The war in Ukraine has claimed tens of thousands of lives on both sides. But in Russia, a new and disturbing digital frontier has emerged: families are using artificial intelligence to create interactive avatars of deceased loved ones, sparking an ethical crisis that technologists and psychologists are only beginning to grapple with.
The phenomenon, which has been documented by independent Russian media and verified by digital forensics experts, involves feeding photographs, video footage, and text messages into generative AI models. The output is a virtual persona that can mimic the appearance, voice, and even conversational style of the dead. Some families use these avatars for private grief counselling, while others share them on social media, blurring the line between remembrance and simulation.
“It’s a coping mechanism, but one that raises profound questions about consent, digital identity, and the commodification of grief,” said Julian Vane, a Silicon Valley expat and technology ethics researcher. “We are seeing the Black Mirror scenario unfold in real time. The technology is running ahead of our moral frameworks.”
The practice has been accelerated by the availability of cheap, powerful AI tools, many of which are developed by Russian tech firms. The Kremlin has not officially commented, but some state-aligned media have portrayed the avatars as a patriotic tool to honour the war dead. Critics argue that the state is exploiting the grieving for propaganda purposes.
Psychologists warn that while digital resurrection may provide short-term comfort, it can also hinder the natural grieving process. “The bereaved can become trapped in a loop, interacting with a simulacrum instead of accepting loss,” said Dr. Elena Volkova, a Moscow-based trauma specialist. “There is also the risk of manipulation: the avatar could be updated or altered by third parties without the family’s consent.”
Privacy is another major concern. To create these avatars, families often upload sensitive personal data to private servers with questionable security. Hackers could steal this data, or companies could repurpose it for training future AI models. “We are essentially digitising our most intimate moments and handing them over to corporations with little oversight,” Vane added.
The ethical crisis deepens as the war toll continues to rise. The Russian defence ministry has not released official casualty figures, but independent estimates put the number of dead at over 80,000. Each death potentially creates a new customer for digital resurrection services, which now operate largely in a legal grey area.
Some Russian Orthodox Church leaders have condemned the practice as blasphemous, while others remain silent. The secular authorities have not introduced any regulations, leaving families to navigate this new terrain alone. Meanwhile, the technology is advancing: some firms now offer avatars that can initiate conversations or send messages on anniversaries, blurring the line that little further between life and simulation.
International human rights groups have begun to take notice. The United Nations Special Rapporteur on extrajudicial executions has called for a moratorium on the use of AI for digital resurrection until ethical guidelines are established. But with the war showing no signs of abating, the pressure to find comfort in technology will only grow.
“We are witnessing a psychological experiment being conducted on a mass scale without informed consent,” said Vane. “This is the user experience of war: not just death, but digital ghosts that haunt the living. We need a global conversation about where we draw the line between memory and manipulation.”
For now, Russian families are left to decide whether to let their loved ones rest, or to bring them back as data. The answer, it seems, is increasingly virtual.
