In times of war, myths and reality collide, creating a murky space where truth often gets distorted. This murkiness is all too familiar for Wali, whose last name we are withholding to protect his safety and that of his family. He has dedicated himself to unraveling the myths that have grown around the Ukraine-Russia war. Wali identifies the belief that Russia operates with good intentions as the most dangerous myth—a notion he outright rejects as baseless. Equally absurd, he argues, is the Russian propaganda that paints Ukraine’s Jewish president, Volodymyr Zelensky, as a neo-Nazi.

Through our conversation, Wali shared his reflections on humility, collaboration, and the importance of truthful narratives in war. He firmly rejects the exaggerated stories of his accomplishments as a sniper, emphasizing instead the collective sacrifices of soldiers on the front lines. Wali delves into the psychological weight of combat, the moral complexities of retaliation, and his criticism of Russia’s reliance on bluffing as a military strategy. He speaks with conviction about the necessity of defeating Russian aggression to prevent future conflicts and highlights spirituality as a source of resilience for soldiers and civilians alike. Wali passionately advocates for financial and mental health support for veterans, concluding with a profound statement on the sacredness of freedom and the need to place humanity above geopolitical considerations.

Scott Douglas Jacobsen: What, in your opinion, stands as the biggest myth surrounding the Ukraine-Russia war today? Additionally, on a broader scale, what would you identify as the most enduring myth about war in general?

Wali: The biggest myth is that the Russians have good faith in peace because many still believe it, especially in the West. There’s still naivety. I don’t get it. Even Trump is naive; I don’t think he hates Ukraine that much. Maybe he does, which is possible. But many people are still naive about the idea that the Russians genuinely want peace. And that’s dangerous thinking.

It’s all about a show of strength with Russia. It’s sad. I don’t enjoy saying this. Even I was naive at first. Maybe you remember the presentation. I thought, “Oh, it’s just propaganda. They’re not committing atrocities.” But then I was being bombed by Russians while saying this to Ukrainians.

So, the idea that Russia has good faith, that they want peace, and that the troublemakers are the West or the “Nazis” in Ukraine—this is the biggest myth of the war so far.

Jacobsen: One of the most absurd claims to emerge from this war is the portrayal of Zelensky as a neo-Nazi. The irony here is undeniable—labeling a Jewish leader, who also had a career as a comedian, with such a term. Do you believe this piece of propaganda has lost its effectiveness, or does it still retain some influence in certain areas?

Wali: Oh, yes, that’s absurd.

Jacobsen: You’ve been candid about the myths surrounding your role in the war. How do you personally reconcile the public’s perception of you as a heroic figure with your understanding of yourself as simply a soldier fulfilling his duties?

Wali: I would choose this one if your question were about the most ridiculous myth.

Jacobsen: That narrative seems to have faded somewhat. Fewer people now seem to believe the neo-Nazi myth. While it’s no longer the most prominent myth, it remains the most ridiculous. You mentioned during your presentation here in Toronto today—or tonight—that myths have also formed around you.

Wali: One of them is that I’m the best sniper in Canada, which is a myth. The usual myth is about me being the best sniper in the “world.”

Jacobsen: In military storytelling, there is a strong tendency to elevate individuals to near-mythical figures. In your case, the title of “best sniper” has generated a host of fantastical stories. How do you keep a sense of reality amid the swirl of exaggerated accounts?

Wali: Exactly. In my book, I talk about these things. You cannot be “the best sniper,” technically. If you take a group of people and assign them comparable missions—like shooting targets—it’s a measure of skill at that moment. It’s like athletes. Who’s the best skier right now? It’s not the guy who hasn’t skied in 10 years but used to be good. That’s me. I know how to train people to become good skiers or snipers, but I’m not technically the best now. It’s impossible because I need to train regularly. I only shoot a few times a year. Now, I’m coding technologies—that’s what I do.

In my book, I explain this difference. There’s a distinction between being a hero and a good soldier. A hero is also a good storyteller and a good writer. Many people I know have worse stories, so to speak, than me, but they’re either killed, too busy surviving, or not good storytellers. The difference between a hero and a good soldier is that the hero is a good storyteller and writer.

