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Qatar Tribune
4 hours ago
- Politics
- Qatar Tribune
Russia, Ukraine begin swap of young and wounded prisoners of war
agencies Kiev/Moscow Russia and Ukraine launched on Monday a new prisoner exchange, agreed earlier this month during direct negotiations in Istanbul between representatives from both countries. According to the Russian Defence Ministry, the first group of Russian soldiers under the age of 25 has been released from Ukrainian captivity. In return, a similar number of Ukrainian prisoners were handed over by Moscow. Neither side disclosed the exact number of individuals involved. Moscow said the repatriated Russian soldiers are currently in Belarus, where they are receiving medical assistance. 'Our people are home,' Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky wrote on X. He confirmed the return of young soldiers and seriously injured individuals but did not provide specific figures. Zelensky said the exchange process is 'quite complex,' though he expressed hope that the Istanbul agreement would be fully implemented. He said the swaps would 'continue in several stages over the coming days.' Tensions had flared between Moscow and Kiev over the timing of the exchange. The families of missing Ukrainian soldiers gathered close to the border with Belarus on Monday, as a planned prisoner swap between Russia and Ukraine took place. As the bus carrying prisoners of war arrived, a crowd of relatives surged forward, many brandishing photos of missing fathers, brothers and sons. Faces were filled with apprehension. Few expected to be reunited, and most were just desperate for information after waiting years for any latest exchange stems from the second round of talks held in Istanbul a week ago. Both sides agreed to swap young soldiers aged 18 to 25, along with seriously wounded or ill prisoners of war, and to return the bodies of fallen soldiers. The arrangement could eventually involve over 1,000 individuals from each side. The first phase of the exchange had originally been scheduled for the weekend. Officials in Kiev said some of the Ukrainian prisoners who returned on Monday had been in Russian captivity since the beginning of the war. Tetiana, who had gathered with other Ukrainians in the Chernihiv region close to Belarus, carried a cardboard sign with photos of her father, Valentyn, and cousin, Mykola, both still missing. 'When my father went to fight, my biggest fear was that he would go missing,' she said, her eyes filling with tears. 'I hoped maybe he'd be wounded and come back.' The war has exacted a heavy toll on the family. Tetiana's uncle was killed last September, but his body was only recently returned for burial. When one of the returned prisoners appeared at an upstairs window, women waiting below hurled the names of regiments at him, hoping he might have news. He apologised, made a heart sign with his hands and called out 'slava Ukraini' - glory to Ukraine. 'Heroiam Slava' - glory to the heroes - the crowd replied in unison. Glimpsed briefly through the crowd as they were escorted inside, some of the soldiers looked gaunt.
New European
02-05-2025
- Politics
- New European
Putin's vanishing prisoners
There is one group of people, however, who will have welcomed the pictures: the soldier's families. They have the comfort that their loved ones are safe and will be treated according to the Geneva Convention. But the loved ones of tens of thousands of Ukrainian soldiers and civilians do not have that comfort. American negotiations to end the war in Ukraine have so far focused on land and security guarantees. The prisoners should be a reminder that the fate of people affected by this war should be the immediate priority of the negotiations. Pictures of Chinese nationals being held as prisoners of war in Ukraine have raised questions about the extent of China's support to Russia. A Chinese foreign ministry spokesman has stated that China is 'a staunch supporter and active promoter of the peaceful resolution of the crisis', and suggested that Chinese soldiers fighting for Russia were doing so in their private capacity. President Zelensky claims there are at least 155 Chinese citizens doing so. It is not common for Chinese nationals to take such potentially embarrassing action without official approval. In 2019, the Ukrainian photojournalist Zoya Shu began photographing people freed from Russian detention. She has spent time with many former PoWs, listening to the distressing stories of their time in Russian prisons. I met Shu in London, where she told me about Olexiy Anulia who was so hungry he ate worms and a live rat to survive (the rat tasted like liver). She told me of the cold water punishments that led to prisoners losing fingers and toes and showed me the photos of the remaining stumps. She described the beatings and the electrocutions, and how some were kept in cages. She described the forced singing of the Russian national anthem as part of systematic attempts to destroy their Ukrainian identity as well as break them down physically and mentally. Tetiana Borisenko, a former combat medic, holds