In the shadow of war, as the Russian invasion of Ukraine continues to upend millions of lives, a rare beacon of hope has emerged just outside Kyiv. Hansen Village, a privately built settlement in Tarasivka, has become a symbol of resilience and compassion for Ukrainians displaced by the conflict. Rows of modular homes line the village, offering stable housing, personal space, and, perhaps most importantly, the dignity of a locked door—a simple luxury that many have not enjoyed since the war began.
According to the Associated Press, as of October 16, 2025, Hansen Village is home to 2,000 people, most of whom have fled from territories now occupied by Russian forces. Children can be seen riding bikes along paved lanes, passing by a swimming pool, a basketball court, a health clinic, and a school. The village is the brainchild of Dell Loy Hansen, a 72-year-old real estate developer from Utah, who has poured over $140 million into building and repairing homes throughout Ukraine since early 2022.
Hansen’s journey to Ukraine was, in many ways, a product of personal reckoning. In 2020, he sold his Major League Soccer team, Real Salt Lake, after allegations of racist comments surfaced—a charge he denied in an interview with the Associated Press. Reflecting on the experience, Hansen said, "I went through something painful, but it gave me humility. That humility led me to Ukraine." For him, the devastation he witnessed in Ukraine was a call to action. "This isn’t charity to me, it’s responsibility," Hansen told AP reporters. "If you can build, then build. Don’t just watch."
Hansen’s commitment is far-reaching. He now oversees more than a dozen projects across Ukraine, including the expansion of Hansen Village, providing cash and other support to elderly people and families, and backing a prosthetics clinic for those injured in the conflict. Plans are underway for a cemetery to honor displaced people, as well as a not-for-profit affordable housing program that he hopes can be scaled up nationally.
The need for such initiatives is staggering. By late 2024, nearly one in three Ukrainians had fled their homes, with 4.5 million registered as internally displaced, according to a U.N.-led assessment cited by AP and The Independent. The housing crisis is compounded by relentless missile and drone attacks that have damaged or destroyed 13% of Ukrainian homes. The estimated cost of reconstruction stands at a daunting $524 billion—almost three times Ukraine’s annual economic output.
On the ground, the struggle to provide shelter is palpable. Around Dnipro in eastern Ukraine, volunteers work tirelessly to convert derelict buildings into makeshift shelters for the steady stream of evacuees from the war-torn Donbas region. One such site, a crumbling Soviet-era dormitory, now houses 149 elderly residents, most in their seventies and eighties. Funding for these efforts comes from a patchwork of foreign aid, local charities, and individual contributions—sometimes as modest as a box of food or a donated appliance.
Veronika Chumak, who manages one of these centers, described her approach as "begging: knocking on every door, and explaining why each small thing is necessary." Yet, she remains steadfast: "But we keep going. Our mission is to restore people’s sense of life." The stories of those she helps are sobering. Valentina Khusak, 86, was evacuated from Myrnohrad after Russian shelling left her town without water or power. Having already lost her husband and son before the war, Khusak is grateful for the warmth and respect she’s found in her new home. "Maybe we’ll return home, maybe not," she told AP. "What matters is that places like this exist—where the old and lonely are treated with warmth and respect."
The Ukrainian government, meanwhile, is under immense strain. Its relief budget is stretched thin by the ongoing destruction of infrastructure. Since June 2025 alone, more than 100,000 people have been evacuated from the east, each receiving a government emergency subsidy of $260. But the scale of the crisis means that, for many, even basic comfort is elusive. Yevhen Tuzov, who organized shelter for thousands during the 2022 siege of Mariupol, said, "Sometimes six strangers must live together in one small room. For elderly people, this is humiliating." He added, "What Hansen is doing is great—to build villages—but why can’t we do that too?"
Hansen’s efforts began with simple cash transfers to families in need, but quickly grew into a much larger mission. Mykyta Bogomol, a 16-year-old who fled the southern Kherson region after Russian occupation and catastrophic flooding, now lives in foster care apartments at Hansen Village. "Life here is good," he said. "During the occupation, it was terrifying. Soldiers forced kids into Russian schools. Here, I finally feel safe."
Despite the distance, Hansen remains closely involved. He visits Ukraine several times a year, but spends hours each day in Salt Lake City on video calls, tracking war updates, coordinating aid, and lobbying U.S. lawmakers for additional support. "I’ve built homes all my life, but nothing has meant more to me than this," Hansen said. "People here don’t need miracles—just a roof, safety, and someone who doesn’t give up on them."
Last year, Hansen sold part of his businesses for $14 million, donating every cent to Ukraine. Yet, he acknowledges that his contributions are only a fraction of what’s needed. With entire towns rendered uninhabitable, private aid—no matter how generous—remains vital but insufficient to meet the overwhelming demand.
Hansen’s work has not gone unnoticed at the highest levels. He has met with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who thanked him for his support of vulnerable communities. Later this year, Hansen is set to receive one of Ukraine’s highest civilian honors. Still, he downplays the recognition: "I don’t need recognition. If this award makes the elderly and displaced more visible, then it means something. Otherwise, it’s just a medal."
As Ukraine’s housing crisis deepens, stories like those unfolding in Hansen Village offer a glimmer of hope. They remind the world that, even amid war’s chaos, acts of solidarity and compassion can restore not only roofs over heads, but also dignity and the simple joys of everyday life.