Jacobsen: It’s a mastery of narrative.

Wali: All the stories in the book and documentary are a glimpse at what many other soldiers are going through. It would help if you always had their stories.

Jacobsen: For someone in your position, where you act as a kind of spokesperson, how do you ensure you maintain humility while navigating the complexities of such a role?

Wali: Yes. You must be humble, remember that you’re just one piece of the puzzle, and don’t inflate yourself. That’s why I never wanted to take this propaganda too far because I saw the media trying to push the narrative: “Are you sure you killed, let’s say, Russians? Are you sure?” The typical question was about me shooting 40 Russians a day. They still insist and tell stories like, “You’ve killed so many guys.” They want to be the first to report it in the news, saying I killed dozens.

Jacobsen: That’s an insightful point. Even amid war, it’s critical to avoid propping up a self-mythology. It’s essential to remain accurate and to maintain the correct moral framework rather than overinflating narratives. In some cases, inflating stories can stoke the flames of war.

Wali: Yes. I believe in karma. It’s interesting—tonight, a lady gave me a cross. I’m touched by it because I’m a believer.

Jacobsen: Describe it for us.

Wali: It’s a Christian cross that a lady gave me tonight. I’m touched by it. I have a few similar artifacts from Ukraine. I still have things that I touched the corpses of dead soldiers with, and they’re still in my cabin, by the way. We are imperfect but must strive to be as close to perfection as possible.

One thing to strive for is humility. Let’s be honest; I fought for a few months. Come on. It’s impossible that I’m this “hero” they’re talking about. I’m just a guy—a good soldier. That’s it. But it’s still good. I’m not a bad soldier, either. I’m a good soldier, among others, who is a good storyteller.

Jacobsen: Certain reactions in war seem almost automatic. For instance, the person who runs away from danger compared to the one who charges toward it. The individual who charges toward it and survives often receives honors like the Purple Heart or something similar. Would you agree that such actions are not always fully conscious choices?

Wali: Some people say that war is part of human nature. But when you’re on the front line, seeing these terrible things and feeling the immense pressure, you want to pull back and run away. Then you realize—it’s not natural. It’s not something inherent in humans.

Jacobsen: Have you encountered people who seem to enjoy war?

Wali: Yes, sometimes you can enjoy parts of it. For example, you might enjoy an hour or a moment. Let’s say you push back the enemy—you might enjoy that part of the story. But the rest of it? You won’t enjoy it. Usually, if someone tells me they enjoyed, let’s say, a battle in Ukraine, or if they seem to enjoy it based on how they write, describe it, or speak about it, that’s a red flag for me. It signals they probably weren’t involved in serious combat. Those involved in the big battles in Ukraine are usually humble. They’re often broken. They don’t display confidence; instead, they’re shattered in a way.

Jacobsen: What’s the fundamental difference between those two states of being?

Wali: You mean the two states of intensity? If I pound you with artillery, tanks, and so on, and you lose many people around you—let’s say in a week—you probably won’t be bragging about it. If you do, you need to experience more to understand truly. Eventually, everyone can be broken. There’s no exception. I can be broken easily, too. There’s no way anyone can brag about being in a battle and claim it’s easy. No. It would help if you were scared. It’s about balancing being scared enough to protect yourself and not being too afraid that it paralyzes you. Recklessness is dangerous.

Jacobsen: No, what’s Mission 200?

Wali: I kept trying to tell people to be careful. Back then, it was all “Slava Ukraini! Let’s go forward!” But that led to what we called Mission 200. A “200” is code for KIA—killed in action—in the Soviet Union. A wounded in action is a “300.” In Ukraine, they called suicidal missions “200 missions” because they were essentially suicide missions. That’s what happened in 2022. People were still overly enthusiastic.

In June 2022, you were a young soldier full of energy and eagerness. However, that mindset often led to tragic outcomes. I love having a family. One of the worst things ever is going to war while having a family.

