The story of Olena and the Ukrainians living in the Russian-occupied territories that some want to trade for “peace”

Olena Tikhtilova, 50, endured over six months of illegal detainment, torture, and eventual deportation without any explanation or demands. Her story repeats the path of hundreds or even thousands of other people in the occupied territories of Ukraine and illustrates in detail the tools of the Russian occupation during the three years of the full-scale war.

Few manage to gain freedom. According to the Office of the Ukrainian Parliament Commissioner for Human Rights, as of late 2024, 16,000 civilians remain in Russian captivity, with only 168 released through exchanges with Russia.

Trading the Ukrainian territories for possible "peace" – is part of the suggestion by the White House to the Ukrainians, this dispatch tells what’s actually Russian do in the occupation but most importantly what price the local population may pay.

Russian forces quickly seized parts of southern Ukraine after launching a full-scale invasion on 24 February 2022. By late February 2022, Russians partially controlled Zaporizhzhia Oblast, which borders the Donetsk, Dnipropetrovsk, and Kherson oblasts, and the Sea of Azov. 

In March, Ukraine lost control over four of Zaporizhzhia Oblast's five major cities – the port city of Berdyansk, Melitopol, Tokmak, and Enerhodar, home to Europe's largest nuclear power plant. Ukrainian forces were compelled to retreat; however, the Russians failed to capture the regional center, Zaporizhzhia. The front line in this section has not seen any significant changes. Despite this, Russia declared the annexation of the entire oblast in autumn 2022, including Ukrainian-controlled Zaporizhzhia, and incorporated it into the Russian Constitution.

After establishing control over the occupied territories, the Russians immediately began persecuting anyone who had or potentially could have a pro-Ukrainian stance or simply possessed important information about the region's life. This included local officials, journalists, activists, educators, and veterans of the Russo-Ukrainian war. However, it quickly became clear that neither profession, age, nor gender would play any role for the occupation administration.

The Reckoning Project collected 57 testimonies from individuals who experienced the occupation of Zaporizhzhia Oblast. Testimonies from just one detention site in occupied Berdyansk include accounts from a worker, farmers, a retired police officer, a travel agent, teachers, and a student. Almost all of them, with a few exceptions, were over 50 years old, and nearly half were women.

Illusion of safety

Olena Tikhtilova worked as the head of a department in the tax administration of the village of Yakymivka in Zaporizhzhia Oblast. In April 2022, locals called Olena, offering her to return to work at the now-occupied tax administration. She did not answer the calls, deciding to wait out the war in the resort village of Kyrylivka, located on the coast of the Sea of Azov, just 40 km from Yakymivka.

Before the full-scale invasion, Kyrylivka was one of Ukraine's most popular resorts. Hundreds of recreational bases, children's camps, sanatoriums, a water park, and a dolphinarium attracted between 2 and 2.5 million tourists each season. Although the resort was already under Russian control, occupation forces were not yet physically present – at that time, battles were still raging in Mariupol (the largest city in Donetsk Oblast after the occupation of Donetsk in 2014, also on the coast of the Sea of Azov), which is 250 km from Kyrylivka, and the front line was being established.

Olena stayed at the Prymorska-Galatea resort on the Peresyp Spit, owned by an acquaintance now living in Ukrainian-controlled territory. He granted her power of attorney to care for the resort. Olena felt relatively safe since there had been no shootings, looting, or abductions. However, this was just an illusion of safety.

Russians established control in Kyrylivka in May 2022, arresting the Ukrainian village head Ivan MAleyev and appointing Kateryna Umanets, who was charged with state treason by Ukraine back in 2017 and left the country since, as the municipality leader. Olena will later meet her in captivity.

Two months later, Russian security forces arrived and settled at the resort. "About 80 men showed up. They said they were the 'temporary administration of the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs,'" Olena recalls. Armed with assault rifles, the men took over a three-story building.

Olena lived in a separate cottage and tried to avoid the building where the Russian police officers were staying. Occasionally, they would talk to Olena. They asked if the place they were in was Mariupol, or how far away Dzhankoy was (a city in Russian-occupied Crimea). They had come from various regions of Russia—Rostov, Krasnodar, and some from Moscow. They told Olena that they had come to Ukraine to "organize police work" in the occupied territories and to oversee the order during the so-called "referendum" on the accession of Zaporizhzhia Oblast to Russia (which the Russians conducted in the occupied territories from September 23 to 27, 2022). At that time, Olena did not yet feel in danger and allowed herself to speak openly.

