewn across the ground. There is no escape, and there will be no mercy.”
These were the measured words uttered to us with clear deliberation and and sincerity by Iryna—a Ukrainian representative of the RT Weatherman Foundation—as air raid sirens denoting an imminent missile threat screamed across the open field in which we stood, surrounded by the rotting remains of thousands of Ukraine’s fallen servicemembers.
We stood in front of the corpse-gray refrigerated freight car that had brought Ukraine’s fallen servicemembers in from the frontline territories. A putrid metallic serpent stretching into the distance, it spilled forth countless body parts we could no longer name, given their various states of decay. We were assailed by the ever-present feeling of falling into a pit: a dignity not even spared to the souls laid bare in front of us.
Content warning: This report contains graphic descriptions and photographs of deceased servicemembers and forensic examination procedures.


And then there was the smell: a vaguely sweet rancid stench that permeated every fabric of our clothing—protective gear be damned—and clung desperately to every nostril hair, for every second of the six-hour period we spent with the forensic experts.
If you’ve ever been in the presence of a decomposing human corpse, this smell, as you know, stays with you forever. Now, imagine this smell multiplied by a thousand and hitting you all at once: a tsunami of putrefaction and ruin. We didn’t know if the tears creeping forth from our eyes were due to the stinging burn of the chemicals flooding our senses, or if they were indicators of a deeply-rooted ancestral warning signal to urgently retreat. As my throat dried out and the contents of my stomach seemed increasingly intent on fleeing my body, one question—along with an all-consuming sense of despair—besieged my conscience: How could we do this to one another?

Proceeding across the field of decaying flesh—or whatever was left of it—we were ushered into a black examination tent, where several corpses were stretched carefully across makeshift gurneys, all stained a sickening shade of golden brown, owing to the bodily fluids incessantly draining out of the remains in front of us.
Our cameraman, in an impossible attempt to lighten the situation, quipped that the liquid resembled Tom Yum soup, which generated small chirps of laughter from the experts, a reaction that mercifully returned a few seconds of humanity to this nightmarish tribute to the worst parts of our human condition.


The experts quickly returned to their work, not wanting to waste even a millisecond of time on anything that isn’t related to returning dignity to what remains of the fallen servicemembers strewn out in front of them.

In stark contrast to the bloated flies lumbering across the space—laboriously crawling from one piece of rotten flesh to another—the experts rapidly dash from appendage to appendage, reanimating fingers, in a process that will allow them to capture fingerprints from the deceased. With surgical clarity, devoid of emotion, they explain to us their innovative method, being used for the very first time in Ukraine: first, you need to boil a large pot of water; the bodies arrive to the experts in a nearly frozen state, so everything underneath what is left of the flesh is cold and stiff.
Then, you search for a finger that won’t fall apart in your hand, pour the boiling water over it, and wait for a color resembling lifelike appearance to return; a solution must also be injected into the finger, in order to expand the skin and prepare it for pressure. Once this “reanimation” occurs, you then have precious seconds to hurriedly grab an ink brush, roll it across the finger, and then roll the finger across a fingerprint pad. The resulting biometric signature is then entered into a national database and compared to millions of samples, in a desperate digital attempt to reconnect what once was to what is.

As I watched these experts lovingly hold and caress the hands of these corpses, reaching briefly into the space between loss and abundance where empathy lives, I was reminded of James Baldwin’s words: “The world is held together, really it is held together, by the love and the passion of a very few people…you could be [a] monster…and you have to decide, in yourself, not to be.”


Once fingerprints are captured, the experts proceed to creating dental records for the fallen. First, they gently grasp the skull of the deceased. As these remains are in various states of decay, they quite often still have skin attached, sometimes even retaining strands of hair, by which you can more easily imagine what this person once looked like in life. The most striking example we observed was that of an ostensibly younger man, who’d had strawberry blonde hair, and was probably killed just days before his next shave.