Jacobsen: Why is it more challenging with a family?

Wali: When you have a family, it’s tough. For me, it’s one of the hardest aspects of war.

Jacobsen: What are the emotions like before an operation? And what are the conversations?

Wali: Before an operation, the emotions are overwhelming. It’s one of the worst feelings in the world. You feel like running away and don’t care if you’ll be judged for it because it’s so hard—especially when you have a family.

My first deployment as a sniper in Canada was easy, mentally speaking, because I was single. I had no family and no responsibilities beyond myself. It was so much easier to deploy as a sniper in Kandahar.

Jacobsen: Did you enjoy it then?

Wali: Yes, to some extent. But I put “enjoy” in quotes. It’s not real joy.

Jacobsen: And Ukraine?

Wali: Ukraine was hard initially, especially mentally, because I had a family.

Jacobsen: How many children do you have, and how old are they?

Wali: I have two now. At the time of the full-scale invasion, I had one son. I love having a family, and I love my children. But knowing you’ll likely be wounded, killed, captured, or tortured—it’s one of the worst feelings ever.

I’m in awe when I see pictures or videos of Ukrainian soldiers returning to their families and their kids. They’re heroes. The pain they endure is unimaginable. If I got an email from the armed forces asking me to return tomorrow, I’d feel honored and happy. But at the same time, I wouldn’t feel happy at all because it would mean leaving my family behind again.

That possible sacrifice—the thought of leaving my family—is torture. There’s no word for it.

Jacobsen: There’s a principle there, though, of serving something higher than yourself—your family, for example.

Wali: Serving something higher than yourself is the core of it all.

Jacobsen: The majority of soldiers in most wars have historically been men. Even as discussions about gender equality progress, this fact largely holds true. Do you think that men who go to war benefit from having families or a sense of higher purpose, and could this serve as a potential deterrent to the outbreak of conflict?

Wali: Here’s the context. Between my two deployments in Ukraine, I spent some time in Ottawa. At one point, I came across something interesting.

I’ll explain. During that time, I was at the War Museum in Ottawa. It was about a sign explaining the recruitment of married men during WWI.

I found that fascinating because I was doing this as someone preparing for deployment, even though my wife didn’t want me to. I didn’t wait for her permission. Going to war is a significant decision, and it might be seen as a terrible thing to do to your family if you don’t consult them. But then again, children don’t have a full concept of war or its totality. However, the adult partner does, making it especially difficult for them. It’s a challenge for anyone not directly involved in the military.

Jacobsen: You’ve drawn fascinating comparisons between the myths of heroism in war and the complexities of figures like Nelson Mandela and Winston Churchill. How do you think their human flaws and imperfections inform our understanding of leadership and courage during moments of crisis?

Wali: For many, the anticipation is worse than the actual fight. When you are in the core of action, you’re so focused that you almost feel calm. I’ve said this to many soldiers. I’ve told them, “It would be a good day to die today.” In the moment, you feel strangely not stressed, even in the middle of it. I still remember that feeling. But beforehand, the anticipation is one of the worst feelings imaginable. Once in action, shockingly, it’s all right. It’s a service, after all.

Jacobsen: When conducting final rites or ceremonies for comrades who have fallen in combat, which words or symbols carry the greatest meaning for you? How do you personally summon the emotional strength required to honor their sacrifices?

Wali: I can relate to that deeply. I remember finding a typical Ukrainian icon card in the rubble there. I kept it inside my pocket, right over my heart.

When I came across corpses in Ukraine, I would take out the icon card and touch it during a small ritual. It became my way of honoring the dead. I believe in these things—they’re part of my spirituality.

Jacobsen: On the subject of myths, I find that when I read stories about you, they often feel like fiction rather than a living person’s reality.

Wali: The stories about me—both the good and the bad—are often so distorted that they lose all connection to reality. Social media plays a big role in this distortion. While there’s some truth online, it’s all about whether people act in good faith and verify information. Social media often prioritizes clicks and sensationalism.

