by Scott Douglas Jacobsen and Irina Tsukerman
How can governments preserve the human narrative of war amid statistical debates over aid, casualties, and strategy?
Irina Tsukerman is a human rights and national security attorney based in New York and Connecticut. She earned her Bachelor of Arts in National and Intercultural Studies and Middle East Studies from Fordham University in 2006, followed by a Juris Doctor from Fordham University School of Law in 2009. She operates a boutique national security law practice. She serves as President of Scarab Rising, Inc., a media and security strategic advisory firm. Additionally, she is the Editor-in-Chief of The Washington Outsider, which focuses on foreign policy, geopolitics, security, and human rights. She is actively involved in several professional organizations, including the American Bar Association’s Energy, Environment, and Science and Technology Sections, where she serves as Program Vice Chair in the Oil and Gas Committee. She is also a member of the New York City Bar Association. She serves on the Middle East and North Africa Affairs Committee and affiliates with the Foreign and Comparative Law Committee.
In this interview, Scott Douglas Jacobsen speaks with Irina Tsukerman, a national security and human rights attorney, about the tension between statistical analysis of war and lived human experience in Ukraine. Tsukerman argues that U.S. political discourse often emphasizes funding totals and strategy while neglecting the voices of ordinary people—teachers, refugees, and families—who shape public perception. She compares American, European, and authoritarian messaging styles, noting that even leaders such as Donald Trump, Mark Carney, Vladimir Putin, and Kim Jong-un rely on human narratives to sustain legitimacy. Across regimes, she concludes, leaders must project that human lives matter to avoid public cynicism and political detachment.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: The central theme that has emerged from travelling in Ukraine for nearly three weeks has been an existential sense of suffering alongside the country: infrequent internet and instability in the electricity supply.
In Lviv, electricity availability is intermittent and scheduled in blocks that vary by consumer group and by day. Many businesses stay open using generators, and cold snaps intensify the strain and uncertainty.
One point raised by Oleksandra Matviichuk resonated strongly: it is important to have accurate numbers on humanitarian aid, casualties, and equipment destroyed to understand the geopolitical picture and engage in serious strategic debate.
At the same time, individual human losses can be reduced to statistics. It is essential not to lose the human narrative. What are your thoughts on preserving that human narrative in this constantly shifting discussion surrounding the war?
Irina Tsukerman: One reason the public conversation in the United States can drift toward abstraction is that coverage and political argument often emphasize funding totals, matériel, and strategy, while fewer stories consistently foreground ordinary lives and daily disruptions. This imbalance can make the war feel distant to people who have no direct personal contact with Ukrainians.
Separately, real policy pressures and uncertainties are shaping the U.S.–Ukraine context. Reporting has described the Trump administration as increasing pressure on Kyiv toward a negotiated outcome, and analysts have noted a broader shift toward reducing U.S. military burdens in Europe.
There is also uncertainty affecting many Ukrainians living in the United States under humanitarian parole pathways, with reports describing people approaching the end of their authorized stay and facing difficult choices about next steps.
So individual stories get drowned out—especially when propaganda and disinformation compete for attention and attempt to frame Ukraine primarily through corruption narratives or other distrust cues. The human voices that cut through are not speeches or slogans, but schoolteachers, farmers, doctors, animal rescuers, and children—especially those directly impacted by displacement and war.
We do not hear from ordinary people regularly, and that shapes how the world is perceived. Public perception affects domestic politics.
If we look internationally, especially at countries with prior stakes in Ukraine, the scale and framing of aid become central to political debate. Discussions about American military and humanitarian assistance fluctuate with congressional decisions, executive priorities, and election cycles. Even when assistance continues, public understanding of its scope often depends more on political messaging than on budget tables.
When considering the balance between statistical records and human narrative, it is useful to examine different leadership styles: the Trump administration, the Carney administration in Canada, the Zelensky administration in Ukraine, and more autocratic systems such as Putin’s Russia.
In the United States, across ideological lines, human stories are a staple of political communication. Presidents, senators, and other officials frequently highlight personal narratives. State of the Union addresses, congressional hearings, and campaign rallies often feature victims, survivors, and witnesses. Politicians retell individual stories in speeches to demonstrate empathy and identification with voters.
This approach is embedded in American political strategy. Even leaders who have been criticized for indifference or disregard for facts have relied heavily on personal anecdotes as rhetorical devices. Donald Trump, in particular, has used branding and emotionally resonant stories to frame his positions. He has met with survivors of violence, illness, or war, and referenced them publicly to illustrate policy arguments. The technique works at an emotional level, even when audiences recognize its performative elements.
