As the full-scale invasion of Ukraine enters its fourth grueling year, the international community is witnessing a catastrophic convergence of threats that places the nation’s women and girls in unprecedented peril. While the world’s attention often fixates on the shifting front lines of the military conflict, a more insidious and multi-layered “triple crisis” is unfolding behind the scenes. This crisis—defined by relentless military violence, the systematic destruction of energy infrastructure, and a sudden, devastating withdrawal of international funding—threatens to dismantle the very foundations of female safety and empowerment in the region.
The statistics emerging from the conflict zones are staggering. Since the escalation of hostilities, official records confirm that more than 5,000 women and girls have lost their lives, while another 14,000 have sustained life-altering injuries. Perhaps most chilling is the revelation that 2025 was the deadliest year for civilians since the invasion began, suggesting that the conflict is not winding down, but rather intensifying in its brutality. Humanitarian observers warn, however, that these figures are likely conservative estimates; the true death toll, buried under the rubble of occupied territories and frontline towns, is almost certainly much higher.
This physical danger is compounded by a second, environmental crisis: the weaponization of winter. As the mercury drops, the systematic targeting of Ukraine’s power grid has left millions in a state of perpetual cold and darkness. In the heart of Kyiv, the reality of this infrastructure war is written in the daily lives of the elderly and the vulnerable. Valentina, a 76-year-old resident of the capital, exemplifies the quiet desperation of thousands. In her apartment, the heating has been dead for days, and electricity flickers to life for only sixty minutes in every twenty-four-hour cycle. With no other recourse, she sits by a gas stove, using the small blue flame to ward off a deep, systemic chill. Her story is not an isolated incident; it is the standard of living for a population being pushed to the brink of endurance.
However, the most structural threat—and the third pillar of this triple crisis—is the rapid collapse of financial support for women-led organizations (WLOs) and women’s rights groups. For years, these grassroots entities have served as the primary responders on the ground, providing everything from psychological counseling and domestic violence shelters to the distribution of hygiene kits and winter clothing. They are the “first responders” of the social sector, often operating in areas where international NGOs find it too dangerous or logistically difficult to go.
A recent, comprehensive report titled “The Impact of Foreign Assistance Cuts on Women’s Rights and Women-Led Organizations in Ukraine” highlights a terrifying fiscal cliff. Compiled by the Gender in Humanitarian Action (GiHA) Working Group—a collaborative effort between UN Women, NGO Girls, and CARE Ukraine—the report documents a massive retreat in international donor interest. Current projections suggest that Ukrainian women-led organizations will lose at least USD 52.9 million by the end of 2026. This is not merely a budgetary line item; it is a death knell for essential services.
The survey results from these organizations paint a bleak picture of the near future. One in three women-led organizations warned that, under current funding trajectories, they will likely cease to exist within the next six months. If these organizations collapse, the void they leave will be catastrophic. It is estimated that at least 63,000 women and girls who currently rely on these groups for life-saving assistance will be cut off from help in 2026.
The timing of this funding withdrawal could not be worse. As the energy crisis worsens, the operational costs for these NGOs have skyrocketed. Running a shelter or a community center now requires expensive generators, fuel, and satellite communication tools to bypass the frequent blackouts. Staff members, who are themselves living through the trauma of war and the physical hardships of the energy shortage, are being asked to do more with less. The psychological toll on these humanitarian workers is immense, yet they remain the last line of defense for the most marginalized segments of society.
The impact of these cuts is not distributed evenly. Those living in rural and front-line areas, where the state’s reach is thinnest, will be hit first. Older women, who often live alone and struggle with mobility, will lose the home-visit services that provide them with food and medicine. Women-headed households, already struggling with a wartime economy and the loss of male breadwinners, will find their safety nets shredded. Furthermore, women and girls with disabilities—a group that faces unique challenges in navigating bomb shelters and evacuation routes—will find themselves increasingly isolated from specialized protection and aid.
This financial retreat also threatens the long-term future of Ukraine’s recovery. UN Women Executive Director Sima Bahous has been vocal about the necessity of maintaining these local structures. She emphasizes that women’s organizations are not just service providers; they are the architects of a just peace. According to Bahous, these organizations are the force behind sustaining dignity and hope. She notes that current funding cuts are effectively severing life-saving operations at a moment when they are needed most. Without the active participation and leadership of these local women’s groups, any post-war recovery effort risks being gender-blind, failing to address the specific needs and rights of half the population.
The “triple crisis” highlights a fundamental flaw in the global humanitarian response: the tendency for donor fatigue to set in just as the long-term, systemic needs of a population become most acute. In the early days of the invasion, funding flowed freely. Now, four years later, as the war becomes a “protracted conflict” in the eyes of the world, the focus is shifting elsewhere, leaving local organizations to wither.
To address this, advocates are calling for a radical shift in how aid is distributed. They argue that “localization”—the process of ensuring that funds go directly to local, women-led groups rather than being absorbed by large international intermediaries—is the only way to ensure the sustainability of Ukraine’s social fabric. Investing in these organizations is an investment in the resilience of the nation itself.
As the international community debates the geopolitics of the conflict, the women of Ukraine are fighting a different kind of war—a war against freezing temperatures, against the trauma of loss, and against an increasingly empty treasury. The collapse of 63,000 individual lifelines is not a statistical probability; it is an impending reality unless there is an immediate and sustained reversal of the current funding trends.
The story of Valentina in her dark, cold apartment is a testament to the endurance of the Ukrainian spirit, but it is also a warning. Hope and endurance have their limits. Without the robust support of the global community and the restoration of funding to the women-led organizations that provide the backbone of civilian protection, the cost of this war will continue to be measured in the lives and futures of the women and girls left behind in the shadows. The crisis is no longer just about military hardware or territorial gains; it is about whether the world will allow the most vulnerable to be trapped by the triple weight of war, energy deprivation, and financial abandonment.