"I said, 'If people vote voluntarily, why are you here with the guns?'" Olena recalls.

Russian General Oleg Kolotunov, initially introducing himself as Garbuzov, also stayed at the resort. He headed the Main Directorate of Internal Affairs of the Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs in Zaporizhzhia Oblast, based in Melitopol.

The presence of Russian police initially protected the Prymorska-Galatea from looting and destruction by the Russian military, whom Olena saw hauling away entire wooden houses in trucks. Soldiers also visited Olena's resort but left upon learning that Russian police were staying there.

As the Russians were leaving for rotation in May 2023, one of the officers warned Olena that the owner needed to prepare new documents for the base; otherwise, it would be seized.

Arrest, coffin, and wet wipes

Olena was arrested on 7 August 2023.

"I stepped outside, and there were eight men at the door. 'Are you Olena Volodymyrivna?' 'Yes.' 'Do you have any Ukrainian symbols?' I was confused. 'What's going on?' They pulled out an order. I started reading it but couldn't make sense of it. 'What are the charges?' 'Terrorism.'"

The arrest warrant for Olena was signed by the chief of police of Zaporizhzhia Oblast, Koltunov—the same one who had been living at the resort with the other Russian police officers.

Olena, who took medication for diabetes and heart failure, was allowed to bring a two-day supply of medicine and a small bottle of water. She was taken towards Melitopol, blindfolded, and with her hands tied. Olena was placed in an empty warehouse without windows, where some other people had been apparently held before: a bucket with excrement served as a toilet, and plastic bottles of urine littered the floor. Olena found a crack in the wall and spent the first night near it, the only source of fresh air. No water or food was provided.

Other testimonies from The Reckoning Project indicate that Russian occupation authorities systematically denied medical care to civilians, including those with chronic illnesses who could not bring sufficient medication to places of detention. Civilians were held in unsuitable conditions, with limited access to water, and food, and under life-threatening circumstances.

The next day, Olena was interrogated and accused of providing information about the residence of Russian Ministry of Internal Affairs employees and cooperating with the SBU (Security Service of Ukraine). They demanded that she plead guilty, but she did not incriminate herself.

Olena convinced the investigator to let her call her daughter. In a brief conversation, she asked for a change of clothes, toilet paper, napkins, and diabetes medication. The investigator gave her a pack of three wet wipes, which she washed, dried, and reused for nearly a week. Due to stress, lack of proper nutrition, water, and heat, Olena began hallucinating.

"I thought someone was coming in, talking to me, asking something. I couldn't tell if it was real," she recalls.

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‘I said, “If people vote voluntarily, why are you here with the guns?”’ – Olena

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Olena spent a week in solitary confinement before being transferred to a factory producing industrial refrigeration equipment, where occupation authorities set up a prison and torture chamber. Men were mainly held in the basement, while Olena was placed with other women. On the way to interrogations, Olena saw rooms splattered with blood, containing clamps – tools for electric torture. In another room, there was a coffin used to torture detainees by simulating their death; they would place them inside and nail the lid shut.

The investigator pressured Olena again, but she refused to sign the accusations.

Curfew violation

A month and a half after her arrest, in September, Olena underwent a polygraph test that lasted almost the entire day. The test was conducted by a Russian soldier wearing a balaclava. Olena says she answered honestly and believed that the Russians would be convinced of her innocence and release her. However, the polygraph examiner said, "You're still lying."

A few days after the polygraph test, when they came for Olena, she was overjoyed. She thought that because of the polygraph results, they would finally release her. They put a sack over her head, placed her in a car, and drove her to the central Victory Square in Melitopol. There, they transferred her to another car, took her to the local police station, and placed her in a cell. They told her they were processing a violation of the curfew and that she would go to court the next day and then be able to go home.

"Tears streamed down my face; I was lost for words. It was my grandson's birthday. I recited the Lord’s Prayer in my head."

