Russian advances and intensified drone and missile strikes across eastern Ukraine have forced thousands of civilians to decide whether to leave their homes or remain in towns close to the front line, where evacuation teams are working under regular attack.
Police units known locally as the White Angels have been transporting civilians out of towns such as Bilozerske, a mining settlement roughly 14 kilometres from the fighting, using armoured vans fitted with metal cages and rooftop drone‑jamming equipment after losing a vehicle to a direct drone hit. Authorities say they will help remove people from front‑line areas, but cannot guarantee rehousing once families are out of immediate danger.
Bilozerske’s pre‑war population of about 16,000 has dwindled to an estimated 700 people, and much of the town is damaged by recent strikes. Local hospitals and banks have closed and many buildings are reduced to shattered stucco and burn scars. Across Donetsk region an estimated 218,000 people require evacuation, including roughly 16,500 children, according to regional officials.
Evacuation teams face both practical and human obstacles. In one case, officers searching for a woman who wanted to leave could not drive down a lane and walked on foot as the protection of the van’s jammer receded. The woman, who had dozens of bags and two dogs, waited for a subsequent team because the officers’ van was already full. Others cannot leave physically, or refuse to abandon property, gravesites and livelihoods.
Civilian casualties have risen. United Nations figures show that in July this year civilian casualties in Ukraine reached a three‑year high, with 1,674 people killed or injured. The UN also reported that July saw the highest number of people killed and injured by short‑range drones since the start of the full‑scale invasion. The threat to noncombatants has shifted from massed artillery and rocket fire to smaller, harder‑to‑detect systems, including first‑person‑view (FPV) drones that can follow and strike individual targets.
Volodymyr Romaniuk, 73, still moves about the empty streets of Bilozerske on a bicycle laden with two cooking pots he salvaged from a damaged home. He declined offers to relocate to the west of Ukraine and said he remained to care for his wife, who has had multiple surgeries and could not endure the journey. "What will be, will be," he told a reporter. "At 73 years old, I'm not afraid anymore. I've already lived my life."
Other families are staying for emotional reasons. In Slovyansk, about 25 kilometres from the front, Nadiia and Oleh Moroz remain despite repeated night attacks by Shahed drones — known locally as "flying mopeds" because of their distinctive sound. The couple visit the grave of their son, Serhii, a 29‑year‑old lieutenant killed by a Russian cluster munition near Svatove in November 2022. Nadiia, 53, said she could not imagine abandoning the place where her son is buried. Her husband, 55, acknowledged they would leave if the front moved closer, saying he would be a clear target because of his past service.
Not all who fled have found safe or stable alternatives. Olha Zaiets, 53, had to postpone full recovery from cancer surgery when intense shelling forced her and her husband to flee their home in Oleksandrivka as Russian forces approached within 7.5 kilometres. Their former town saw a lethal strike on a pension collection point in a nearby settlement, Yarova, where 24 people were killed and 19 wounded as older residents gathered to receive payments. The head of the Donetsk regional administration described the attack as terrorism and urged residents to evacuate to safer regions.
Olha and her husband are temporarily staying in a borrowed house in Sviatohirsk, where shelling can still be heard. She said her medical tests later showed she would not need chemotherapy and the couple briefly felt relief; yet the loss of their home and the expense of medical care have left them financially exposed and unsure where they will go next.
Evacuation operations are complicated by the evolving battlefield and the growing role of unmanned systems. FPV drones can track movements and strike with greater precision than many traditional munitions, while salvoes of crude loitering munitions and Shahed strike aircraft have become common in attacks on logistics, infrastructure and towns near the front. Older residents and those with mobility or health problems are disproportionately represented among those who remain and among the civilian casualties reported by the UN.
Local authorities and volunteer groups continue to organise convoys and ad‑hoc removals, often under the protection of police or military units, but the scale of displacement required and the lack of guaranteed housing outside the region create a dilemma for many families. Some choose to stay to protect property or gravesites; others say they cannot afford to relocate or have no place to go.
Humanitarian and administrative bodies stress the urgency of moving people out of immediate danger, but the collapse of local services in many towns — closed hospitals, shuttered banks, destroyed schools — means that even when civilians leave, their futures are uncertain. As fighting shifts and the front lines change, residents face repeated choices about whether to risk staying in towns they have deep ties to or to accept the precarious safety offered by evacuation.
The White Angels and similar teams say they will continue to carry out evacuations where possible, but the combination of rising drone attacks, limited shelter capacity beyond the front lines and strong local attachments means many of eastern Ukraine's most vulnerable residents will continue to weigh the risks of leaving against the hardships of staying.
