Leading Through Crisis: A Personal Reflection on Engineering Leadership During the Onset of the Russia-Ukraine War

The role of a technology leader is often filled with metrics, OKRs, and product delivery milestones. But nothing prepares you for leading through a war.

When Russia invaded Ukraine in early 2022, the world changed—swiftly, violently, and permanently. For those of us leading global engineering teams, the war was not just a geopolitical event broadcast on screens—it was personal. It entered our morning standups, our Slack messages, our spreadsheets, and our hearts. We found ourselves not only managing businesses but safeguarding people. Engineers. Friends. Families.

This article isn’t about politics. It’s about people. It’s about leadership during a time of chaos. It’s about learning how little a well-crafted continuity plan can matter when the world catches fire, and how much human connection and compassion mean when systems fail.

The Fallacy of the Plan

Like many companies with a global footprint, we had continuity plans in place for potential regional instability. On paper, they were comprehensive: relocation options, backups for team responsibilities, redundant infrastructure, communication trees. They were made to look good in an audit.

But no amount of color-coded risk planning or scenario modeling truly prepared us for the reality of war.

When the invasion began, everything changed in a matter of hours. Airports closed. Roads were blocked. Teams went dark. People fled with nothing but their passports and whatever they could carry. The plans fell apart not because they were bad, but because they assumed war would look like a business problem. It didn’t. It looked like a child crying in a freezing van at the Polish border. It looked like an engineer sending in their final pull request before losing internet access in Kyiv.

The Spreadsheet of Humanity

One of the earliest responses we cobbled together was a shared spreadsheet—a living document where we tracked every engineer and their family, by name, location, risk level, needs, and status. It was updated multiple times a day.

What started as a tool for coordination quickly became something else entirely: a lifeline. It carried fear and hope in equal measure. “Arrived safely in Lviv with two kids.” “Looking for transport from Mariupol—low battery.” “Crossed border. Safe.”

Each row in that sheet represented a life, a story, and a responsibility we bore not just as managers, but as fellow human beings.

We worked across time zones to secure transport, approve emergency stipends, reroute work, and communicate constantly. Engineering directors became informal immigration advisors. Product owners helped book hotels. HR coordinated safe houses. The lines between roles vanished.

Engineering Through Conflict

And yet—amid the fear and displacement—we still had a business to run.

Product deadlines didn’t pause. Customers still expected delivery. Investor expectations remained high. The tension between business continuity and humanitarian crisis was unbearable at times.

But something extraordinary happened.

Engineers wrote code from bomb shelters. Teammates covered for each other with a grace that transcended borders. A Russian engineer would ship features in collaboration with a Ukrainian colleague. They didn’t speak of the war—they spoke of commits, PRs, and sprint velocity. The professionalism, resilience, and courage on display was unlike anything I had seen before.

But let’s be clear: this wasn’t normal. It shouldn’t have been necessary. No one should have to ship software while protecting their children from air raids. Yet they did. And we made sure they didn’t have to do it alone.

Compassion Over Control

The first lesson I learned: let go of the illusion of control.

You cannot manage a war like a program. Instead, you lead by being present, available, and adaptable. You communicate often—more than feels natural. You listen, even when there’s no solution. You offer options without assumptions. You give your people the dignity to make choices for themselves.

Some engineers needed to keep working—it was a tether to normalcy. Others needed to disappear for a while. We didn’t question either.

We offered financial support without red tape. We reassigned work without guilt. We redefined productivity in human terms. Compassion became a key business metric.

Bridging Divides

Perhaps the most emotionally complex aspect of that time was leading a team split between countries now technically at war.

On Slack, Russians and Ukrainians sat side-by-side. Some were horrified. Some were silent. Some were angry. It wasn’t our place to impose narratives, but it was our duty to maintain safety and mutual respect.

We enforced a code of conduct with clarity. We reminded everyone of the shared mission. We provided safe channels to speak—and safe channels to not speak. In some cases, we rearranged team compositions to minimize unnecessary strain. We led with empathy, not ideology.

And we kept delivering.

The Toll of Leadership

Behind every act of care was a leader making a hard call. In my case, I didn’t sleep much. My phone never left my side. I checked the spreadsheet before brushing my teeth. Every new name added felt like a weight.

I saw the emotional burden in my peers too—directors breaking down in 1:1s, managers terrified for their reports, HR partners drowning in emergency requests. We supported each other the best we could.

Leadership is often romanticized. In truth, it is lonely, relentless, and painfully human—especially in a crisis. But I would do it again, without hesitation.

Lessons That Endure

Some lessons from that time will never leave me:

1. Plans matter. People matter more. Your documentation won’t listen while people's lives fall apart.
2. Communication is leadership. Silence during chaos breeds fear. Speak. Often.
3. Decentralize care. Empower everyone to help. Leadership scales when compassion does.
4. Engineering culture transcends borders. Shared goals and mutual respect carry more weight than political lines.
5. There is no playbook for empathy. Write it live, with your team, in real time.

The Future

As the war continues to cast its shadow, our teams have evolved. Some relocated permanently. Some returned.

But something has changed in all of us.

We now lead with more humility. We see the humans behind the code. We remember the fragility of what we once took for granted. And we build—not just for market share—but for meaning.

To every engineer who trusted us during that time: thank you.

To every leader who showed up and stood strong: I see you.

To anyone reading this who wonders what real leadership looks like—it’s this: not perfection, not power, but presence.