How quickly language changes. Just yesterday, it was an ordinary man: a father, a son, an entrepreneur, or a doctor. Today, in the lexicon of propaganda and loud talk, he’s been labeled a “shiker.” But behind this dry, devaluing term lies neither laziness nor cowardice, but a brutal moral choice facing thousands of Ukrainian men right now. The story of an ordinary citizen becoming a “shiker” never begins with the phrase “I won’t go.” It begins with the question: “Is this really the end?” The Psychology of Border Crossing Becoming a “shiker” isn’t a one-time act. It’s a process. First comes the realization that the war has dragged on, and the front is turning into a meat grinder, where the chances of survival for an unprepared person with a rifle in hand are slim to none. Then come sleepless nights, calls from friends already “there,” and reading news of colossal losses. It’s at this moment that the instinct for self-preservation kicks in. The very one that Nature has implanted in every living being. A man looks at his children, his wife, his plans, and understands: his death at the front won’t change anything strategically, but it will destroy his family’s world forever. He’s not betraying his country; he’s choosing life. And this choice becomes a titanic internal struggle. The Logic of “Leaving” Why do they “leave”? Because staying is like playing Russian roulette with one bullet in the chamber, where you’re not the one pulling the trigger. The logic of those who decide to leave is pragmatic and cruel: The borders are shrinking. Every month, legislation becomes stricter, corridors for legal exit are closing. Resources are depleted. The economy of a warring state is not made of rubber, and social pressure is growing. The price of a mistake. Being sent to the TCC now means risking not only your freedom, but also your health, and often your life, before you even reach your destination. The phrase “before it’s too late” is no longer a cliché. This is a real timeline. Routes are becoming more complicated, the cost of “exit” is skyrocketing, and the risk of being detained is growing exponentially. Freedom as the Supreme Value Leaving Ukraine today for a man of draft age means enduring a hell of fear, corruption, and endless inspections. This is the path of a man who has ceased to be a resource and has decided to remain an individual. When he leaves, he takes with him his taxes, his brains, his work potential, and, most importantly, his life. He doesn’t want to be the subject of a memorial plaque. He wants to be a living father, husband, and professional. The irony is that, in trying to save himself from the “Russian world,” he is often forced to flee from his own state, which sees him as nothing more than expendable. Leaving is scary. But staying and waiting for a summons that turns you into cannon fodder is doubly scary. As long as the borders remain at least a little open, as long as opportunities and routes exist, choosing exodus remains the last act of civil freedom we have left. There’s no shame in leaving. The shame is in condemning yourself to death with no hope of victory.
