Maryna takes a purple folder from her closet, turns it over, and shows the first page with the faces of eleven men, most of them smiling. She points to the photo in the middle. “This is my brother and all these men disappeared with him in one day,” says this woman, sitting on the sofa in the small room, the same one that serves as a bed for her and her husband, and begins to take out the documents one by one. that he has collected during the year and a half that he has been searching for these men.
They all disappeared in May 2022 near Popasna, in Donbass, where one of the first major battles at the beginning of the invasion was fought. They were part of Kyiv’s territorial defense, most of them volunteers, but weeks later they were sent to the south.
“They didn’t really know where they were going, but when they arrived they found themselves in the middle of a big battle,” says Maryna. Her brother-in-law never told them where she was, but the day she disappeared he sent an SMS to a friend in which he told her that he was in “hell,” that he didn’t believe he was going to get out of over there. They were attacked while being transported in a vehicle. His fate is unknown, what they do know is that he was injured. And serious.
They also know that it was in territory controlled by Wagner’s paramilitaries. This organization confirmed having found his documents, through a Telegram channel that they enabled to answer the families’ questions.
“It is one thing that they had the documents and another that they did not tell us where it was, or in what condition. They don’t give information,” says Maryan, adding that on the list given by Wagner there was a man who returned alive to Kyiv. He had lost identification of him on the battlefield, hence the uncertainty is greater, but there is also the hope that he is alive. Like her, there are thousands of families in Ukraine for whom no one can confirm if their family lives or where they are.
What surrounds obtaining information about prisoners of war is a martyrdom. Russia does not allow medical commissions access to prisoners. It also does not give a list of those captured, despite the fact that the families have sent thousands of requests, and it closes the doors to the International Red Cross.
And the Ukrainian Government, in turn, has a prisoner coordination office that depends on the Ministry of the Interior, which tries to do what it can. “They always answer and try to help me with the people in my brigade, but there is no more information,” he says. They also cannot confirm that someone is dead if they do not have the evidence, and many bodies are trapped in occupied territories where it is impossible to recover them. Not to mention those that no trace remains due to the harshness of the attack.
Other organizations, such as the NGO Patriot, are also doing everything they can to help. They work on body recovery efforts, whenever possible. They guide families on what they should do, give them psychological support and store the information in an extensive database with information on each of the missing people. On an interactive map of Ukraine they indicate where each of them was last seen. The number is secret, but there are quite a few.
At the same time, analysts are dedicated to reviewing each of the videos published on Russian channels, official or not. Artem is one of the technicians. On the screen he analyzes an interview with a Ukrainian prisoner that is published in Russian cyberspace. He listens to her calmly. “We know that they are threatened for saying what they say, but from the information he gives we can understand that he was not alone and that all those who were with him in his trench are alive,” he explains.
This minimal information leads them to make relationships and quickly discover who the men who accompanied him were. From here they begin the process of contacting families and informing them. Artem says that the conditions of Ukrainian prisoners in Russia are generally inhumane. “It’s an insult, Russia doesn’t follow any convention, but in Ukraine they are fed well, they feel like normal people,” says the 33-year-old man.
Maryna does not have the professionalism of Artem, but she also checks the different Russian Telegram channels at least six times a day. “This uncertainty kills. No one can confirm that they are alive or dead,” explains this woman, who had her first moment of hope months ago when she learned that two of the men who were with her brother-in-law are in prison.
But his greatest excitement came in January, when he came across a list posted by a prisoner who had just been exchanged. The last name of his brother-in-law appears there, which is not very common in Ukraine. “On the same list is the name of the husband of a woman I know. I believe in magic and, if the two names are together, it is because it is him,” she tells us.
Prisoners returning from captivity are almost the only reliable source of information. Some of those who have returned were presumed dead.
This is the case of Olena. Her husband disappeared during the Battle of Mariupol. She knew he was hurt, but, no matter how much he had searched and knocked on doors, he had no signs. She had even lost hope, but still she dedicated her life to helping the families of the 56th brigade in the same situation.
But on December 31 he received a call.
–Mrs. Olena? What is she doing?
-I’m in the subway.
–Congratulations, your husband is back in Ukraine.
What came next was marked by joy. He is still in a hospital recovering, but every weekend she goes to meet him. “Many families find it difficult to understand each other again, but that is not my case,” he confesses.
They talk about everything, but especially about those who were with him in captivity. And she points. They know that any information, no matter how minimal, can provide relief to many families. “For many it doesn’t matter if they are dead, the important thing is to know what happened to them,” says Olena.