On the other hand, while not perfect, traditional media tends to be more rigorous and nuanced. For example, social media might spread a rumor that “Russians killed him in Mariupol” or claim, “He shot a general,” like the one about a sniper killing a general in Irpin. These stories spiral out of control. It wasn’t me. But they said I shot a general.

Jacobsen: Psychologists describe it as the halo effect. One notable attribute—like physical appearance or an impressive skill—leads people to project other positive qualities onto the individual. For you, it starts with the title “best sniper,” which grows into stories about daring acts, killing generals, and even plans to assassinate Russian President Vladimir Putin. How do you personally view this tendency toward mythmaking?

Wali: The media amplified this. Some outlets asked, “Where is Wali?” and ran stories with varying degrees of nuance. Some headlines were outright sensational, while others tried to include some balance, but the foundation was still wrong. About 50% of traditional media outlets added some nuance but still leaned on the sensational side because it sells. Media is still a business; you need attention and clicks.

It’s tricky for media outlets because they want to tell the truth, but sometimes it is boring. During the Ukraine war, reporters would ask me, “Did you kill 40 Russians?” And when I’d say, “No, that’s not true,” some would push back, almost encouraging me to lie. They’d write the sensational story anyway and follow it up with another article calling me fake.

Jacobsen: Let’s clear the record, then. What are the main false statements or claims attributed to you?

Wali: The claim about being the best sniper in the world. I never, and I challenge anyone to prove otherwise, went around claiming to be “the best sniper.” Everyone was trying to pump up that narrative—journalists, the media. Still, I even called journalists back to tell them, “Please don’t write that I’m the best sniper. It’s insulting to other snipers. Come on!”

The only way you could justify saying something like that would be if I were in a trench with tanks coming at me; I took out two tanks, killed dozens of Russians, and then died heroically. Maybe then someone could call me one of the best. But as a professional soldier, I’ve always said, “Please don’t write that.” It’s unprofessional and sets the wrong tone for the military.

Jacobsen: It’s also worth emphasizing that these stories are not entirely truthful. Military operations are deeply collaborative efforts, and that’s something instilled in soldiers from the very start of basic training.

Wali: You need logisticians to plan missions, provide proper weapons and ammunition, and ensure accurate intel. It would help if you had all the machinery and unglamorous elements that support the sniper. The sniper is just the tip of the spear, the end product of a massive process.

When I think about my first deployment to Ukraine, I’d describe it as a “frustrating victory.” There were so many things I wanted to do, like coordinate artillery, but I couldn’t. The whole experience felt deeply frustrating.

We had no airstrikes. Well, we had some choppers here and there, but artillery—while possible—was complicated and hard to organize. I was seeing troops and thinking, “Give me a radio! If Afghanistan’s procedures were in place, I could destroy everything all day. It would be so easy. I’d send coordinates all day long behind tree lines. Forget the rifle; I would not need it.”

If I could have done that in Ukraine, it would have been a show. I knew exactly what to do, but I couldn’t because the procedures weren’t in place. It was incredibly frustrating. Many soldiers in Ukraine feel the same way, especially those in combat or near it. They’re not enthusiastic—they’re frustrated and angry.

Many men at the front complain about everything; they’re unhappy, even after victories. You’d talk to soldiers, even friends, and they were so negative about everything.

Jacobsen: It’s a bittersweet symphony of victory.

Wali: Everyone at the front felt the same—frustrated by everything. You can see the difference between someone stationed in Kyiv and someone involved in combat. The guy in combat is angry about everything, to the point where, during the bombing campaign in Kyiv in the fall of 2022, one of my friends laughed about it. He said, “Yes! You Kyiv people, now you’ll see that the war isn’t over. There’s still a war going on, and good for you—you’re getting bombed.”

Jacobsen: He was Ukrainian?

Wali: Yes, he was Ukrainian, and he was laughing about Kyiv civilians being bombed. That’s the reality of war. He was saying, “Good for you, now you see.” It reflects the trauma of war and the frustration soldiers feel. They want others to understand the reality because they feel the people in cities like Kyiv are disconnected from the frontlines.

