In Belgorod and Kursk regions, the air raid sirens frequently go off, signaling a missile threat. Residents are required to take shelter in bomb shelters, and for students, this often means interrupted lectures. In university dormitories, rooms originally meant for students are now being used as temporary housing for refugees, leaving some students without accommodations.
Universities are recruiting volunteers to help clear debris after shelling, weave camouflage nets, and make trench candles.
Together with The New Tab (Novaya Vkladka), Groza investigates how the war with Ukraine has changed education in border-region universities and how students and professors have begun to adapt to it.
After February 2022, Russian universities and colleges introduced new subjects related to the war. In September 2024, vocational colleges implemented a mandatory course called “Fundamentals of Security and Homeland Defense”.
Arina, a first-year student at the vocational college affiliated with Kursk State Agricultural University, explains that in “Fundamentals of Security and Homeland Defense”, they are being prepared for war: students disassemble rifles, listen to lectures on military regulations, and address their teacher in a military manner.
Arina says their teacher is realistic about the war:
“He doesn’t tell us fairy tales about how we’ll win — he tells us about reality. And honestly, that’s kind of reassuring,” she says.
Some professors fully support these initiatives. Victoria, professor at Kursk Medical University, says:
“I support all of this because patriotic education is gaining momentum in our country, and we should remember and embrace it. But in my case, students have never been pulled from my classes. <...> And honestly, if they were, I wouldn’t have a problem letting them go.”
Despite the increasing military rhetoric in universities, some professors insist that it hasn’t affected their teaching. Dmitry, who teaches at a university in Belgorod, believes that technical subjects allow instructors to avoid discussing the war altogether.
“We professors have been careful with our words for a long time — even before the Special Military Operation began. The days when you could say whatever you wanted in front of students and their parents ended long before Special Military Operation. But I wouldn’t say I weigh every word in my lectures. You get tired of being afraid all the time,” Dmitry admits.
“I go on shifts every day, except when my studies don’t allow it. But even then, I try to go for at least a couple of hours to help,” said Ksenia Muravyova in an interview with Pyat Uglov.
“I don’t think it’s dangerous because we had doctors with us, and there were plenty of people who could provide first aid. And if an air raid alert started, we all went to a shelter and waited it out,” he said.
At Kursk State Medical University (KSMU), students participate in supporting the military, such as by weaving camouflage nets. Between October and December 2024, the university’s VK page posted at least eight updates about these activities. According to Anatoly, a KSMU student, participation is voluntary. Another student, Inga, said that students are sometimes offered the chance to leave class to participate:
“Usually, they ask for volunteers during PE class or breaks if there’s a free period. I don’t know if anyone from my circle has done it — I never have. I haven’t heard of anyone being forced; it seems like people help on their own,” Inga said.
At the Kursk State Agricultural University (KSAU) vocational College, students are involved in sorting humanitarian aid. Arina, a student at KGAU, said she doesn’t know exactly what happens there, as female students are not included.
“Most of the guys go voluntarily. Maybe they just want to skip class. <...> I think they sort donations and carry boxes with humanitarian aid,” she explained.
University students are also involving young children in their pro-military activities. In late December, activists from the Mercy Movement at Southwest State University (SWSU) in Kursk visited a kindergarten, where they helped children make Christmas ornaments for Russian soldiers. Earlier, students from SWSU’s Department of Communicology and Psychology met with preparatory group children and encouraged them to write letters to Russian troops.
The official VK page of the Kursk branch of the Financial University under the Government of Russia regularly highlights student volunteers assisting at the Northern Desant humanitarian aid distribution center. However, Alla, a student at the university, said that participation is strictly voluntary, and neither she nor her friends had ever taken part.
Due to the war, medical students in Kursk are now allowed to study remotely, and their admission to performing medical procedures has been simplified following the state of emergency declared on August 7, 2024, after Ukrainian forces entered the Kursk region.
