“In the ‘DPR’ torture chambers, they used electric shocks and filed teeth”

When I was detained by officers of the ‘DPR’ MGB, they began saying that I was a spy and that they supposedly knew I was an SBU officer, having collaborated with the SBU since almost 2014. I didn’t understand what was going on. Stuttering, I tried to explain somehow that this wasn’t true, that I had never worked with any of Ukraine’s defense forces. But they weren’t satisfied with the answer. They took the handcuffs, chained me to a radiator, and left. So, basically, I spent the night by that radiator, turning around and trying to sleep, but they had my arms tied so tightly that it was painful to sit there until morning.

The next day, their senior investigator arrived—I think his name was Dmitry, or maybe Roman. He started acting more aggressively: immediately punching me in the chest and face, doing everything he could to inflict as much pain as possible. And he kept repeating that they know everything, that they have been watching me for a very, very long time, and that I’m an agent. Sign the documents. In the morning, I still refused to sign. Then they brought a ‘tapik’—a field telephone unit with a small electric generator. You spin a handle, and it produces an electric current. They attached electrical wires to my hands and began shocking me. They found it amusing; they laughed loudly and called their colleagues over to see.

It’s hurtful just during the convulsions, when your muscles contract, your body twists, and you can’t move. And at that moment, I’m chained to a chair and can’t even move much. They kept changing the spots where they attached the wires — to my chest and to my legs. By evening, I had already signed everything they gave me because I realized I couldn’t take it any longer. And since they refuse to let me see a lawyer or anything else, there’s little chance they’ll act in accordance with the law.

After I signed everything, they gave me something to drink, handcuffed me to the radiator again, and left. In the morning, those two operatives entered my room. They said you had signed everything, but we have a standard protocol that includes a kind of prophylactic measure. They pulled a bag over my head, took me to another room, seated me in an iron chair, and handcuffed me again. A man standing next to me said he had come from Russia specifically to talk with me. He said that we would now have either a good conversation or a bad one. I still had no idea what to say in response because, although I had signed the documents, I didn’t even know exactly what they contained, in case they wanted me to elaborate on anything. I was still holding out a little hope that they would just torture me a bit and then let me go.

They asked questions I couldn’t answer, shocked me with electricity, and hit me with their hands on my neck and head. And when they finally said there were no more questions, this man who had come from Russia said that the last thing remained. They put a kind of mouth prop in my mouth. I don’t know what that thing was, but it felt like it was made of rubber and metal so that I couldn’t close my mouth. They took a rat-tail file and began filing down my teeth. They had filed down two of my teeth to the gums. I lost consciousness several times because the pain was unbearable. It was already evening. He said goodbye to me and brought me a small slice of cake. I take it as a kind of mockery because you won’t be able to eat much with your teeth filed down. And in that state, they took me to the polygraph. I don’t know why. Even the polygraph examiner was outraged: ‘Why did you bring him here? He not only can’t say anything right now, but he can’t even be in an active state.‘

But they went ahead with the polygraph test anyway. And the operatives had already told me that I’d signed documents confessing to espionage. That carried a sentence of 10 to 20 years under their code. Well, they said I was guaranteed to serve the full term. Then they began examining me. I played a little trick to avoid being tortured as much in the future: for some reason, I remembered reading about a heart defect. So I said I had a heart defect. And they were too lazy to take me to the hospital to get it checked out. They just recorded it. And the next few times, they tortured me a little less.

They shoved me into a car. We drove to the industrial zone, where they took me out and handed me over to some people. It was ‘Isolation.’ I didn’t even know such a place existed at the time. They put me ‘on the spreader bar’ in the ‘star’ position. And they started beating me on my legs and back. Then the operatives said, ‘Be careful. He has a heart defect—don’t kill him.‘ That saved me from their infamous “reception.” When they “receive” someone, they usually beat the person nearly to death. At that point, they stopped beating me and just threw me into a cell. It’s the kind of cell where you take off the bag and find a small room, about 5 by 7 feet. There are 15 people in there. There’s no ventilation or windows—it’s very stuffy. It stinks of sweat and everything under the sun. Swarms of flies are buzzing around. And if the door opens, you have a second and a half to put on the bag, stand up, put your hands behind your back, and turn away from the door. Otherwise, they’ll beat up the entire cell. Well, it’s the Makarenko principle, as they call it, collective responsibility.

