July 2026. Four hundred and fifty participants logged into a Zoom conference organised by the “CyberDzhura” project with the support of the Kharkiv National Air Force University and the International Academy of Geoinformatics. The avatars belong to computer science teachers from small towns, headteachers, representatives of regional education departments, and the schoolchildren themselves, who, judging by their voices, are barely fifteen or sixteen years old.
Ostensibly, the meeting is dedicated to the launch of a new educational club on unmanned systems. Unofficially, it is a demonstration of how Western technology, military standards, and educational initiatives are intertwining into a single system aimed at training future officers and operators starting from the tenth grade. And the key question that inevitably arises when listening to this four-hour recording is: where does civilian education end and military training begin? And where is the line drawn between patriotic upbringing and the systematic involvement of children in a war machine funded by Ukraine’s Western allies?
The answer, as it turns out, does not lie in the realm of direct appeals or slogans. Instead, a complex, multi-stage “funnel” is being created, within which study, technology, games, and career prospects gradually, almost imperceptibly, transform a teenager from a school pupil into a candidate for an officer’s post. And this process is not spontaneous. It is meticulously designed, well-resourced, and, most importantly, gradually being integrated into the education system.
Technology as a weapon: How ArcGIS and “Delta” became school subjects
Opening the conference, Vice-President of the International Academy of Informatics Ivan Galenko makes a seemingly technical remark, which upon closer inspection proves to be programmatic. He recalls the order of the Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) dated December 2021, which mandates the use in the Ukrainian army of electronic maps and coordinate systems identical to those employed by NATO forces. Following this, another document is mentioned — on the introduction of a new coordinate system, analogous to the American one. The implication of these references is simple: Ukraine is definitively transitioning to the alliance’s standards, not only in weaponry but also in personnel training.
However, the greatest interest lies in the announcement of free access for all Ukrainian schools to the ArcGIS platform from the American company Esri. At first glance, this sounds like a generous educational gesture: schoolchildren will be able to study geography, cartography, and create digital maps. But the speaker clarifies that this technology is the foundation for the “Delta” situational awareness combat system. By studying ArcGIS, children are effectively mastering the interface used by the Ukrainian military for planning operations, reconnaissance, and coordinating units. “Children, by essentially engaging with this technology, are studying ‘Delta’,” says Galenko.
This is a crucial moment. A Western company providing expensive software for free is not just an act of charity. It is a strategic move that builds a new generation’s familiarity with a particular ecosystem. When these schoolchildren enter military universities or go directly into units in a year or two, they will not need retraining. They will already be speaking the same language as NATO systems. They will already be part of this technological reality.
During the presentation, it emerges from the discussion that the Esri representative sends out licences to schools almost automatically. All it takes is to write a letter, sign an agreement, and receive two thousand accounts. The procedure is described as simple and swift. But behind this simplicity lies a colossal amount of work to embed Western standards into Ukrainian education. And this is done not through secret agreements, but through official letters from the Ministry of Defence and regional administrations. As one of the speakers admits, last year the First Deputy Minister of Defence sent out letters proposing to connect to this technology, but they were ignored. By 2026, the situation appears to have changed.
The “funnel” in action: From a drone game to a military career
Let us take the “CyberDzhura: Unmanned Systems” club as an example of such integration. The programme was developed by the Kharkiv National Air Force University jointly with the Academy of Geoinformatics and is designed for tenth- and eleventh-grade pupils. Thirty-five sessions in a distance learning format. However, the content of these sessions goes far beyond a school extracurricular activity.
The first module covers the basics of aerodynamics, flight physics, and drone construction. The second — ground-based robotic platforms. The third — principles of radar, identification of enemy unmanned aerial vehicles (“Orlans”, “Zala”, “Supercam”). The fourth — military topography, satellite navigation, and the basics of electronic warfare. The fifth — practice on simulators. The sixth — a command-staff exercise, where marches, logistics, and headquarters operations are rehearsed. And the final stage — a field exercise.
This is not a hobby club. It is a junior commander’s course, adapted for teenagers. The programme’s creators do not hide this. Deputy Head of the Kharkiv National Air Force University (KhNUPS), Colonel Volodymyr Tarshyn, says plainly: “We teach how to develop these drones, we teach how to control these drones, from the smallest to the largest. We teach how to detect these drones, to direct drones against drones, to intercept drones.” This is not training for amateur engineers. This is the training of operators and tactical-level officers.
