In a macabre fusion of grief and technology, Russian families are turning to artificial intelligence to create digital avatars of soldiers killed in Ukraine. These ‘resurrected’ loved ones speak, move, and even offer comfort via chatbots trained on personal messages. But what begins as a coping mechanism risks becoming a state-sanctioned tool for rewriting history.
Start with the facts. A startup called ‘Memory Guardian’ offers a service: upload photos, voice recordings, and text messages. Within hours, you receive a hyper-realistic avatar that can hold conversations. The company claims thousands of requests since the war began. Families pay 5,000 roubles for a basic version, 15,000 for premium ‘interactive memories’.
Now consider the implications. This is not a fringe Silicon Valley experiment. It is happening in a country where the state controls narrative. The Kremlin has already co-opted the war dead for propaganda. Official channels broadcast ‘heroic’ stories daily. These AI avatars could be the next step: a digital immortality that feeds state-approved memories back to grieving families.
Critics warn of a ‘Black Mirror’ scenario where the dead cannot truly rest. ‘You are not talking to your son,’ says Dr. Anya Petrova, a psychologist specialising in trauma. ‘You are talking to a statistical model of him. Prolonged use can delay acceptance and create dependency.’ Yet for many, the alternative is worse. Irina, a mother from Novosibirsk whose son died near Bakhmut, says: ‘I know he is not real. But when I ask him if he is proud of me, he says yes. That is all I need.’
Dig deeper and the parallels with Soviet-era propaganda are stark. In the 1960s, the state erected memorials to the Great Patriotic War, encouraging collective grief as a tool for social control. Today, the technology is personalised. ‘It is the same logic,’ says historian Mikhail Zygar. ‘The state wants citizens to accept sacrifice. If you can talk to your dead son, you might support the war longer.’
There is also a security dimension. The companies behind these avatars collect intimate data: voices, mannerisms, emotional triggers. Who owns that data? In Russia, the answer is clear. The state has access. Could these avatars be reprogrammed? Imagine a soldier’s avatar suddenly saying: ‘I am glad I died for my country. You should be too.’ It is not far-fetched.
Meanwhile, the tech industry watches with unease. Silicon Valley has dabbled in ‘grief tech’ before. But Russia’s approach lacks the ethical guardrails of Western companies. There are no opt-out clauses, no sunset clauses, no consent from the deceased. ‘We are entering dangerous territory,’ says Dr. James Hughes, a bioethicist at MIT. ‘This is digital ownership of the dead.’
So what does the future hold? We are likely to see more such services as AI becomes cheaper. Within a year, anyone with a smartphone could ‘resurrect’ a loved one. Governments will grapple with regulation. But in Russia, the line between mourning and manipulation has already blurred.
As for the families, many do not care about the ethics. They want their sons back. And in a country where reality has become negotiable, an AI ghost may be the only comfort left.