However, Olena's hopes for release were dashed. The judge sentenced Olena to 30 days of administrative arrest ​​for violating the curfew. Olena was not called to the judge's chambers, nor was she given a chance to speak in her defense – the court order was delivered to her in the corridor. The penalty for violating the curfew ranged from a 500-ruble ($5) fine to 30 days of arrest. Olena received the maximum sentence. During the proceedings, Olena managed to relay through acquaintances to her daughter where she was being sent and for how long.

Olena was then taken to a temporary detention facility in the village of Vesele and placed in solitary confinement. Personal visits were prohibited, but she regularly received packages from her daughter. In one of these packages, there was a notebook. On the back page, a message was scratched: "Mom, you have a lawyer, don't sign anything."

She was able to read two phone numbers: her daughter's and the lawyer's, as well as the text stating that, according to Article 51 of the Russian Constitution, she has the right not to testify against herself.

"At night, I repeated all this to myself to memorize it, as there was a search in the cell in the morning, and I had to flush the note with the phone numbers down the toilet," Olena recalls.

The Russians did not expect the detainee to assert her rights, which only provoked more aggression. The investigator told Olena that she would now "be in for a long haul." As soon as her administrative arrest term ended, men in camouflage came for Olena again. They took her to the central square, waited until 10pm, and charged her with violating the curfew. Olena was once again sentenced to 30 days of administrative arrest. This time, the police took her to the village of Pryazovske.

Very important people

Olena thought a lot about why the occupiers were holding her and concluded that the reason was likely an attempt by the head of the occupational police in Zaporizhzhia Oblast, General Koltunov, to seize the Prymorska-Galatea recreational base. For the occupiers, this was a "prize asset": a modern resort with 800 beds, an autonomous water supply, household appliances, three swimming pools, its own laundry, bakery, and confectionery.

Even while at the resort, Olena had heard rumors that the complex had caught the eye of the Russian general. Olena held all the legal rights to the base, and in her opinion, no one could easily re-register Prymorska-Galatea in their own name because the occupiers understood that sooner or later, the courts would function again, and the ownership rights to the base would be disputed.

"They just needed to get rid of me," she concludes.

In Pryazovske, the pressure on Olena continued. The Russians demanded that she admit to being recruited by the SBU and renounce her lawyer—supposedly, she would then be sentenced to only one year of probation. Olena was ready to agree, but unexpectedly, the occupation authorities placed Kateryna Umanets, the appointed head of the Kyrylivka administration, charged with sale of stolen property, in the same cell with her.

Kateryna had books on Russian legislation with her. After reading them, Olena realised that she could not receive a "one-year probation" sentence for any of the charges against her and that there were no formal grounds for the "terrorism" charges, as there had been no terrorist acts. Olena refused to sign the accusations against herself once again. On the day her latest arrest term expired, Olena was sentenced for a third time for violating the curfew.

New year, old tactics

The term of Olena's fourth administrative arrest ended in late December 2023, nearly five months after her initial detention. She was taken to court, where the judge unexpectedly fined her instead of imposing another arrest.

"Tears streamed down my face. I asked, 'Can I really go?' The judge said, 'Yes, just pay the fine,'" Olena recalls.

Olena borrowed a phone from a court visitor and called her daughter, who took her home to Yakymivka. Olena recalls that she was afraid to open her eyes in case everything turned out to be a dream.

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‘By examining the testimonies from our project, we can conclude that the actions taken against people under occupation are intended to instill fear in the population, forcing them either to flee or to support Russia’ – Ibrahim Olabi, lawyer

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On 31 December 2023, Olena bought bedding, towels, hygiene products, clothes, and dishes, and sent them to her former cellmates in the police department in Vesele. She celebrated the New Year 2024 at home with her daughter's family.

In January, Olena spent time at home, but less than two months after her release, in early February 2024, she was arrested again.

With a sack over her head and in handcuffs, Olena was taken to Melitopol. The investigator who had previously pressured her now demanded she sign another document.

"The text read, 'I request to be deported voluntarily because I do not support Russia's policies and do not wish to work for the benefit of the country... for political reasons,'" she recalls. "I firmly said: I will not sign it! This is my country; I have lived here for 30 years and had no plans to leave. The investigator shouted and said that I would be deported anyway."

That same evening at 10pm, the familiar routine repeated itself for Olena—she was taken to the street, to court, and sentenced to her fifth administrative arrest for 20 days. She served this term in the prison in Yakymivka.

