An “Azov” fighter with a defiant gaze has spent 19 months in captivity. The Russians sentenced Hennadiy Kharchenko to 25 years in prison.
Source: SVOI CITY
Author: Hanna KURTSANOVSKA
She dedicated many poems to him, which were included in the collection *People of Steel*, published on November 1, 2023. Although Oksana evacuated to Canada—where her daughter lives—when the full-scale war began, she continues to fight for Gennadiy’s release. All proceeds from the sale of the poetry collection in Ukraine and Canada go toward the rehabilitation of prisoners of war and support for “Azov.”
Historian, translator, economist, athlete
Oksana is one of the initiators and organizers of rallies, protest marches, and events in support of Ukraine and the prisoners of war from the Mariupol garrison. Over 80 such events have taken place in Canada and Ukraine over the past 19 months—the exact length of time Hennadiy Kharchenko has been held captive.
“An extraordinary, intelligent, noble, patriotic, and highly educated person. He graduated from the History Department of Zaporizhzhia State University with two degrees: as a history teacher and an English translator. He later earned a second degree in economics. His range of interests is extremely broad: history, literature, foreign languages, politics, archaeology, business, and sports. Gennadiy played handball professionally and even had his own team, “Khorta,” in the first division,” says Oksana.
“An Artilleryman’s Diary” and Fate Brought
Them Together Again Oksana and Gennady met as students back in 1990. But at the time, they hardly ever crossed paths and didn’t pay much attention to each other. Only one black-and-white photo from their freshman year remains, in which they appear together.
“I’m a simple girl from a poor family, but I’m ambitious and a natural leader, used to achieving everything through my persistence and hard work—getting straight A’s, never missing class, staying in the library until late at night, and giving it my all. Back then, he seemed like a ‘rich kid’ to me—somewhat frivolous, not very serious, and not particularly eager to study, since he missed a lot of classes playing handball; later, while still a student, he started working at a school. On top of that, I had a boyfriend whom I married and had a daughter with. I graduated with honors and eventually moved to Kyiv. So Gena and I went our separate ways until 2020. And my marriage fell apart after 25 years.”
In 2019, a reunion was organized for the first time in Zaporizhzhia for graduates of the history department where Oksana and Gennadiy had studied.
“Gena wasn’t there, but that’s when I first heard that he was in the Azov Regiment. When I got home, I found him on Facebook, looked at his photos, and was surprised at how much he had changed. Then, in May 2020, I happened to see an ad for his book *The Artilleryman’s Diary* online, ordered it, started reading it, and had a lot of questions. I took the plunge and wrote to Genya.
Gennadiy Kharchenko’s book *The Artilleryman’s Diary*
Since then, we’ve been in touch almost every day, whenever he was available. There was an endless supply of topics for conversation—from memories of our carefree student days to discussions of political events in Ukraine, and debates about movies, books, and travel.”
He always said—he was in the right place
When the Maidan protests took place, Hennadiy did not stand aside from events crucial to the country. And when the war began, he volunteered for the Armed Forces of Ukraine. In the summer of 2014, Kharchenko became a gun commander in the 55th Separate Artillery Brigade. Gennadiy recounted the most significant events of the artillery brigade’s active participation in the ATO in his book *The Artilleryman’s Diary*, which was published in 2019 with the help of renowned journalist Yuriy Butusov. To fast-forward a bit, in the fall of 2023, a court in Donetsk will recall this “Azov fighter” and hold him accountable for his crimes.
“After the second Minsk agreements, he was demobilized and spent some time trying to rebuild his civilian life, but the war was already in his blood; it wouldn’t let him rest and tore his soul to pieces. In March 2017, he signed a contract with ‘Azov,’ held the rank of staff sergeant, and served as the commander of a mortar crew. He renewed his contract every year. When I offered to help him find work in Kyiv so he could adjust to civilian life, Gena would smile and say he was where he belonged.”
“This is war.” After those words, Oksana left Kyiv
When full-scale war broke out, Gennadiy was at his military unit in Mariupol. His contract was due to expire in March, but fate once again turned everything upside down. First thing in the morning, he texted Oksana, telling her to leave Kyiv immediately because the capital might come under bombardment.
“Don’t listen to anyone, don’t trust anyone. Take your money, documents, and everything you need—don’t forget your diabetes medication! Trust your instincts—pay attention to what’s happening in the air!” he told Oksana at the time.
“I resisted, saying I had to go to work—I had important projects. I didn’t realize the full extent of the danger because the explosions were happening far away in Boryspil. But he said just two words: ‘This is war!’ I felt a chill run through me, and I obeyed. Half an hour later, I left the house and didn’t return until a year and three months later. On the doorstep, a flash drive containing my poems had come loose from my keys and had been lying on the doormat for several months. I thought I’d lost them forever. But my neighbors found them and mailed them to me. That’s how I restored my archive. I’m not a philologist; I’ve never studied the art of writing poetry. But under the influence of our conversations with Gennadiy, the poems began to take shape on their own and flow out of me. I posted a few on social media, received positive feedback, and from then on, writing every day became a necessity for my soul. The war only added to the emotions and turmoil, the pain and longing. I’m an optimistic person and wanted to write about something positive, but there’s a time for everything.”
Gena knew that all my poems, just like my prayers, were about him, for him, and for his sake. I talk to him in my mind like this, and it makes things a little easier
. The road was very difficult and long; Oksana drove 80 km along the Odesa highway, which was packed with cars, for nearly 7 hours.
