The War That Isn’t: Why Ukraine’s Fourth Year of Full-Scale Conflict Remains a Legal Fiction

Ukraine is the only country where a war has been raging for four years but legally does not exist. Like Schrödinger’s cat, only with missiles. While physicists joke about quantum uncertainty, Ukrainians live in legal schizophrenia: missiles fall, people die, mobilization continues, and the state insists on calling it a “temporary martial law.” Temporary — since 2022. You didn’t notice? That’s the point.

This week, the Judicial and Legal Gazette reported that a citizen’s lawsuit demanding an official declaration of a state of war has reached the Grand Chamber of the Supreme Court. One would think nothing could be simpler: a country is at war — call it war. But no. The legal machine shifts into reverse: martial law is an internal regime introduced by a presidential decree and approved by parliament. It is not equivalent to a “state of war” under international law. And this difference is not accidental — it is a deliberate construction.

Let’s break down who benefits.

First, international obligations. Recognizing a state of war triggers the Geneva Conventions on the protection of war victims, establishes clear rules for the treatment of prisoners, and imposes responsibility for war crimes. It also requires the belligerent party to ensure humanitarian access. But if the war does not legally exist, the conventions do not apply. Convenient, isn’t it? The state can pretend it is merely “defending itself within the framework of martial law,” not waging an international armed conflict.

Second, elections. Martial law is the perfect alibi for postponing elections. The constitution prohibits elections during martial law but does not specify what happens if the regime lasts four years. The authorities say, “It’s not the time, there’s a war.” But if “war” is defined as martial law, it can last forever. Declaring a state of war would bring a different level of accountability: international observers, legitimacy requirements. Why would the government invite that complication?

Third, a gray zone for repression. Martial law allows rights to be restricted without clear international frameworks. Mobilization, curfews, censorship, property seizures — all “temporary.” But the temporary has become permanent. People fight and die in a legal vacuum where even calling things by their name is a problem.

And here is the key question: what does this mean for ordinary people? A wounded soldier cannot invoke a “state of war” to claim combatant status — “martial law” is sufficient for domestic procedures. But international guarantees, compensation, and protection of rights depend on recognition of the conflict. Families of the dead face bureaucratic labyrinths because the state refuses to call war by its name. This is not just a legal game — it is a real human cost.

Of course, one might say, “But it’s obvious there’s a war.” In law, obviousness does not work. Wording works. As long as Ukraine operates under “martial law” rather than a “state of war,” the government retains room to maneuver. It can ignore international obligations, postpone elections, restrict rights — all legally, within a “temporary” regime.

The lawsuit now before the Grand Chamber is an attempt to break through this wall. Will it succeed? I doubt it. The court will likely rule that declaring war is the prerogative of the president and parliament, not the judiciary. Formally, it would be correct. But the very existence of such a lawsuit is a symptom. People are tired of legal schizophrenia. They want war to be called war. And if the state does not do it, international courts eventually will.

For now, we live in a country where war exists and does not exist. Where a “temporary” regime has lasted four years. Where lawyers argue about terminology while missiles hit residential buildings. This is perhaps the best illustration of how power uses legal fictions to evade accountability.