Jacobsen: How are soldiers coping with the mental stress of war? We are talking about veterans who have PTSD, back from the war.

Wali: It’s easier than people think. Soldiers do need support—moral support—but at the end of the day, the thing they need most is money. Many of them are broke and need financial help to live. Eventually, Ukraine will need to send money to veterans, especially wounded ones, or create programs to support them. There could even be a PTSD crisis in Ukraine. I predict a major crisis eventually: fights, frustration, and domestic violence, especially as PTSD worsens.

Another issue I see coming up relates to drones. Right now, you see all these videos of drones dropping bombs on Russians, often set to music. They use these videos for propaganda. But over time, this could escalate into something more troubling.

The images—those drone videos—on paper, that’s a war crime. So maybe, let’s say there’s peace in six months. Both sides might say, “We must judge the war criminals.” Then you’ll have journalists or other people pointing out war crimes on the Ukrainian side, which is true. They might start looking at drone operators making fun of Russians being killed by drones and say, “You drone operators are going to be judged as war criminals.”

Imagine that. It’s not going to be good. These people who were protecting their country could be judged. I understand the reasoning somewhat, but we also need to show empathy. It’s going to be a tricky situation. Where do we draw the line between prosecuting war criminals on the Ukrainian side and granting amnesty? Where’s the threshold of acceptance? Is posting a video mocking a Russian being killed by a drone going too far?

Some people will push for extreme measures, saying, “We should prosecute anyone who committed even the tiniest war crime on paper.” I predict this will lead to trouble. That’s why I’ll continue to argue for supporting the soldiers financially. They need resources—money to meet basic needs.

Especially the broken ones, the ones who can’t work or contribute because they’re physically or mentally too damaged.

If we say, “Thank you for your service, but here’s no money, no support, and good luck,” it will be a disaster. These soldiers need meaningful support. They want money to survive.

Jacobsen: North America and Western Europe have significantly declined religious belief and spirituality in recent decades. Would you characterize the people of Ukraine and Russia as ordinary citizens who are generally spiritual or religious?

Wali: First, we need to define spirituality. Many people still think spirituality is the same as religion, but they’re two different things. Sometimes, people might say they’re not spiritual, but what they mean is that they don’t agree with religion, which is a valid perspective. Religions are organizations, and they sometimes do bad things.

Being spiritual is about finding meaning in life and improving yourself. The first step for any human is to be a better person—for yourself. What’s even more admirable is helping others. Going beyond just being a good person for yourself to actively helping others is one of the most challenging but honorable things to do.

Jacobsen: Would you describe Russians and Ukrainians as spiritual?

Wali: Ukrainians are comparable to many other people. They are not particularly spiritual. Still, they may have become more spiritual now because of the pain they’ve endured. Pain often leads to deeper reflection—asking why it happened and how to survive it. Resilience usually comes from spirituality.

Resilience is one of my key traits. I can be broken, but I don’t stay broken for long. I might feel weak but recover quickly and become mentally strong again. One reason for my resilience is my spirituality. When you have meaning behind what you do, it helps you make sense of many things.

It’s not just about protecting your health; it’s the truth—there’s real meaning in it. What Russia is doing, with its crimes and everything, isn’t just a political phenomenon. It isn’t good, spiritually speaking.

Jacobsen: So, everything comes back to being spiritual at some point?

Wali: Yes, exactly. Long answer, but yes.

Jacobsen: I’m trying to explore this idea: those who cause harm often believe they will face some divine reckoning. That belief seems tied more closely to institutional religion. What you’re describing, though, sounds more immediate—a personal and existential grappling with pain. Would you say this national moment of suffering is compelling people to confront deeper, more fundamental questions about their lives?

Wali: Yes. If you look at the Bible, the Jewish people exemplify resilience through spirituality. They were enslaved and beaten under Pharaoh. They didn’t have the means to fight against Pharaoh with an army, so they turned to spirituality—it became the only light in a dark sky. When hope is the only thing you have left, you become spiritual.