a Ukrainian flag signed by 12 people who were held with her in captivity in the Luhansk region in 2014. She endured 24 days of physical and psychological torture, suffering a fractured skull and continuing to live with its lasting effects. When the large-scale invasion began in 2022, Tetiana's village near Chernihiv became a war zone, and her house was destroyed. After the region's liberation, she rebuilt her home and returned. Tetiana also served as a combat medic during the liberation of the Kherson region. Shaun Pinner, a former British soldier who joined the Ukrainian army to fight for his adopted home after settling there and marrying a Ukrainian, was captured by Russia during the siege of Maripol. The description of the early days of his capture is indistinguishable from the experiences of those held by terrorist group Isis, and corroborates the stories Shu was told. At one point men in balaclavas draped a Ukrainian flag around his shoulders in front of a camera on a tripod. He was convinced that, 'This is going to be filmed and my death will be used as propaganda'. Pinner experienced a mock execution and heard stories of other receiving the same psychological torture. Pinner described hearing the brutal beating that British aid worker Paul Urey was given by prison guards two days before he died. When Urey's body was released, Ukraine's foreign minister, claimed an examination showed 'signs of possible unspeakable torture'. The mother and niece of Ihor Myronchuk, a soldier in the Armed Forces of Ukraine taken captive in February 2019. According to other prisoners of war who have been swapped, Ihor is in poor physical and psychological condition. Russia continues to deny the Red Cross access to prisoners of war. Like thousands of other families, Ihor's relatives have no way to learn about his fate and continue to wait in hope. The findings of a UN Commission of Inquiry reveal that the experiences of Pinner and those that Shu photographed are not anomalies. It concluded that Russia's use of torture against prisoners and civilian detainees amounts to crimes against humanity. The report outlines how Russian forces have subjected Ukrainian captives to brutal beatings, burns and electric shocks amplified by water. It also details how Ukrainians are forced to endure sexual violence, including rape. The deputy head of the United Kingdom delegation to the organisation for security and co-operation in Europe, Deirdre Brown, has stated that, 'The UK unequivocally condemns the Russian state's reported systematic torture, abuse, and execution of Ukrainian prisoners of war'. Her organisation has concluded that the torture of captured soldiers and civilians by the Russian state is widespread and systematic. Additionally, the Ukrainian prosecutor-general's office reports that 147 Ukrainian prisoners of war have been executed by Russian forces since the start of the full-scale invasion. In this photo taken on Sunday, September 1, 2019, Vitaly Paraskun holds up an image of himself taken shortly after his release from captivity, inside the Kyiv church where he now serves. Paraskun was captured in October 2014 in the occupied part of Luhansk region while conducting missionary work as an Evangelical priest. He spent 199 days in an unheated basement, enduring routine torture. He recalls facing potential execution without fear—but being deeply shaken when his captors threatened to harm his knee. After his release, Paraskun relocated to Dymer near Kyiv, which was later occupied in 2022. During that time, he experienced intense flashbacks. He recalls that when a Russian helicopter hovered above him, he felt the same helplessness as when he was chained to a radiator in a mine office basement in 2015. Among all this physical pain, there is a unique psychological pain, inflicted by Russia. A therapist told Shu that, 'Out of all the different cases of traumatised frontline soldiers, ex-prisoners of war, and others impacted by the war, working with the relatives of missing soldiers and civilians is the hardest'. For many who have disappeared into the Russian prison system their loved ones still have no idea if they are alive or dead. In some ways this is a worse outcome for their families than receiving confirmation of their death. The US psychologist Pauline Boss, who started working with the wives of missing US airmen in the 1970s, writes that 'even sure knowledge of death is more welcome than a continuation of doubt', and describes incomplete or uncertain loss as 'ambiguous loss'. This is a unique form of psychological torture that keeps the wound open. The rituals of closure and resolution are denied. This is why some states and armed groups deliberately 'disappear' those who are seen as their greatest threat. During the Troubles in Northern Ireland, people suspected of informing on the IRA were at risk of vanishing. Mass communication makes the idea of not knowing what's happened to a loved one seem unthinkable. We are used to having the answers at our fingertips, search engines take us to forgotten facts, and clouds hold images of millions of misremembered memories. Yet, this is the daily reality for those living in the occupied territories of Ukraine and for those families who have loved ones at the front line. When humans tell stories, we place a great emphasis on the ending. We make sense of our lifespan with fictional stories that have an origin, a middle and an end. This simple sequence puts our mind at rest. Stories have always helped make sense of our world, and of the tragedies that occur within it. These stories have a universal grammar. If the end of your story is not known, this universal grammar is not followed. One of the drawings Serhii Zakharov made about his captivity in Donetsk in 2014. A distressed fellow detainee, Dimitri, told Pinner, 'I don't think I'm ever going to get out… All the people I love… They don't even know I'm here. They have probably written me off as dead. My poor mother…' Pinner and the detainees in his cell memorised each other's phone numbers, so that if one was released they could call the others' loved ones. One of the first calls Pinner made on release was to Dimitri's mother. In March, Russia and Ukraine exchanged 175 prisoners each, following a phone call between Trump and Putin in which the swap was discussed. Russia handed over an additional 22 seriously wounded Ukrainian prisoners. While this should be welcomed, there are tens of thousands of prisoners still being held. The Ukrainian government is working to track these POWs. I ask Shu what can be done to support this work. 'We need the international community to help secure independent monitoring of Russian prisons and detention facilities in the occupied territories,' she said. The aim would be to 'create pressure on Russia to improve the conditions of Ukrainian prisoners of war and civilian hostages, and to help ensure their prompt and safe release. 'Since the Red Cross is currently not fulfilling its monitoring role, other neutral international organisations or independent representatives – possibly even involving relatives of the prisoners – must be granted access, to assess the conditions of Ukrainians in captivity, in accordance with established international law.' The international community should also push for Russia to notify the loved ones of all those it has in its prisons. This should include the locations of the approximately 35,000 Ukrainian children kidnapped by Russia. Efforts to track the location of these children have been hindered by the US's recent defunding of a research unit that helped locate them based at Yale University. The forcible abduction and deportation of children is a war crime under the statutes of the International Criminal Court. It may also be considered genocide if the aim is to eradicate a particular ethnic, racial, or religious group. Maria Varfolomeieva was working as a journalist in her native, occupied Luhansk, when she was captured in 2015 for taking photographs. She spent 419 days in captivity – more than a year and a half. After her release in a prisoner swap, she pursued a degree in psychology. Living in Kyiv when the full-scale invasion began, Maria chose to leave the country to avoid the risk of reliving the trauma she had endured years earlier. Currently, 6000 women are missing, 400 are confirmed to be in captivity. Many are in sexual and labour slavery. Some of the released women mention that they were injected with an unknown substance. There is little chance that any of those Russians identified as part of the state's torture apparatus will be brought to justice under Putin's leadership. This should not stop the collection of evidence. They should know that the cases against them will be kept open as long as they remain alive. Meanwhile, the Ukrainian special forces are using similar tactics used by Mossad against Nazi war criminals by seeking to track down those responsible outside their own borders. One morning, an attaché from the Ukrainian Embassy texted Pinner a newspaper article about a targeted attack against a Russian judge. It was the judge responsible for giving Pinner a death sentence in a sham trial. Pinner replied suggesting this was karma. Yes, karma, said the attaché, 'And the Ukrainian special forces'. Trump has rightly demanded the return of Israeli hostages held by Hamas, and should be applauded for his role in helping push through the March exchange. He should be as vocal in calls for Russia to return those it has taken and subjected to widespread and systematic torture. That torture, mental and physical, is still happening now. There are thousands of families that are suffering the ambiguous loss of not knowing whether their loved ones are alive or dead. There are thousands suffering the unique psychological torture of not being able to tell their loved ones they are alive. The Russian writer, Fyodor Dostoevsky, who was sent to a prison in Siberia claimed, 'A society should be judged not by how it treats its outstanding citizens but by how it treats its criminals.' Russia sends its own prisoners to die in the meat grinder that the frontlines in Ukraine have become. If Russian society were to be judged on how it treats its prisoners of war, the judgement can only be the harshest.
Yahoo
15-04-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
"That day, my baby asked me to put a cross on her": Sumy woman recounts surviving Russian missile strike with her daughter
Tetiana, a resident of Sumy, and her young daughter Liza were among those caught in the city centre when Russia launched a ballistic missile attack on 13 April. Source: Ukrainska Pravda. Zhyttia (Life) Details: Tetiana admitted that she and her daughter had planned to visit relatives that day, as reported by local media outlet To Tetiana's surprise, her daughter asked to wear a cross before they left. "When we were getting dressed, my daughter said, 'Put a cross on me'. She usually doesn't like wearing it, but that day, she insisted, 'Put it on,'" Tetiana recalled. They made their way to a public transport stop and boarded a bus, which would later be caught near the epicentre of the missile strike. Tetiana remembers a boy who gave up his seat for them. It was 13-year-old Kyrylo who later helped passengers escape from the burning bus. "The bus was packed. We were sitting on the seats near the middle door. Someone said they heard a whistle. I heard the explosion itself," she said. After the strike, Tetiana shielded her daughter with her body as glass shattered, debris fell and dust filled the air. She recalls passengers immediately trying to leave the bus, but she was unable to stand. Fearing more falling shrapnel, she stayed put. By then, people had started jumping out of the vehicle and crowding around the exit, which turned out to be blocked. "I looked at my little girl – she opened her eyes, saw me covered in blood and started crying. I began to calm her down," Tetiana said. Eventually, Tetiana and her daughter managed to escape the burning bus. "A woman extended her hand and I managed to get out. My focus was entirely on my daughter, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw people lying around," Tetiana said. After leaving the damaged bus, the pair waited for Tetiana's husband, who had been unable to reach them due to the blocked street. Concerned locals approached and offered assistance. That day, both Tetiana and Liza sustained minor injuries, particularly to their faces. "I blame myself for going out during the air raid. I regret getting on that bus... My baby is slowly recovering from what happened, but I am struggling. Whenever we're in the car, I feel like it could happen all over again," Tetiana shared. Background: On the afternoon of 13 April, two Russian missiles struck the heart of Sumy, leaving 125 local residents injured, including 18 children. The latest reports confirm that 35 people were killed. The Sumy City Military Administration reported that the majority of casualties were caused by a second ballistic missile strike, which occurred just two minutes after the first. The attack claimed the lives of schoolchildren, students, teachers and drivers. Support Ukrainska Pravda on Patreon!
CBC
24-02-2025
- Politics
- CBC
Ukrainian emigres face uncertain future in Manitoba on anniversary of invasion
Social Sharing Nearly 30,000 Ukrainians have settled in Manitoba since Russia's full-scale invasion of their country in February 2022. Now, challenges with their documents and hurdles in the permanent residency process have many of the newcomers anxious about their future in Canada. Leonid Isakov, 29, and his wife, Tetiana Isakova, 32, say they try to book an appointment online with the Consulate General of Ukraine in Toronto, but automated messages repeatedly tell them the bookings are full. The couple's calls to the consulate also go unanswered. They need an appointment to renew Leonid's passport, which expires next Decemberr. Without it, he can't extend his open work permit to live and continue working as a heavy-duty mechanic. "I need live here, because if I no live here, I come back Ukraine, and I dead," Leonid told CBC News at his home in Carman, a community about 60 kilometres southwest of Winnipeg. The couple and their eight-year-old son, Mark, have called the town home for nearly two years. "We want to stay, because in Ukraine … not safe now. Not safe for us, for my son," Tetiana said, adding they're nervous about their future. The Ukrainian Canadian Congress of Manitoba (UCCM) says many Ukrainian newcomers are dealing with a host of paperwork problems, including expiring passports — especially men of military age from 18 to 60 years old. Newcomers who arrived in Manitoba under the Canada-Ukraine Authorization for Emergency Travel (CUAET) program have until March 31 to apply for study visas or work permit extensions. Ukrainian men can't get their passports renewed in Canada unless they're registered with the Ukrainian military through an app called Rezerv+, the UCCM's Ostap Skrypnyk said Thursday. "Some people are having difficulty accessing [the app] … [and] some people are worried that if they do register, they'll get a draft notice so they're caught in a little bit of a situation that they can't get consular services from the Ukrainian government until they have that." Leonid feard renewing his Ukrainian passport because men of military age are prohibited from leaving the country. "We [are] stuck in this situation," Tetiana said. Last month, Immigration Minister Marc Miller said that while he would not force Ukrainian newcomers to go back to a war zone, he did not agree to the UCCM's call to automatically renew their emergency visas. Instead, he said, they must apply for student visas or work permits if they are interested in staying longer as temporary residents. Skrypnyk says he's optimistic Ukrainian newcomers won't have to leave Canada if they don't want to. WATCH | Ukrainian newcomers face hurdles in the permanent residency process: "We met with Minister Miller, the immigration minister, a couple of weeks ago when he was in Winnipeg, and I think they're willing to look at solutions within the law or within the regulations to have some understanding of people [who] have these little timing hiccups." Immigration, Refugees and Citizenship Canada (IRCC) has told CBC News it might consider exemptions to the passport requirement under exceptional circumstances, but applicants must explain why. Reduction in provincial nominee slots Last year, Leonid and Tetiana filed an expression of interest with the Manitoba provincial nominee program (MPNP), which offers a pathway to permanent residency, but they say they have yet to get a response. Yuliaa Venhryniuk, 26, is also waiting in the applicant pool. The lawyer arrived in Winnipeg in 2023, and got a job at a laundry company before landing one in her field as a legal assistant. Applicants have to have worked full-time for an employer in Manitoba for at least six consecutive months to be eligible for the nominee program. The province periodically chooses from people who've expressed interest, who are then invited to apply to the program. The draws are not random but determined using a ranking scale, with points awarded for a range of factors. Venhryniuk changed jobs before the six-month mark and says she missed her opportunity under the last Ukrainian newcomer draw last year, despite now having a high score. Getting her legal education recognized in Canada through further studies would be more affordable and easier as a permanent resident, she said. "It's worrying me, because … you want to make some plans for [the] future, right?" Venhryniuk said. Many Ukrainian newcomers in Manitoba will find the nominee program even harder to get into due to a federal reduction in nominee slots, Skrypnyksaysd. Manitoba is only getting 4,750 slots through the program in 2025, which is half the number it received last year. Manitoba continues to negotiate with Ottawa about its allocations, a spokesperson for provincial Immigration Minister Malaya Marcelino said in an emailed statement on Friday. "It's adding to the anxiety, on top of which then they also have to worry about what's going on in Ukraine, right?" Skrypnyk said. As for Leonid, he says he'll go to the Ukrainian consulate in Toronto without an appointment to resolve his passport woes if it comes to that. Asked what he would do if that doesn't work, he replied solemnly: "I don't know."
Yahoo
24-02-2025
- General
- Yahoo
The school teaching pupils to 'dream in Ukrainian'
Tetiana Prudnykova remembers running between the hospital and her home in Kyiv with her son Mikhailo when the air raid sirens began. Mikhailo, who has cerebral palsy, was suffering from a fever caused by Covid. Tetiana was not feeling well herself. It has been three years since the family fled their homes in the Ukrainian capital during the Russian invasion, but they have since found a new community thousands of miles away in Glasgow's Langside. Mikhailo, 12, nicknamed Misha, is among the weekend pupils at St Mary's Ukrainian School, where children displaced by the conflict can receive an education in their own language. The classes, which take place on a Saturday, allow youngsters to maintain a cultural connection with their homeland. Tetiana, 49, said it has made life in a new country easier. 'We have nothing left in Ukraine - we'd like to stay' 'I've not seen my husband for two years but I know he's alive' She said: "When the war started, Misha was in the first year of school and it's very hard to learn online. "That's why we are very glad we have a Ukrainian school here." After school, pupils can take part in a weekly children's choir. While most are now fluent in English, they sing in Ukrainian. Nataliya Lyalyuk, manager of St Mary's, said it was important to continue their links with home. "We help them to speak Ukrainian, we have classes on Ukrainian history, language, literature, geography and music," she said. "The aim is to speak, dream and learn Ukrainian, and celebrate its heritage." Most of the children in St Mary's classes come from Ukraine's south and east - the areas worst affected by the war. Those are areas where Russian was more often spoken before the war, although things are changing, with more people choosing to speak Ukrainian as a direct result of the invasion. In the Glasgow classroom, children as young as seven can speak three languages: Ukrainian, Russian, and English. Liubomyra Malanii, a teacher at the school, said it was vital pupils did not lose a sense of their heritage. "It's very important for Ukrainian children," he said. "It's very difficult, it's very hard, because every day children are speaking English much more and not using Ukrainian more." Tetiana and Mikhailo, along with dad Dymytro, initially fled to Western Ukraine to be near to a clinic where he could receive treatment. With war closing in, they moved to Poland. But when it became clear the conflict was continuing to escalate, they were left searching for a longer term home. They arrived in Scotland via the Scottish government's super sponsor visa scheme. More than 12 million people have fled Ukraine, with about 28,000 displaced Ukrainians now living in Scotland. Mikhailo's brother, Oleksander, 21, had to stay behind. At first, they lived in a hotel, sharing a room, before a ground-floor flat in Glasgow meeting Mikhailo's needs became available. The school is now a weekly highlight, with increasing anxiety over the situation at home. Ukrainian nationals and their families can apply for an extension of their visas to stay in the UK for a further 18 months, but it does not lead to permanent settlement. Talk of a deal between the US and Russia to end the war - over the heads of Ukraine's leaders- has caused worry among those watching on nervously from afar. Tetiana says if that happens, it will leave more questions than answers. "Trump says he can stop the war," Tetiana said. "Ok, but I don't believe Putin. "If I go back and he starts the war again, what should I do?" Three years on, Ukraine's extinction nightmare has returned 'We have nothing left in Ukraine - we'd like to stay'