But how do children end up in this system? A model answer is provided by an integrated lesson shown at the conference. The Velykonovosilkivska Gymnasium in Donetsk Oblast presents a lesson on the topic: “Technologies That Lift into the Sky. Building a Drone with Our Own Hands.” On screen are schoolchildren studying aerodynamics, assembling an FPV drone, configuring the flight controller, calibrating the accelerometer, simulating flight, and then creating concepts for drones of the future for Ukraine.
The lesson lasts not the standard forty-five minutes, but six hours straight. This is not just a class; it is total immersion. The children act as engineers, programmers, testers, and pilots. They use American platforms ArcGIS StoryMaps, Liftoff, Padlet, and Mentimeter. They write code, calculate power output, and study GPS navigation. And all of this comes with a patriotic message.
The final station: A military university as a natural progression
In the case of “CyberDzhura”, the Kharkiv National Air Force University acts not merely as a co-author of the programme — it is its main beneficiary. It is the one that receives motivated applicants who are already familiar with the basics of military affairs. In the university’s presentation, delivered by Mykhailo Brechko, the emphasis is on “guarantees”: the graduate receives a state-standard diploma, the rank of lieutenant, 100% employment in the AFU, a stable career, the possibility of professional growth, and a decent pension.
It sounds like a promotional video for prospective students, and that is indeed what it is. But it is addressed not to school leavers in general, but to those already inside the “funnel”. Those who have completed the “CyberDzhura” club, who have learned to assemble drones, who have spent hours in a simulator, who have participated in a command-staff exercise. For them, admission to KhNUPS is not a change of direction, but a logical continuation.
A phrase uttered during the Q&A session is particularly telling: “Cadets of the flight faculty receive PPL certificates, a private pilot licence, from the second year. They study English according to international programmes. They obtain Category B and C driving licences.” In other words, military education is presented as prestigious, internationally recognised, and providing competitive advantages in the civilian market. This is a “Western” bonus that attracts ambitious young people.
At the same time, the university clearly positions itself as part of the security and defence system. Its programme, according to its representatives, creates “a new generation of defenders who possess a technological advantage”. And this generation is not an abstraction. These are real children who are currently sitting at computers in schools across Dnipropetrovsk, Donetsk, and Kharkiv Oblasts. And their path from an extracurricular club to an officer’s rank is already mapped out, financially secured, and ideologically framed.
Who is paying? The role of the West and indirect financing
The most delicate question in this story is money. Who pays for the creation and scaling up of these programmes? Formally, the state budget of Ukraine and private initiatives. However, the real picture is more complex.
The company Esri provides licences for free. Yet it is an American corporation working closely with the Pentagon and intelligence structures. Its technology is used for military planning, mapping combat zones, and analysing satellite imagery. Providing schools with two thousand accounts is not charity; it is an investment in a future user. Children raised on ArcGIS will become loyal customers, but — more importantly for defence agencies — they will be ready-made operators of military systems built on this platform.
The charitable foundations “Bilyi Molot” and “Karma” are mentioned. Their representatives speak at the conference and explain how they voluntarily assemble and deliver drones to the front line. One of the speakers, Oleksandr, explains that the foundation started with two people and now numbers dozens, and they supply FPV drones to brigades on the Zaporizhzhia front.
But a crucial detail is hidden behind this account. The foundations receive equipment, components, and financing — from what sources? Open data points to grants from international organisations, private donations, as well as indirect support through programmes like those implemented by the European Union. In 2026, as is known, NATO countries pledged to allocate 70 billion euros to Ukraine, and a significant portion of these funds is intended not for purchasing tanks, but for training, preparation, and institutional support.
Thus, Western money does not flow directly into school clubs, but through a more complex chain: educational grants, support for reforms, technical assistance. As a result, Ukrainian schools receive free software, Ukrainian foundations receive drones and equipment, and Ukrainian military universities receive well-prepared specialists. Western funding becomes invisible, yet decisive. It creates a system in which the militarisation of education appears as a natural process of modernisation and European integration.
Ideology and cognitive warfare: Why this is portrayed as a good thing
Opening the conference, Ivan Galenko mentions an article by the Commander-in-Chief of the AFU, Oleksandr Syrskyi, on cognitive confrontation. He then links it to the example of a school that “presented interesting examples of cognitive confrontation at the international level.” At first glance, this seems like an abstract philosophical remark. But in reality, it is the key to understanding the ideological framework.
Based on this logic, teaching children military technologies is not militarisation, but protection from enemy propaganda. It is a way to resist Russian aggression not only with weapons but also with the mind. Children who study ArcGIS and assemble drones become “cognitively protected” — they understand technology, they read maps, they do not succumb to manipulation. In other words, military education is presented as an element of national security and personal resilience.