In parts of Ukraine occupied by Russia, people are becoming deeply spiritual out of necessity. They hold onto hope and think about relief and freedom. It’s a way to survive when there’s no other option.

Jacobsen: What would characterize two conditions: one for an unstable peace and one for a stable peace in this war?

Wali: In life, in general, on one side, there are ideas; on the other side, there is reality, and in between, there is what we call politics. Ideally, Ukraine regains all its territories, Putin is removed, and Russia is dismantled. But the reality is different. The person signing a peace agreement might face criticism because politics often requires compromise.

Ideally, a realistic peace means Ukraine reclaims Crimea and all territories within its borders. That’s the bottom line, paired with a clear balance of power and guarantees of protection from both sides. We cannot give away Ukrainian territories to Russia—it’s morally wrong and strategically disastrous in the long term.

If we give in and say, “Okay, you’ve pushed long enough; take the land,” we set a precedent. It’s like giving Russia—and anyone else—the recipe for winning wars through persistence. If we let them keep territory after a few years of resistance, others will notice and think, “Interesting. That’s how you get what you want.” Then we’ll see more wars. Allowing this to happen would create a cycle of conflict.

Russia needs to be punished; they need to lose what they’ve gained if they commit such crimes as they’ve done in this war. If we don’t punish this, there will be more wars. We’ll send a signal that it’s acceptable to invade other countries, start wars, and negotiate deals afterward to gain territories or resources.

We must take back everything—right now—and we can achieve it. Europe’s economy is about eight times larger than Russia’s. It’s not that we can’t do it; it’s a matter of whether we want to.

You were speaking about spirituality—or the lack thereof—in the West. This lack of support, this shyness from Western nations like Europe, Canada, and the United States, shows how weak we are spiritually. It’s unacceptable. What’s happening should not be tolerated. And it’s not even hard to help. Look at us—we’re sitting in a safe coffee shop. All we need to do is send some money and weapons. That’s it. It’s not a big sacrifice.

This is nothing compared to what’s at stake. We need to take back everything in Ukraine. That’s the bottom line—the absolute minimum.

If we do this and keep the sanctions in place, it will eventually lead to trouble within Russia’s regime. The data shows that Putin’s popularity rose when he gained territories like Crimea. But his popularity dropped when financial crises hit. When people suffer economically, they begin to question their government.

Right now, Russia’s economy is in bad shape. The ruble is unstable, and their financial situation is deteriorating. If we take back all the territories and defeat Russia, Putin won’t be able to say, “It was hard, but we did it. Now we have Crimea and Donbas.” If he loses, no one will view it as a victory.

The regime could crumble without any gains to show for it, combined with economic struggles. It’s sad to say, but simply replacing Putin will not fix things because this problem is cultural. Russians are heavily brainwashed. Replacing Putin with another leader might mean the same issues persist.

Partitioning Russia is needed. The country needs to crumble, disappear, and become part of history. In 20 or 50 years, I’d love for people to look at history books and ask, “What was this massive country called Russia?” It should be something we only remember as part of the past.

One day, people will say, “That country was called Russia. Why does it no longer exist? Why are there only tiny pieces of it left?” And the answer will be, “They caused so much trouble that, eventually, enough was enough. The world got tired of it, and we had to act. That’s why it was split up.”

It would be painful to do, but it’s necessary. Russia has been a constant troublemaker. In a sense, we’re still fighting the Second World War. What we’re dealing with now is an extension of that conflict—remnants of it. Trump’s pullback from U.S. commitments to protect Europe signaled the end of the post-World War II paradigm of the U.S. as Europe’s protector. What we’re seeing now is historic. It’s about finishing the job because Russia remains part of the problem.

It would help if you remembered that in Poland, at the start of the war, they weren’t the “good guys” either. Poland took part of Czechoslovakia when Hitler took it. However, defeating Germany was then a priority because it was comparable to the Soviet Union but worse. Germany under the Nazis was bad, but Italy under Mussolini and the Soviet Union under Stalin weren’t much better. It’s all relative. That said, the work isn’t finished. Russia should become part of history.