According to Inga, a student at Kursk State Medical University (KSMU), some students take online classes because they work or volunteer in hospitals in Kursk. Since the beginning of the academic year, universities and vocational colleges in Kursk have been allowed to choose their teaching format — either in-person or online. In October 2024, an additional option was introduced: students working or volunteering in hospitals, military medical facilities, refugee centers, and the Red Cross could extend their online studies.
Anatoly, a KSMU student who works as a nurse, says that balancing work and studies is manageable, though night shifts leave him exhausted. He believes that distance learning does not harm medical education, as long as students are motivated to study.
“If you’re taking online classes and you’re motivated to learn, you’ll succeed,” he explains.
Not all professors share this view. Victoria, a professor at KSMU believes volunteering during studies isn’t ideal, as students miss valuable classroom discussions and direct interaction with instructors.
“As a practicing physician, I always try to show presentations, give real-life examples, and use photographs in my lectures. Of course, they miss a lot. But as a citizen, I think they are doing everything right. <...> Right now, the help they provide is more important,” she says.
Anatoly had left for vacation in St. Petersburg before Ukrainian forces entered the Kursk region. While there, he enjoyed the calm and normalcy of city life. However, when he returned home in early August, he was greeted by a missile alert siren. “Fantastic, what a beautiful welcome home,” he jokes.
During the first few days of the Ukrainian advance, Anatoly had to comfort his girlfriend, but soon they both got used to it.
“Now, I don’t even care about missile alerts or sirens anymore. <...> You just stop paying attention. The explosions don’t even sound as loud anymore,” he says.
After Ukrainian forces entered the Kursk region, many residents from border areas were evacuated. Some were housed in student dormitories, just as had happened in Belgorod in 2023, when students from Belgorod State University (BelSU) and Belgorod State Technological University (BSTU) named after Shukhov were forcibly relocated to make room for evacuees.
At the same time, university administrations were reluctant to provide dormitory housing to their own faculty members displaced by the war. According to Dmitry, a professor at a Belgorod university, some of his colleagues had been living in Shebekino, a town heavily shelled by Ukrainian forces, and were not immediately given rooms in dormitories upon evacuation.
“One professor ended up in a temporary shelter with worse conditions than a student dorm. Imagine being placed in a tiny room with four other people, including an elderly woman who won’t let you open a window. No ventilation. Your eyes burn from the stuffiness. I helped out at the shelters during the shelling — distributing food, assisting in the cafeteria. One of my colleagues was placed in a summer camp barrack, where there was no proper internet. Only when other faculty members intervened was he finally moved to a student dormitory,” Dmitry says.
In Kursk, temporary shelters were set up in four universities: Kursk State University (KSU), Kursk State Medical University (KSMU), Kursk State Agricultural University (KSAU), and Southwest State University (SWSU). As a result, student housing became scarce.
Arina, a first-year student at KSAU, says she was not given a dormitory room immediately. When she finally moved in, she found that living conditions had changed drastically due to the evacuees from border towns.
“To be honest, people from the shelters have gotten a little too comfortable. They smoke in the hallways, even though it’s not allowed. They leave trash everywhere — in the bathrooms, in the kitchen,” she says.
Because renting an apartment in Kursk near her university was too expensive, Arina initially stayed in her hometown when her university switched to remote learning. When in-person classes resumed on October 16, she moved into the dormitory, but on the condition that she renovate her room at her own expense.
“The rooms we got hadn’t been lived in for at least five years. They were completely unlivable,” she recalls.
A video of Arina’s dorm room obtained by journalists shows mold on the walls, peeling wallpaper, and an empty space with no furniture. According to Arina, getting basic furnishings like beds was a battle, as dorm administrators claimed they were reserved for evacuees.
Arina is frustrated that air raid alerts frequently interrupt lectures, preventing professors from fully covering the material.
“Sometimes there are three or four missile alerts a day, each lasting 30 minutes, an hour, or 40 minutes. That’s half a class lost. And quite often, we’ve lost entire lectures because of them,” she says.
One night, Arina dreamed that a missile alert started while she was in her dorm room. Then, someone knocked on her door, telling her to evacuate. Arina recalled that it had been so loud that she initially thought she was dreaming, but then she realized that the sirens were actually blaring. Although she still feels uneasy during air raid alerts, she admits that she no longer finds them as terrifying as before.