They started feeding us the following day. They’d already brought the food: 25 grams of wheat porridge and two thin slices of bread. That was the entire daily ration. And that’s how I spent seven months in ‘Isolation.’ Constant beatings, constant jokes from the guards, and demands that we entertain them. That is, we had to organize some contests between the cells and sing the Russian national anthem for them. And, of course, in a way they would like. If they didn’t like it, things would get bad. By the sixth or seventh month, to be honest, you start to get used to that kind of life a little. And even there, you somehow start to survive, in some crazy way. We started playing games to pass the time. Because during the day, you’re not allowed to lie on the beds or sleep. There are no clocks, after all; you just sit there until the factory whistle blows, signaling it’s time to ‘hit the sack.’

You’re constantly enduring this torture. We even adapted to smoking rules. You could smoke only during the walk. The walk was in the morning, and we had guys who smoked 3–4 cigarettes in 10 minutes. Because they hold a cigarette in each hand. I quit smoking for a while while I was there. They tested us for COVID-19 in March 2021. And they began transferring us to Penal colony 97 in Makiivka. They’d taken over a building there—a former segregation unit (SCHIZO)—where regular prisoners are sent for violating strict colony rules. We were put in a tiny room, probably about 2 meters wide and 4 meters long. For 6 people. Well, just a typical cell like the ones everyone’s used to seeing on TV. Torture was significantly less during that period. I mean, it was mostly handled by the operatives if they needed something. The guards would just push you around, humiliate you, and beat you up. And there were fewer people in the cells anyway—just the six of you—so it was easier to survive. There were some favors as well. They allowed us to have TVs. Those who received parcels could afford one. Inmates who were taken out for court hearings in their cases could receive parcels.

We sat there, waiting for an exchange to occur. But there was no exchange. It was already the end of 2021 and the beginning of 2022. Everyone started saying there would be some kind of war. We already felt it was going to happen. And the morning of February 24 began with us hearing an incredible roar all around us because the colony was located a bit closer to the Russian positions. Just where they had been shelling Avdiivka with heavy artillery for a long time. We couldn’t catch the normal TV broadcasts anymore. Instead, Russian news marathons began airing. From morning until evening, we just watched as rockets flew into Ukrainian territory.

While many of us have families in those areas. Some had them in Bucha; others had them in Mariupol. And you realize that something almost unbelievable is unfolding. I mean, Russia’s rapid advance. After all, we’ve been watching the Russian news. The guards there are already saying that we (Russians) have entered Kyiv, that we’re raising our flag over various regions, and that we’re already beginning to surround central Ukraine so no one can escape. And you believe it. I mean, you already think it’s all over—your last hope is definitely gone.

Then they began bringing newly arrested people to us. Those who had helped the Armed Forces of Ukraine. Those who were captured in Mariupol, Mangush, and other similar towns. And we learned that the situation for Russians wasn’t as rosy as they claimed. They brought several Azov soldiers who fought at Azovstal. They brought three foreigners whom the ‘DPR’ had sentenced to death. They were quite well known; they’ve since been exchanged. Good guys. We tried very hard to help them. We even chipped in for them in the cells, each of us sharing whatever extra we had—clothes and warm items. Because there were no windows in the cells, and it wasn’t very warm in winter.