Eventually, a country can’t keep doing terrible things to others and expect to remain accepted as part of the international community. A nation must take responsibility for its actions. If it keeps causing harm, eventually, the world will retaliate and crush it. Look at Germany under the Nazis—it was destroyed because of its actions. That’s why I don’t have much empathy for Russia. At some point, they must stop making trouble and take responsibility.

Nobody’s perfect. Even Poland and Germany took parts of Czechoslovakia before the war. No country is blameless, but if you persist in being destructive, you can’t expect to survive as a nation. It’s sad, but Russia needs to be partitioned and consigned to history. Future generations will look at maps and ask, “What was this big country?” And the answer will be, “It was a bad country that caused so much trouble that we had to dismantle it.”

Jacobsen: But what about the nuclear threat from Russia? It would be best if you saw it as credible. Why?

Wali: Russia is all about showing off—a show of force. Let me tell you a story. At one point, when we were on the frontlines, Russian artillery was bombarding us, and Ukrainian artillery started firing back. It became a sort of macho display. The Russians would respond, “We’re still here, and we have more guns.” It’s like a competition to see who can look stronger, louder, or more powerful.

If Ukrainians fire three volleys, the Russians will escalate and try to prove superior. It’s all about appearances, not actual sophisticated tactics.

So, let’s say Ukrainians fire 20 rounds. You can almost feel the emotions of the Russians saying, “We’re going to send 50.” You see the destruction from their artillery—it’s all about showing force with no subtlety. The Russians are pretty predictable in this way. Their entire strategy is about projecting strength.

It’s about bluffing, showing massive numbers, resources, tanks, infantry, and artillery to create the illusion of overwhelming power. But now, people are starting to see the truth. Russia is no longer considered the “second army in the world.” It was partly bluff all along.

They’re still a big bluffer with good cards—lots of cards—but not the fancy, modern, “unstoppable” military they claimed to be. When it comes to nuclear weapons, many are starting to question whether they’re bluffing there, too. Maybe they don’t have the capabilities they claim. We’ve taken for granted that deploying nuclear weapons is easy, but it’s not. It requires advanced engineering and technology—things that are difficult to maintain in a backward or deteriorating state.

Some people are now questioning whether Russia even has fully functioning nuclear weapons. Maybe they do, perhaps they don’t. They certainly have something, but whether they will cross and use that line is uncertain. If we see a nuclear weapon tested, that would be a serious red flag. That’s when we’ll know they might be serious about it.

Jacobsen: So, are you saying many people now think the nuclear threat might be exaggerated?

Wali: Yes. There’s a growing sense that the “grenade” Putin claims to be holding might not be what we think it is. It could be partly fake. Of course, even a fake or partially functioning nuclear capability could still do immense damage. The line to watch for is whether Russia conducts a test. That’s the likely next step—a test in a remote area, like Siberia, with much noise and propaganda. They’ll publish images of a mushroom cloud and say, “See? We can destroy you.” That would cause panic, collapse stock markets, and create chaos without launching an attack.

But I don’t think they’ll use a nuclear weapon outright—not immediately. It’s more likely that they’ll do a test first to instill fear. If they did decide to use a small tactical nuclear weapon—say, a 20-kiloton bomb like Hiroshima’s—what would we do? That’s the big question.

Jacobsen: If they used a small nuclear weapon, what do you think the response would be?

Wali: That’s the nightmare scenario. What do you do with a “bad guy with a grenade,” threatening to blow everyone up if he doesn’t get his way? If you give him what he wants, he’ll go somewhere else and do it again. But if you call his bluff and he’s not bluffing, the consequences are catastrophic.

The bigger problem is the uncertainty. If tomorrow Russia dropped a tactical nuclear bomb—let’s say on a non-strategic location—it would send shockwaves around the world. Even a “small” nuclear weapon like that would cause immense devastation. The real challenge is responding to such a provocation without escalating things further.