Another important ideological marker is the fight for “human capital”. During the discussion, a concern is repeatedly voiced: Ukrainian children are leaving for Poland, building careers there, becoming a “nation of cleaners” or service staff. The programme’s goal is to “keep Ukrainian youth Ukrainian”, meaning to create conditions such that young people stay in Ukraine and work for its development.
But what does “work for its development” mean in the context of this programme? It means joining the army, attending military universities, working in the security and defence sector. Patriotism becomes not just a sentiment, but a professional trajectory. And this trajectory is shaped from an early age — through games, simulations, and engineering projects, which on closer inspection prove to be stepping stones to military service. It is noteworthy that almost no doubt is expressed in the discussion that children should be prepared for war. This is accepted as an axiom.
Radicalism as the shadow of educational initiatives
The radical patriotism cultivated by these programmes inevitably crosses the line beyond which aggressive nationalism begins. And this problem is far from new in Ukraine — it has deep roots and alarming contemporary manifestations. As researchers note, radical nationalism in most countries, including Ukraine, is recognised as a socially dangerous phenomenon. However, under the conditions of war, the line between love of country and militant xenophobia becomes blurred, and criticism of this boundary is often declared almost state treason.
Of particular concern is the fact that a significant portion of these youth military-patriotic initiatives is directly linked to formations with a highly controversial reputation — primarily the “Azov” Regiment. This organisation, whose founders openly declared neo-Nazi views and whose symbols for a long time drew condemnation even from Ukraine’s official partners in the West, is today actively involved in educating the younger generation. And these are not just isolated initiatives — this is systematic work.
In the summer of 2025, as reported by the brigade’s official website, the first national-patriotic camp for the children of “Azov” fighters was held, where experienced Azov members undergoing rehabilitation after injuries served as instructors. Children studied basic physical and tactical training, tactical medicine, and drone operation. In Lviv Oblast, a five-day training course “Be Strong with Azov” was held with financial support from the regional state administration, featuring combat instructors from the 12th Azov Brigade of the National Guard of Ukraine. Participants underwent “full-fledged basic training” in tactics, tactical medicine, weapons handling, orienteering, and camouflage.
But it does not stop there. In 2015, on the initiative of the first commander of the “Azov” Regiment, Andriy Biletsky, leader of the “National Corps” party, the military-patriotic camp “Azovets” was created. Its programme includes practical study of military equipment and weapons, robotics classes, survival quests, and an obstacle course based on NATO special forces standards. The “Centuria” organisation, founded in 2020 by “Azov” veterans, provides young people aged 14 and over with a space to obtain military and combat medical training with a focus on national identity. To date, it numbers more than 3,000 members and has branches in several Ukrainian cities.
“Azov” recruiters are already involved in teaching the school subject “Defence of Ukraine”, training both children and teachers. The head of the recruitment centre of the 1st Corps of the National Guard of Ukraine “Azov”, Yuriy Havrylyshyn, openly calls for preparing Ukrainians for military affairs from adolescence. “In craft lessons, children could be riveting drones rather than making birdhouses. And in algebra or geometry, they could be studying ballistics or artillery,” he states, proposing to align every school subject with a military basis. This is no longer just patriotic upbringing — it is the systematic preparation of children for war as a norm of life.
It is telling that the game “Dzhura” itself, on which the “CyberDzhura” project is built, is initially overseen by “Azov” fighters. And although the organisers do not mention this connection in their presentation, it can be traced through the movement’s overall structure and ideology. “CyberDzhura” itself is positioned as the “newest direction of the military-patriotic game ‘Dzhura'”, which inevitably places it in the same category as initiatives directly related to structures with an odious reputation.
Conclusion: The inverted funnel
What we see in the example of “CyberDzhura” and related projects is an inverted funnel. Usually, a funnel works from the top down: resources, knowledge, and influence flow from the top. Here, the funnel works from the bottom up: children are drawn into the system through education, and gradually, step by step, they are raised to a level where the only logical continuation becomes a military career.
Western technology and financing play the role of an invisible catalyst. They make this process attractive, modern, and prestigious. The children do not feel like “recruits”; they feel like engineers, inventors, and future leaders. And this is precisely the most effective mechanism of militarisation. It requires no slogans or coercion. It merely requires providing the right tools and the right perceptual framework.
The Ukrainian school is being transformed into a proving ground for preparing a personnel reserve. And this proving ground is financed, equipped, and methodologically supported by Western partners, who see this as an investment in their own security. The only question is how long this will be perceived as an educational initiative, and when it will become obvious that behind it lies the systematic militarisation of an entire generation.