Upon securing the head, the experts reach into the oral cavity, attempting to coax into view whatever remaining teeth they can find; in the event that the teeth have collapsed further into the corpse, they need to use a scalpel to delicately scrape back the flesh at the bottom of the mouth, and scoop up the jellied gum and tooth mixture.

This process, called forensic odontology, allows the experts to identify the deceased by charting their teeth and comparing them to records available in the national database. They proceed by cleaning the remaining teeth with a special solution, and then they softly place a tool that looks like an ordinary hair dryer into what remains of the mouth, to get an X-ray image of the bone. Once this is done, they once again submit the biometric signature to a database, aiming to link this person to whomever might be waiting for their father, son, uncle, or grandfather to “come home.”
For many of the fallen, they’ve been listed as missing in action (MIA) for years, their families holding onto a shred of hope that they might be still out there somewhere fighting to come home; for others, their families are tortured daily by the thought that their loved ones might be rotting in an empty field, languishing eternally in a state of indignity and waste. The work these 200 experts do in service of national memory and reconciliation constitutes a separate front of the war, and one that sometimes goes overlooked amid the flurry of battlefield reports and cold casualty numbers.

Ukraine’s 200 nationwide active forensic experts working with the RT Weatherman Foundation face a colossal task, under crushingly daunting conditions every single day that Russia’s full-scale invasion drags on: on a daily basis, they give their energy and sacrifice their psychological health to connect the brutal war-torn world of the living, with the desolation of violent journeys to the grave. Working under blaring air raid sirens and comparatively low pay, they solemnly receive thousands of repatriated bodies regularly, which they work diligently and tirelessly to identify.
While it is known that forensic experts generally are exposed to massive risks related to PTSD and “vicarious trauma” , what Ukrainian experts specifically face is experienced on an exponentially increased scale, as they are constantly working intimately with victims of war crimes, mass death, and facing their own mortality, all while being expected to carry out their normal lives. Their work is also punctuated by regularly having to contact and console the survivors of the deceased, providing emotional and psychological support to the families of the very same people whose remains they might have been handling the same day. All of this, they do compassionately and painstakingly, while themselves attempting to survive a brutal war that has been raging for nearly five years. During my time spent in stupefaction and awe with these silent heroes, one question demandingly bounced across my skull: What can we do today to give these people everything they need right now to effectively fulfill their work?

The RT Weatherman Foundation, through its Ukraine Mission, seeks to answer this question by providing holistic support to forensic experts in Ukraine through three avenues: Body, Mind, and Spirit.
Through its Body focus, the Foundation provides frontline combat medic training, evacuates critical medical cases to European hospitals, and coordinates complex logistics to repatriate the bodies of fallen volunteers.
Through the Mind avenue, RT Weatherman provides vital PTSD treatment for survivors of war crimes—including forensic experts—and via the Spirit avenue, the Foundation operates a victim identification program, through which they help guide the families of missing or killed in action (KIA) servicemembers through the process of securing their rights and honors. This avenue is the one most directly associated with the work we observed during our time spent directly in the field with the experts.

While the sights and the smells of my time with workers from the RT Weatherman Foundation and Ukraine’s forensic experts will never leave me, something that will remain with me forever is the sense of urgency and duty with which everyone operated.
Even as Russian Geran-2 Shahed drones zipped by in the airspace above and stenches combined in a miasma of misery that seemed intent on choking us below, the experts moved with methodical precision and what can only be described as care fueled by an undying sense of purpose. We asked them for comments, and they were reluctant to talk about themselves or their families, only their work; we asked them to explain their connection to their feelings, and they could only talk about the processes behind their work and what it meant for humanity and the stories behind the muck and the slime. This sense of duty, this diligence, and this loyalty, not to a government or a piece of land, but to preserving human dignity and respect even in death was more powerful than what any bomb or missile can do; in these sentinels of silence working through what we can do when we’re at our worst, resides what we are when we’re at our best.
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