In Western Europe, this style is generally less dominant, though some leaders have adopted elements of it. European political discourse often emphasizes policy substance, institutional process, and data-driven argumentation. This approach can be effective in countering disinformation. However, it can widen the perceived gap between governing elites and the public when emotional identification is absent.
That perceived disconnect has political consequences. Even if decisions are informed by polling and public consultation, leaders who do not foreground individual stories may appear distant or technocratic. In times of war, where statistics can overwhelm empathy, the absence of a visible human narrative can deepen the sense that policy debates are detached from lived experience.
That does not necessarily mean these leaders are poor at governing, although in some cases governance has been uneven, which helps explain current political turbulence. Optics matter. Perception can be as consequential as policy, especially in a 24-hour media cycle where narrative spreads instantly and continuously.
Carney faces a related challenge. He is a capable and rhetorically effective speaker. However, his public style tends to emphasize policy, systems, and institutional responsibility rather than foregrounding individual, emotionally resonant stories. In that sense, his approach aligns more closely with European technocratic leadership than with the American tradition of embedding policy arguments in personal narratives.
Authoritarian leaders operate differently. Vladimir Putin, for example, more often appeals to national mythology, historical destiny, and collective identity than to individual stories. Russia’s political culture has long emphasized collective narratives over individual grievance, and authoritarian governance benefits from subsuming personal loss into national purpose. It is easier to frame sacrifice abstractly than to answer publicly to grieving families.
Even so, authoritarian leaders cannot entirely ignore the human element. Putin has periodically staged public encounters designed to project relatability—meetings with teachers, large families, or selected citizens—to reinforce legitimacy. These gestures function less as open dialogue and more as curated symbolism.
Similarly, Kim Jong-un has made highly publicized visits with families of North Korean soldiers sent abroad, including those reportedly fighting in support of Russia. In such systems, the purpose is not accountability but narrative control: projecting the image of a paternal leader guiding and protecting the nation.
The motives differ between democratic and authoritarian systems. Yet across systems, leaders recognize that some degree of visible human engagement—authentic or performative—is politically necessary. Even when policy is driven by strategy and statistics, the appearance of care remains indispensable.
In authoritarian societies, these humanizing narratives are less about bridging a gap between elites and the public, and more about inspiring the public with examples that reinforce collective identity. The goal is often to connect citizens to a shared national story, rather than to create accountability between government and governed.
Jacobsen: Do you see common threads of effective communication, regardless of the type of regime or system of governance?
Tsukerman: Any effective system must project, at a minimum, that human lives matter in some capacity. In democratic systems, that may be framed in terms of individual rights, happiness, security, and prosperity. In authoritarian systems, it may be framed as service to the nation, sacrifice for collective strength, or fulfillment of historical destiny.
If a regime conveys that individual lives have no value at all, that they are expendable, it risks cultivating nihilism. We see elements of that in Russia today. Even authoritarian governments recognize that unchecked cynicism is destabilizing. That is why, no matter how repressive or violent a system may be in practice, its public rhetoric rarely embraces open indifference. Official messaging continues to reference dignity, patriotism, family, or sacrifice.
There is a difference between rhetoric and action. Authoritarian regimes may commit human rights abuses, mass atrocities, or war crimes, yet still avoid openly declaring that human life is meaningless. Narrative legitimacy requires at least the appearance of valuing human beings.
Jacobsen: That is a good place to end for today. Thank you.
Tsukerman: Thank you. Stay safe, and I look forward to continuing the conversation.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen is a contributor to The Washington Outsider. He is the Founder and Publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978–1–0692343; 978–1–0673505) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369–6885). He writes for International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN, 0018–7399; Online: ISSN, 2163–3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), Humanist Perspectives (ISSN: 1719–6337), A Further Inquiry (SubStack), Vocal, Medium, The Good Men Project, The New Enlightenment Project, The Washington Outsider, rabble.ca, and other media. His bibliography index can be found via the Jacobsen Bank at In-Sight Publishing comprised of more than 10,000 articles, interviews, and republications, in more than 200 outlets. He has served in national and international leadership roles within humanist and media organizations, held several academic fellowships, and currently serves on several boards. He is a member in good standing in numerous media organizations, including the Canadian Association of Journalists, PEN Canada (CRA: 88916 2541 RR0001), Reporters Without Borders (SIREN: 343 684 221/SIRET: 343 684 221 00041/EIN: 20–0708028), and others.