“The gas tank was almost empty, so I kept turning off the engine. At the exit from Kyiv, there were thousands of people trying to leave the capital; two soldiers rushed up to me in the far lane and asked for a ride to Bila Tserkva, so I gave them a lift. I told them, ‘Guys, I’m low on gas—if the car stalls, you’ll have to push it.’ The whole way, we listened to alarming news reports on the radio. In Bila Tserkva, I dropped them off, filled up the tank, and drove on—to a village to visit distant relatives who had fled the war in Luhansk Oblast back in 2014, and whom I had been helping all along. I stayed there for a month. When their children and grandchildren arrived from Severodonetsk with their pets, I realized I had to keep going. The village in the Zaporizhzhia region where my parents lived was occupied on the third day of the war. I couldn’t get them out because they were both seriously ill with COVID-19. I arranged for my mom to receive insulin through volunteers, calmed down a bit, and agreed with my brother that he would take care of our parents, while I would provide for them financially. No one realized back then how long this might drag on.”
She took care of her friend’s
elderly mother In March, Gennadiy was in touch only a few times. He gave Oksana advice and reassured her. He’s not the type to say much. He’d just write that everything was fine or send an emoji or a heart. That meant he was alive. Oksana constantly followed the news from Mariupol—day and night—never letting her phone out of her hands.
“Even before the war, Gena told me that his mom lives alone in Zaporizhzhia, so I decided I had to find her and see how she was doing. I knew she was the one he worried about the most, but there was nothing he could do right now. She has diabetes. Her only family is her younger sister, who is a year younger and lives far away in the same city.
As it turned out, the situation was indeed critical—she had run out of money, medicine, and food; her legs were in very bad shape, and she couldn’t go outside to walk the dog or buy herself something to eat
. And the fact that her son was at war and out of contact completely devastated her. Neighbors would sometimes bring her bread and kefir, but she was constantly alone. I arranged for a doctor to visit her at home; it turned out she had contracted erysipelas, so I had to buy medicine and bandages. In addition, I bought groceries, household cleaning supplies, a glucose meter, and a blood pressure monitor, and transferred money to her. I asked acquaintances, friends, and classmates to visit her, call her, and help her. Twice a month, the guys would bring her everything she needed, while I financed and managed it all remotely, since I had left for Canada at the end of March, where my adult daughter has been living for a long time. I constantly supported Genya’s mom, calling her every day. That’s how we became friends from afar.”
I was in Canada, but my heart remained in Ukraine
Oksana planned to stay in Toronto until summer and then return. She was confused, sad, and felt guilty about being safe while her loved ones were at war. Physically, she was thousands of kilometers away, but her heart remained in Ukraine.
“I couldn’t sleep; I only slept in fits and starts. I had no contact at all with Gena, and only sporadic contact with my parents. I was terrified that if I fell asleep, I’d miss the moment the green dot lit up online. I wandered aimlessly through the streets; as soon as I saw a church—no matter what denomination—I’d go inside and pray. I didn’t want to adapt; I pushed away everything here. I was afraid of the sounds of airplanes or helicopters, or the wail of sirens; I’d flinch whenever I heard Russian. I cried when no one was looking. Several weeks passed like that. My daughter tried to help me; she bought me clothes—since I had absolutely nothing—helped me get my paperwork and health insurance in order, and even sent me to school to learn English practically from scratch. I guess that’s what pulled me out of my depression, and I started doing something. I studied, worked part-time preparing meals to order, and sent money to my parents, Gena’s mom, and to “Azov.” I went running in the park in the mornings and evenings, and wrote poems and letters to him every day. I knew that Gena was alive, and that sooner or later he would read them.”
I reread our correspondence thousands of times and even memorized it
And that’s exactly what happened—on April 15, Gennady got in touch and, almost every day until May 16, let me know he was okay with short messages. Sometimes they came in “batches”—he’d write whenever he had a chance between battles, and would send messages when he found himself near a satellite link or climbing to the surface using rebar.
“It was probably the scariest, but also the happiest month of our lives. The whirlwind of emotions was so intense that the tension felt like an electric shock running through my body and mind. His mom and I took turns online around the clock, seizing every moment to share with each other what he’d written. We prayed for him constantly. Of course, our correspondence is preserved; I’ve reread it thousands of times and memorized it. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could clearly see the world around me through his eyes.
"
Oksana wrote long, optimistic letters full of hope to support Hennadiy, to distract him from the terrible reality, and to keep his spirits up; she told him about life in Canada, with humor or even irony. She wrote messages to the guys, and he read them in the bunker. She recalled how every month she would send them various homemade treats to Mariupol, especially their favorite “Snickers” cake with nuts.
A poem about those days when the connection at Azovstal was weak | Photo: Oksana’s
personal archive “I’m an avid traveler—I’ve been to 78 countries around the world—and he really wanted to travel, but his service didn’t really allow him to be away for long, so that was our favorite topic. Gena was also fascinated by my style; he said I had a knack for writing. That my language is very vivid, expressive, and colorful, and that both poetry and prose come just as easily to me. He, on the other hand, preferred translations. He especially loved the old ballads from our youth—Deep Purple, Accept. In Olenivka, he translated the anthem of the English soccer club Manchester United into Ukrainian. He also knows countless poems by heart and can recite them for hours on end.”
“Let us fall asleep and never wake
up again.” The hardest day was May 8. From their correspondence, it’s clear that they were utterly exhausted and losing hope. Later, Oksana learned that close friends of Hennadiy had been killed that day during the shelling and bombing. At the same time, there were attempts to use chemical weapons against our defenders. