Larisa Shevandin has not seen her husband Oleh in 11 years. An athlete and head of a local martial arts association in Debaltseve in eastern Ukraine, Oleh vanished in May 2015 after the town came under control of the Russia-backed “Donetsk People’s Republic.” The couple spoke twice in the 24 hours after his arrest and never again.
Eyewitnesses interviewed by Shevandin say masked, armed men stopped Oleh in the street, dragged him from his car, shoved a sack over his head and drove off. Shevandin began investigating his disappearance and founded the advocacy group Return Home; she says his case was taken up by the UN Committee on Enforced Disappearances.
“UN mechanisms cannot directly compel action,” Shevandin says, adding that despite those efforts Oleh remains locked away. “Eleven years in a Russian prison is a long time. They say every day is hell — then multiply that by 365, and by 11.”
Oleh is listed as a potential candidate for a prisoner swap, but his family has had no contact, he has no legal representation and he is reportedly held without formal charges.
His situation mirrors that of many other Ukrainian civilians detained by Russian forces. Human rights groups say tens of thousands disappeared after Russia’s full-scale invasion, and estimate at least 16,000 Ukrainian non-combatants have been held in prisons in Russia or Russian-occupied territory. Arbitrary arrests of civilians violate international humanitarian law, including the Fourth Geneva Convention, which protects non-combatants.
Yurii Kovbasa, a representative of the Ukrainian parliament’s Commissioner for Human Rights, stresses that the Geneva Conventions forbid invading another state’s territory and imprisoning its civilians without legal process. Russia often defends these detentions by alleging the accused resisted its “special military operation,” Mikhail Savva of the Center for Civil Liberties says. Savva adds that many detainees have effectively no lawful status: their imprisonment violates both international and, in many instances, Russian law.
Kovbasa notes that a subset of detainees is known to the International Committee of the Red Cross; some in that group have been formally accused of crimes such as terrorism. But many others are held incommunicado for long periods, with charges filed only months later, if at all.
Journalist and activist Serhiy Tsyhipa is a case in point. After retiring in 2021, Tsyhipa wrote children’s stories about his hometown Nova Kakhovka. When Russian forces occupied the area in early 2022 he stayed to help coordinate humanitarian aid and report events on social media. He was abducted on March 12, 2022. According to the Russian rights group Memorial, he was held for months without charge and was not indicted for alleged espionage until December 26, 2022; Memorial considers him a political prisoner.
Tsyhipa’s wife, Olena, compares her search for his freedom to chasing the “magic keys” from his tales. She takes part in the Civilians in Captivity initiative, writes weekly and sends paper for his replies, but last heard from him in February. She fears letters do not reach him and that his health is worsening in the cold, damp conditions commonly reported in detention.
The UN and rights organizations report that Ukrainians held in Russia or Russian-occupied areas — both POWs and civilians — face systematic abuse and torture. Kovbasa says returning detainees, whether soldiers or civilians, consistently report mistreatment and torture.
Savva says those most often targeted are people active in civic life: volunteers, evacuation drivers and anyone openly expressing pro-Ukrainian views. The arrests are intended to neutralize potential leaders of resistance and to intimidate the broader population. “You demonstrate that anyone can be disappeared,” he explains.
Another example is retired officer Serhiy Likhomanov. Armed men raided his Sevastopol apartment in late 2023 and he disappeared for nearly two months. His family later learned he had been imprisoned; Russian authorities accuse him of treason and plotting a terror attack. Memorial regards the case as a severe legal breach and suspects political persecution. Likhomanov’s sister, Tetiana Zelena, says he deserves a normal life and believes he was detained because he had once served in the Ukrainian military. Zelena quit her job to campaign full-time for his release and helps other families seeking their loved ones’ freedom.
Human rights groups, the UN and relatives describe a consistent pattern: abductions often conducted by masked armed men, secret transfers to prisons inside Russia, long stretches without legal counsel or family contact, formal charges sometimes only months later, and frequent reports of torture and degrading conditions. Activists and families keep pressing international bodies, documenting cases and lobbying for prisoner exchanges, but many detainees remain unaccounted for or are held without due process.
This article was translated from German by Jon Shelton.