“At this point, we’re used to it. It’s the same thing every day, over and over. It’s not even scary anymore,” she says.
Anastasia, a student at Kursk State University (KSU), says that she first heard the sirens in early 2024. At times, classes were canceled entirely. During the summer of 2024, when Ukrainian forces captured the town of Sudzha, she felt genuinely afraid — but later, she adapted. “I just mentally disconnected from it,” she explains.
However, she still feels anxious at night when air defenses are active.
“When we have in-person classes, they either take us to a basement shelter because of the frequent alerts, or we stay in the hallways, so part of the lecture is always lost. But we don’t panic — we just hope for the best,” Anastasia says.
Inga, a student at KSMU, believes the air raid alerts are too brief to significantly impact education.
“Yes, air raid warnings still happen during classes, but they usually last no more than 10 minutes. When they do, we go to the basement or to a room without windows, or sometimes we just step into the hallway, and by the time we get there, the alert is already lifted. As soon as it’s over, we go straight back to class,” she explains.
According to the Emergency Alert Telegram channel, sirens in Kursk went off several times a day between December and January, lasting anywhere from one minute to several hours.
Dmitry, a professor in Belgorod, believes that brief interruptions due to air raid alerts do not significantly harm students' education.
“Not every minute of class is pure gold. <...> There’s a lot of deadweight knowledge in universities — pure scholasticism. I don’t see anything sacred in missing a few minutes of a lecture,” he says.
He recalls a day when he had to take multiple taxis between different university buildings — but his rides were canceled three times because of missile alerts.
Valentin, a professor at Kursk State University (KSU), believes that students' education depends on their own motivation. Valentin admitted that the first few missile alerts had been unsettling, but said that now they just took them in stride.
“If we start a seminar discussion, and an alert sends us to the shelter, we just continue the discussion underground. At first, it was disruptive, but now it’s just part of our routine,” Valentin explains.
Victoria, a professor at KSMU, says she and her students have fully adjusted to the new learning format.
“Sometimes, we had to reschedule classes. After an alert ended, students would come to me, and we tried to maintain a flexible class schedule. Even though we have fixed class times, I have my own teaching space, so students could come when they were available,” she explains.
Not every educational institution has bomb shelters, and in some cases, students are not even informed about their existence. Arina, a first-year student at the Kursk State Agricultural University (KSAU) vocational College, says she doesn't know if her college has a shelter. It is not marked on the city's map of shelters, and most often, during missile alerts, students hide in hallways or on the first floor.
Anastasia, a student at Kursk State University (KSU), confirms that there is a shelter in her university, but it is too small. “There’s no way it can hold the number of students we have,” she says.
Despite its proximity to the Ukrainian border, Kursk Pedagogical Vocational College does not have any shelters. The closest one is in a nearby shopping mall. Darya, a student at the Pedagogical Vocational College, says that by November 2024, the security situation in the city had worsened, with louder explosions.
“Nothing has changed with our classes — we still go to a windowless hallway during air raid alerts, to a place considered safe,” she explains.
Although she has gotten used to the security situation, she says it has taken a toll on her health, and she now suffers from stress-induced headaches.
Alla, a student at the Kursk branch of the Financial University under the Government of Russia, says there is no shelter in her building, but she believes staying on the first floor during missile alerts is safe enough. According to Alla, the situation in November became calmer compared to September — fewer explosions were heard, and missile warnings were less frequent. She believes air defense systems in Kursk are working effectively.
“At first, it was terrifying because you’d wake up in the middle of the night to the shaking windows. Sometimes there are small explosions, and we’ve already learned to tell what exploded, where it happened, whether it was on the ground or in the sky, and how far away it was. Sometimes, there are louder explosions, and that makes you nervous — especially if you're outside when air defense systems activate. That can be a little unsettling, but not too much,” she says.
Alla believes that this situation barely affects education:
“I take it completely in stride. Sure, the siren is blaring — but so what? There are explosions sometimes. We've all gotten used to it by now, I think,” she says.