Lesna Stinka is a village on the right bank of the Oskol River, 45 kilometers from Kupiansk. Larysa Fesenko headed the local lyceum since 2009. During the occupation of the region, the Russian authorities demanded that Ms. Fesenko begin working for the enemy. After receiving a firm refusal, the occupiers began to coerce the woman. Meanwhile, the teaching staff was divided: some supported their director, while many sided with the occupiers.
In early July 2022, the village headman had already repainted the yellow-and-blue bus stop blue, and representatives of the FSB came to Larysa Fesenko for the first time. And, unfortunately, not for the last time. Read the beginning of the story at this link.
“Let’s replay this?”
— After the FSB arrived, I understood that this wouldn’t end well for me, but I still didn’t have the slightest thought of leaving or running away. One day, I was walking to school when the village headman’s car suddenly stopped, and he called me to get in and talk. I got in, and he immediately began: “Larysa, I understand your position. We have people in the village and in the community who are very worried about your future, about what might happen to you.” That is, he directly hinted that I am in trouble. “Let’s replay this now,” he says. “You go to school and say: I’m staying and I will work!” To which I firmly replied: “I am not changing my positions, my beliefs! I have already told you that I will not cooperate!” And he said to me, “Well, it’s lucky if they kill you. But what if they cripple you?"
It was closer to the end of July. Two elementary school teachers came to me; they were actively campaigning for cooperation with Russia. They traveled through the villages, persuading people to take positions at the lyceum that were vacant, seeking a new head of the educational institution. They offered this position to everyone: “You’ll be our director, and we’ll help you!” I knew about this, and after some time, they appeared at my house. They knocked on the gate. I went out. I simply didn’t want to see them; I didn’t even want to try to understand these people. I said, “Why did you come? I don’t want to see you!” They said, “Larysa Vladimirovna, everything is fine! We’ve already appointed a director and a deputy director; only a few formalities remain. Please, come to the lyceum! We need to make a few entries — and that’s all!” I hesitated for a long time, but eventually agreed to come. I needed to see things through to the end, you understand? It wasn’t in my character to hide or avoid things. I told them I would come on the morning of July 26th.
The empty director’s office
In the morning, I got up, carefully put on my makeup, and put on a festive dress. I just had a feeling that this was the last time. At the lyceum, the teachers had already divided into two teams. Those who supported Russia gathered in one office, and those who didn’t immediately came up to me, anxiously asking why I had been summoned here. They suggested I go into my director’s office. It was already empty — I had taken all my things out earlier. I sat down in my usual place. And then those two teachers who were actively pursuing the occupying authorities’ policy came in. They placed the employment record books on my desk and said, “You, as the director of the Ukrainian school… That is, you are no longer the director… But you are obligated to write in the employment record books that you are dismissing us all by mutual agreement!” I raised my head and firmly said, “What mutual agreement? You are leaving of your own free will to work for the occupiers! You are traitors, collaborators! You betrayed the children, you betrayed the lyceum, you betrayed Ukraine!” — “Don’t insult us! You have no right to insult us,” they replied. “I categorically refuse to write in the employment record books unless it’s only the truth. Besides, I’m on vacation right now! And when a director is on vacation, they have no right to make any entries in the employment record books.” That was my excuse. I asked them who was now the director and who was the deputy. They remained silent, didn’t answer anything, and then started being rude: “Oh, so you don’t want to write? You’ll write everything now!” They left my office and quickly jumped into my janitor’s car. My janitor’s last name was Samarets. They got into his car and drove to the occupation authorities. And they told me that in half an hour, representatives of the education department, which had already been formed, would arrive and tell me what to do here.
My teachers approached me — those who supported me in everything. There weren’t many of them… They said they wouldn’t go home and would stay with me until the end. I didn’t want to risk people’s lives. I said, “Go home! I’ll stay alone, and I’ll answer to them!” I sat in the director’s office waiting for their arrival, but they didn’t come for a long time. An hour passed. I thought: Why am I sitting here? I should go home — my husband will be coming home for his lunch break soon, and there’s nothing to eat at home, so at least I can quickly cook some potatoes.
