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The Guardian - UK
The Guardian - UK
World
Luke Harding in Zaporizhzhia. Photographs by Alessio Mamo

‘I’m a person again’: the Ukrainian convicts recruited to fight the war

Three men in combat gear and holding weapons walk on a dirt path net to a sunflower field
The recruits’ new home is a leafy outdoor camp, hidden beneath camouflage netting and shady trees. Nearby are meadows of wild flowers with butterflies and sunflowers. Photograph: Alessio Mamo/The Guardian

Last year, Volodymyr Prysiazhniuk quarrelled with his father-in-law, Yuriy. Both men were drunk. “I’d had a litre of beer,” Prysiazhniuk recalled. The row escalated and he punched Yuriy twice in the head. The older man fell over – dead. In court Prysiazhuiuk admitted his guilt and told the judge he had called an ambulance. He got eight years for manslaughter.

Prysiazhniuk had reconciled himself to a long period behind bars. In June, however, he walked out of penal colony number 67, in the western Ukrainian town of Sokyriany, and got on to a bus. Several other inmates joined him. They said farewell to the Soviet-era jail, with its guard tower and salmon pink walls, and were driven to a military camp in the south-east of the country.

The convicted killer is one of 3,800 inmates freed early under a new scheme designed to plug gaps in Ukraine’s armed forces. After two and a half years of all-out war, the government in Kyiv is struggling to find recruits. In May, it passed legislation allowing convicts to volunteer for the army, having previously rejected the idea.

Rapists and mass murderers are not eligible. Also barred are those guilty of national security crimes. Military outfits are now competing to attract suitable prisoners. According to the justice ministry, 5,900 expressed interest. Some were rejected for health reasons. Prysiazhniuk signed up after two representatives from the first separate assault battalion visited his colony.

It was, he said, a good decision. “People immediately started treating me with respect. The warmth was incredible. When you are in jail you are nothing. Now I’m a person again,” he said. Officially, 31,000 Ukrainian soldiers have been killed since 2022. Many believe the real figure is higher. Was he worried about dying? “Nobody can predict what will happen. You have to hope it will be OK,” he said.

A month ago the first batch of 58 prisoners arrived at the battalion’s training base in the Zaporizhzhia region, 12 miles (20km) from the frontline. Their new home is a leafy outdoor camp, hidden beneath camouflage netting and shady trees. Nearby are meadows of wild flowers, with a variety of butterflies, and yellow sunflowers. Recruits get uniforms, boots and a rifle. They sleep underground on wooden bunks.

On Monday they learned basic infantry skills: how to creep through undergrowth in single file and to avoid enemy surveillance. Both sides make extensive use of drones, meaning soldiers have to trek 1.8 miles at night to reach forward positions. The convicts are taught to operate automatic weapons and machine guns. They receive lessons in how to recognise mines and booby traps, and to set them.

“I’m proud of myself. I feel a new confidence,” Vladyslav Vasyliev said. “If I don’t survive, my kids can at least be proud of me. I want to defend them and my country.” Vasyliev said he joined the battalion three years into a five-year-sentence for theft. “I was young and stupid,” he said. He and his fellow prisoners were more committed than law-abiding civilians, many of whom are reluctant to fight, he added.

Under the scheme, the convicts’ sentences are wiped clean after a year but they must carry on fighting indefinitely. They are not entitled to the twice yearly 15-day leave period given to regular soldiers, although the battalion says it will reward good behaviour with marital visits. If prisoners desert, they receive an extra five to 10 years in jail, on top of their original sentences. Vasyliev said his wife, Natalia, loved him, “the good and the bad”, adding that his estranged sister had got in touch.

Not all relatives, though, are fans. Prysiazhniuk said his wife, Boghdana, stopped speaking to him last month. “She is upset and thinks I won’t come back. We have two small girls aged three and one,” he said. Previously a potato distributor, he said he tried to enlist when Russia began its invasion but was told he was not required. What did he think of Vladimir Putin? “He’s a prick.”

Russia began recruiting for the military from prisoners in 2022, so far signing up about 100,000 people. Many joined the Wagner mercenary group. Its leader, Yevgeny Prigozhin, died last year when his plane crashed after a failed rebellion against Russia’s then defence minister, Sergei Shoigu. A large number of Russian ex-prisoners have been killed, with dozens dying daily in the grinding year-long battle to seize the eastern Ukrainian city of Bakhmut.

Oleksii Dukh, a spokesperson for the Ukrainian battalion, said his country would not employ Russia’s bloody tactics with its own prison volunteers. “They don’t try and preserve lives. They use their guys like meat,” he said of Moscow. He described the new recruits as “pretty good” and said their motivation levels were reminiscent of the upbeat mood in spring 2022, when thousands of patriotic young men queued up outside army recruitment centres.

Instructor Denis Kravchenko said the military needed better PR and higher salaries if it wanted to solve its recruitment problem. The convicts get a standard army wage: $500 (£387) a month, plus $2,500 when they serve on the frontline. With drones ubiquitous, Ukrainian soldiers rarely fire at Russians – in contrast to the early weeks of war. “Tanks fire from hidden positions 3-4km away. Evacuation is difficult. If you are wounded you need to wait for darkness,” he said.

Some of the new recruits needed to work on their fitness levels, he added. This summer they will be sent to join assault units, used to storm Russian positions. Inevitably, he acknowledged, there would be casualties. He added: “Our battalion has lost 20 guys over the past two months. Across the whole line of contact it’s around 50 people a day. We’ve got used to this. One person’s death is a tragedy. A thousand is a statistic.”

After a sweaty training exercise, the prisoners cooled off in the shade. They glugged water and sat around a picnic table. Yevhenii Kostohryz said he was locked up in the western Khmelnytskyi region for drug offences. As an ex-firefighter he had useful first aid skills, he said. He added: “Some of us have military experience, others none at all. I want to defend my home and family.”

No one expressed regrets. “Russia wants to destroy us completely. It’s a genocide. We have to oppose them,” Vasyliev said. “Everyone understands you can be alive today and dead tomorrow. I know I’m a fish in a big ocean. If everyone does something to free our country it will be easier.”

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