Deportation

On 27 February 2024, an unknown man in civilian clothing visited Olena in prison and told her that she had to sign a deportation notice. The document stated that Olena, as a person without citizenship, had to leave Russia within three days. The occupation administration considered part of Zaporizhzhia Oblast to be Russia (Russians have been practicing forced passportisation on occupied territories since the annexation of Crimea in 2014, pressuring the local population with threats, including confiscating property or deporting them if they do not obtain a Russian passport -ed.). The document also stated that Olena was barred from entering the occupied territory until 1st January 2045. Olena signed the notice, and on 2 March 2024, she was taken to Melitopol.

Along with Olena, another woman named Olena was also being deported, whom the occupiers had taken directly from her home. The deputy head of the migration service in Melitopol, who was escorting the women out of the country, informed them that they would be taken to Georgia.

"We were driven through Berdyansk and Mariupol. We traveled through occupied Novoazovsk, then through Vladikavkaz and Mineralnye Vody in Russia. At 4am, we arrived at the border between Russia and the self-proclaimed South Ossetia."

In South Ossetia, border guards put the women in a passing car, and they reached the Georgian border. There, they encountered issues due to violating Russian-Georgian border crossing rules.

"I said, 'You can shoot me here, but I won't go back,'" Olena recalls.

Soon, the women were allowed to cross the border. Ordinary Georgians helped them return home. Olena traveled by bus through Turkiye, Bulgaria, Romania, and Moldova, and arrived back in Ukraine on 10 March 2024.

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General Koltunov never managed to re-register the Prymorska-Galatea resort in his own name. However, furniture, refrigerators, and other property were removed from the complex. The Russians are still trying to "rehabilitate" Ministry of Internal Affairs personnel there.

Olena is now working in Zaporizhzhia. She has filed a complaint with Ukrainian law enforcement agencies, and the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) is investigating her deportation case. Olena is trying to track the fates of those with whom she was detained. One of them committed suicide in a detention center in Vesele.

Researchers from The Reckoning Project have documented more than ten cases of forced deportation from Russian-occupied territories. Victims of these crimes included men and women, a farmer, an engineer, clergy from Protestant, Greek Catholic, and Orthodox churches, a cleaner, and an unemployed person. They were either taken to the Russian border, from where they often had to find their way back to Ukraine without money, or they were left at the last checkpoint in the occupied region and told to head towards Ukrainian-controlled territory, risking being caught in shelling or stepping on a mine.

Olena’s arrest reveals an economic motive – the Russians wanted to seize the seaside resort for themselves. Such cases – abductions and arrests of people whose property or businesses were confiscated – are not isolated incidents. However, this is just one of the reasons why any Ukrainian under occupation can face the risk of abduction, torture, or deportation.

Most testimonies collected by The Reckoning Project from occupied territories indicate that even a hint of pro-Ukrainian views can lead to a so-called arrest. This can be inferred from social media posts, phone messages, or simply the lack of information on mobile devices, which the Russians may interpret as evidence of deleted suspicious data. The chances of survival for people under Moscow's control depend solely on their ability to conceal any connection to the Ukrainian state.

Olena considers her story, with its relatively "happy ending," to be an exception. Most people who fall into the repressive machine of the Russian occupiers have no way out. Olena had a determined daughter and son-in-law who spent their savings on lawyers and influential friends who persuaded the lawyers to take on the case. However, thousands of civilian detainees are held without contact with the outside world and without the means to defend themselves.

"The Russian occupation has a deliberate strategy," says Ibrahim Olabi, the chief legal counsel of The Reckoning Project. "By examining the testimonies from our project, we can conclude that the actions taken against people under occupation are intended to instill fear in the population, forcing them either to flee or to support Russia. The crimes committed, including arbitrary detentions, torture, enforced disappearances, and extrajudicial killings, are part of a single strategy. In addition to indoctrination practices, these actions aim to alter the demographic and social structure of these regions, paving the way for further territorial seizures."

Edited by Angelina Kariakina and Nataliya Gumenyuk

This article was prepared as part of The Reckoning Project, an initiative of Ukrainian and international journalists, analysts, and lawyers co-founded by the Public Interest Journalism Lab. Since March 2022, the team has been documenting and analysing war crimes committed during the Russian war against Ukraine. Olena's testimony is one of over 500 documented by the team. It has been published in Estonian on Vikerkaar