Joel Gunter
Report from Bucha, Ukraine
BBC
Tatyana Popvytch’s son was taken to Russian. “He’s very vulnerable,” she said. “I’m worried that he’ll lose his mind there.”
Tatyana Popovytch had contacted every agency she could think of. She was walking every step that her son Vladislav could have photographed after the Russians fired in his car, so he ran away with a bullet in his leg. She saw the massive tombs, reviewed photos of the dead, and saw the digs. And a month later, she knew no more than when she started.
Then a stranger is called.
Serhiy had just been released from the Russian prison in Kursk. During the morning roll call, the prisoners were unable to see each other, but they could hear each person mentioning their full name and home village. Serhii remembered as many names and locations as possible – a total of 10 – he said – and on May 9, 2022 he called Tatyana to hear his son’s voice.
Like Vladislav, Serhii was a civilian captured by Bucha at the start of the war. Vladislav was 29 years old at the time. He is now 32 years old and still in the prison in Kursk. Serhii could not explain to Tatyana why he was released or why Vladislav did not. Tatiana was happy to hear that her son was alive. “I was so delighted that I lost the stud I had since he was taken,” she said.
Three years later, Tatiana was sitting in a cafe in Bucha, not far from where her son was accused, seeing scarce evidence that he was still alive. Each letter took about three months to reach Tatiana, making it difficult to feel very connected to my son at any time.
“My son is very kind and sensitive,” she said. She was looking at photos of Vlad Ballroom dancing – a hobby she’s had since she was young. “He’s very vulnerable,” she said. “I’m worried that he’ll lose his mind there.”
Photos of her prisoner’s father and Julia Flipun. She set up a charity to help bring civilians home.
Ukrainian authorities say nearly 16,000 Ukrainian civilians are still in confinement in Russian prisons after being accused of invasion forces.
With the obvious progress towards peace negotiations, fear is now rising among their thousands of loved ones that they could be forgotten or lost in the process. And those fears seem to be justified.
Under the Geneva Convention, there is a recognized mechanism for exchanging prisoners, but no such mechanism exists due to the revival of captured civilians.
“When attending official meetings in the Ombudsman office or elsewhere, no one talks about retrieving civilians in the case of a ceasefire,” said Yulia Hripun, 23, who was lured early in the war from a village just west of Kiev.
A few weeks after learning about her father’s prisoner, Yulia used Facebook to contact another Ukrainian daughter who was incarcerated, and the pair launched a campaign with a new organization for the release of all civilians.
The group met representatives from the United Nations, the European Parliament, governments of several EU countries, and the US embassies in Ukraine.
“We talked to them and it all came down to the fact that they didn’t honestly understand what was going to happen,” Yulia said she had met the Americans.
“The only thing they said is that Trump is interested in the issue of deported children and that perhaps civilians could fit that category in some way. But they are different categories that cannot be actually combined.”
Worrisomely for Yulia and other relatives of captured civilians, the Ukrainian supreme does not pretend to have a stronger idea.
“I have not seen a real, effective approach to bringing civil detainees back to Ukraine,” said Dmytro Lubinets, the country’s human rights ombudsman. “We don’t have any legal basis or mechanisms to return them,” he said frankly.
Photos of his missing son and Petrocereda. “I want to believe he’s home,” Peter said.
What further complicates the issue is that Russia levelles criminal charges against some of those captured during the invasion.
“And when we see these accusations, it’s often “actions against special military operations,” Rubinets said. “Can you imagine opening an investigation into Ukrainian civilians on Ukrainian territory simply because they resisted Russian forces invading Russian forces?”
In May, Russia released 120 civil detainees as part of a larger exchange of prisoners of war, with further interaction expected. However, those numbers still disappear, compared to adults and children, the tens of thousands of people said to have been seized. And there remains a great deal of uncertainty in the path to peace negotiated.
“At the moment he’s home, I want to believe you can’t believe it,” said Petro Sereda, 61, a bus driver at Irpin near Kyiv, where his son Artym was made prisoner over three years ago. “It’s very difficult.”
Peter and his wife live in Irpin’s shipping container style temporary accommodation as their home was destroyed in an invasion. Even three years later, every time the phone rings Peter, I think it might be Artym.
“It’s one thing to have a letter saying he’s alive, but to hear him…it’s a joy that he’s really alive.”
This is how the family lives with hopeless hope. The dream is that they can meet their loved ones again. But it’s not a simple dream. Some fear that Russian prisoners have caused lasting damage.
Tatiana, whose son Vladislav dancing the ballroom, was accused of from Bucha, said that he trembled upon hearing Russian, “Because that’s the language my son is being tortured.”
There is also the question of what is being overlooked. During Vladislav’s detention, his father unexpectedly died at just 50 years old, feeling guilty that he was unable to protect his son.
All Tatyana can do is to mentally prepare for the return of Vladislav. She “feels all sorts of emotions,” she said. “That’s everything I think. Always, every day.”
Daria Mitiuk contributed to this report. Photo by Joel Gunter