So, let’s say they do it. They use a nuclear weapon and claim it. What do we do next? Do we nuke Russia? Then they nuke the rest of the world? How do you manage a crisis like that?

It’s uncharted territory. We don’t know. That’s one reason we need to defeat Russia on the battlefield. If humiliation and sanctions are piled on top, their capacity for further aggression might be destroyed.

This could escalate into a larger conflict. The Russian Federation might crumble, and countries like Armenia, Georgia, Chechnya, Tajikistan, and others might seize the opportunity to assert independence or break away from Russia’s sphere of influence. This could lead to a World War, World War III. Even China could get involved. They might step in and say, “We’ll protect the eastern part of Russia for you,” but really, they’d be taking it for themselves.

China is pragmatic and all about business. I’ve spoken to people who know more about the Chinese perspective than I do. They’ve explained that even during tense situations—like when they held Canadian hostages—they were quick to say, “Let’s talk again. Let’s do business.” That’s the good thing about dealing with China—they’re talkable and rational.

Russia, on the other hand, is emotional and irrational. It’s driven by this epic narrative of regaining the “great Russia.” It’s unpredictable and dangerous. Rationality means accepting peace, regrouping, reforming its army, and stirring up trouble again in five or ten years. That’s what the Chinese might do—they play the long game. But Russia doesn’t think that way. It sees this as an existential battle between good and evil.

Jacobsen: What do you think about President Biden approving long-range missiles for Ukraine?

Wali: It’s a good move. We need to do it. If you’re at war, you must respond to war with war. If someone bombs you, you bomb back. That’s basic.

I’ve been thinking about this lately. Maybe there should be agreements in the future—something enshrined in international conventions, like the Geneva Conventions. If you start a war, you must accept that whatever you do to your enemy will be legal for them to do back to you.

For instance, you can’t threaten nuclear war and expect immunity from retaliation. If you send ballistic missiles to your enemy’s cities, you can’t claim it’s unfair when they send missiles to your cities. It should be acceptable for Ukraine—or any country—to fight back in kind.

We talk much about Russia’s “red lines,” but what about ours? We should have red lines too. One of them should be: if you bomb cities, expect to be bombed back. It’s that simple. If you don’t want your cities hit, don’t bomb other people’s cities. That’s a fundamental rule we should enforce.

Yes, but the red lines are also crucial for our allies—for NATO. That’s the key. Before we talk about red lines, we’re entering uncharted territory. It isn’t easy, but Ukraine wants to be free. If we held a referendum tomorrow in Ukraine asking, “Do you want to be on the Russian side?” I don’t think many people would say yes.

Ukraine has the right to be free, safe, and peaceful. That’s fundamental. Spirituality ties into this, too. Freedom is sacred, and recognizing its sacredness is part of being spiritual. For Ukraine, freedom is the red line. We should have a free Ukraine, period. There should be no negotiation on that.

Jacobsen: Final question: What are your favorite quotes you’ve heard from people during the war?

Wali: Maybe I can share one. It’s a bit funny because, at first, I didn’t understand what it meant. I remember knowing nothing about the country when I entered Ukraine; I still knew a lot but missed many things in the culture. I quickly realized they had amazing hot dogs, and I thought, “Okay, these are nice people.” I liked them. I wanted to help them because I felt they were the good guys.

People kept saying, Slava Ukraini! I was like, “What does that mean?” And they told me to respond with Heroyam Slava. But at the time, I didn’t know. It’s funny because, even though I was in Ukraine and all over the media as this supposed hero of the war, I didn’t initially know what Slava Ukraini! meant. I understood only a few days later, and looking back, it’s wild to think about. It shows how busy and disconnected I was at the moment.

Jacobsen: What does Ukraine mean to you?

Wali: In some ways, I don’t care about Ukraine as a place—I care about the people. That’s what matters to me. It’s the same reason I’ve been involved in other wars—Afghanistan, Kurdistan, Iraq, fighting against the Islamic State. It’s about helping the people, not the geographical region or political territory. It’s always been about the humans, not the country.

Jacobsen: Thank you so much for your time. I appreciate it.