“Where does this Ukrainian woman live?”
— I went home. My neighbor ran in and asked, “Larysa Vladimirovna, what’s going on at your school? Is it really true? Did the teachers collaborate?” She used some not-so-polite words to describe them… I told her: “Lyuda, calm down!” — “And you know, Larysa Vladimirovna, I’ll be going through Pechenegi to Kharkiv. Maybe I can pass something on to your people?” I said: “Lyudochka, nothing is needed, I beg you!” I was in such a state… as if I had a premonition.
And as soon as I finished talking to her, a car very quietly pulled up to the house. The gate opened, and six men ran in — all in balaclavas, in military uniform: “Does a Ukrainian woman live here?” They said it because in my speech to the teachers, I openly said that I am Ukrainian and will remain so until the end. And they asked in such a way… with obvious sarcasm. And I stood up and firmly said: “Yes, that’s me!” When they burst into the yard, I completely froze. I thought they would shoot me immediately. There were six of them, in balaclavas, their faces all covered. They grabbed me and this neighbor who happened to be standing next to me. They twisted our arms and started dragging us into the house. I appealed to them: “Leave this woman alone, she’s just a neighbor, she has nothing to do with me! Leave her alone, don’t touch her!” And they let her go. Thank God, because she was terrified. She ran home, and they dragged me into the house.
My husband was at home, watching TV. They came in and immediately started searching the house. They grabbed my husband and dragged him into the corridor. Then they entered the rooms and began searching everywhere. They took everything — all the phones: the old ones, the ones we were using, my husband’s phone, and all the laptops, including the ones I had brought from school for safekeeping. They found some colored scotch tape. I used it in elementary school to mark the floor with different colors. Because of this tape, they started calling me names, insulting me, and saying I was collaborating with the Ukrainian Armed Forces. They said nasty things. One of them even started pushing me with his rifle and said, “I’ll shoot you right now!” I stood up — my husband was a witness, he won’t lie... My husband whispered to me, “I beg you, be quiet, be quiet, don’t say anything!” But I stood up and said, “Shoot me, shoot me! I’m not going anywhere with you, shoot me!” — “Okay, we’ll shoot you now if you don’t tell us where the prohibited things are.” I had yellow and blue ribbons, and they saw them immediately as they were in plain sight. The flag, however, was hidden in the books; they noticed it too and snatched it... All my underwear was scattered around the house. I started collecting it as I couldn’t stand still. My actions irritated them. And when I said again, “Shoot me, I’m not going anywhere,” one of them flinched.
They told me that I was going with them and that I should take something warm. I understood they were going to take me somewhere — either to a mine or a basement — because I had already heard from acquaintances that people were being thrown into basements for resisting and for not agreeing to support their policies. I only took a sweatshirt from my tracksuit — and that was all. I started changing my clothes; I needed to put on jeans, since they said I needed something warm. And I had to change in their presence, you understand? No one turned away. They all stood and watched me. Besides, I also needed to put on a bra… But somehow I no longer perceived them as people. And I did all that, got dressed, and went out. And thank God they didn’t put a sack over my head and wrap me in duct tape in front of my husband… Because later, he was very worried about all of this. They did that near the car when they led me out of the house. They started pushing me. One of them put a sack over my head. And it was forty degrees Celsius outside! Then he wrapped the sack with duct tape. They put handcuffs on my hands. Iron ones. And shoved me into a jeep. The one who was constantly freaking out and threatening to kill me was sitting next to me. So nervous. And when the jeep drove about ten steps away from my house, it stopped. Because I already had a sack over my head, I couldn’t see them. And the one sitting next to me started talking to me. He says: “Tell me, bitch, who do you work for? Tell me!” I say: “I don’t work for anyone, I work for myself. No one is above me.” — “Ah, so we’re going to play heroes now? Fine, tell me, where should we take you — to the LPR or the DPR? They’ll do things to you there that you can’t even imagine!” And I said: “I don’t care anymore!”
To be continued…