Fortunately, there were some good moments as well. For example, we were able to tune in to Ukrainian TV channels on those TVs. I didn’t sleep at night. I tried to sleep during the day when the guards weren’t looking, and at night I monitored Ukrainian news. The reception was very poor, but I’m very thankful to the ‘Rada’ TV channel. They have a ticker at the bottom of the screen. Thus, even if you can’t hear what they’re saying because of the white noise, you can still read the news on the ticker. And somehow that gave me a chance to blow my spirit up. Some people were offering very strong resistance. For example, I—on principle—have been taking two plastic bags, a blue one and a yellow one, and making a makeshift Ukrainian flag at the edge of the bed. The guards became exhausted from burning it down. They’d burn it, and I’d make another the next day. I started sewing little yellow-and-blue flags out of rags and handing them out to the other cells.

There was a telling story about the ‘Wagner’ group rep who came to us and tried to recruit us—who were so-called ‘spies’—into the army, and everyone refused. Not a single person at our SIZO (pre-trial detention center), which held 193 people, agreed. As the time for my release approached (it was July 2023), I had already gone on a hunger strike—along with several other prisoners. We decided: either you put us on trial or you let us go. Because you yourself say that we don’t fall under Russian law. And thanks to that, I managed to slip through a very narrow window before Russia issued the order to send everyone away—you know, like, release them by court order, only to arrest them again immediately and send them off to Kyzyl or other prisons in northern Russia. Exactly through this window, I slipped out. They released me on my recognizance bond for six months. The investigator just called me in and said, ‘That’s it. You’re free to go.‘ He returned my Ukrainian passport to me with a photo almost torn off.

I went out into Donetsk, still unsure what to do. You have no money, nothing, and you’re already under strict requirements: if you don’t want to end up back in prison, find a phone by Saturday, then call the investigator every couple of days to report where you are.        Luckily, I found some pro-Ukrainian people at the market who offered me a job. I just happened to run into these pro-Ukrainian people. When they learned I’d been a captive, they let me work in their store. I sold electronic devices at the radio market. They gave me a phone, and I tried to call the investigator back regularly. Anyway, my lawyer got in touch with me and said they’d likely lock me up again. And I knew I had to run.

I tried to leave for Russia through the Luhansk region, cross the Russian border there, and then re-enter Ukraine. Unfortunately, you can’t enter Russia from the occupied territories with a Ukrainian domestic passport unless you have an international Ukrainian passport. So I returned to Donetsk. My first attempt to escape failed. Then I thought about leaving by crossing the front line. I already realized I had to escape somehow. But on the very day I packed my things—a small backpack—and headed toward Avdiivka, the Russians launched a massive assault on Avdiivka. The fire was so intense there that I couldn’t even get near the front line. I returned to Donetsk again. But, surprisingly, the investigator released me just before New Year’s. On December 24, 2023, they gave me a document stating that, after reviewing the case, the FSB had found no evidence of my guilt.

All restrictions on my movement were lifted. I borrowed some money and returned to Ukraine through Belarus. In Kyiv, nobody told me anymore that I would be questioned further or that I had to provide testimony. They simply told me, ‘Now you can go wherever you like.’ That’s the problem with people who return from captivity outside of prisoner exchanges. Volunteers don’t know about them, and the state doesn’t recall them. Many are completely lost. They don’t even know how to use a phone. I passed through this stage as I adapted to life under occupation. I returned to something like normal life and began submitting documents to the Commission under the Ministry of Reintegration, which still existed in full at the time, to obtain the status of former Russian captive.

I was helped by the NGO ‘Blakytnyi Ptakh’ (The Blue Bird), the Andriyivs Family Foundation, and others. I now coordinate three civil society organizations. I also want to establish my own human rights NGO. I collaborate with many government structures. For example, working groups, legislative reform-focused groups, and interagency working groups. I also serve as a case manager with the Andriyivs Family Charitable Foundation. In cooperation with the Office of the Ombudsman of Ukraine, we provide initial assistance and case management to people who have returned from captivity through the exchange program. During the last two exchanges involving civilians, I welcomed and assisted them from the moment they arrived. Right now, we are putting a lot of effort into changing the law so that these people can obtain legal status.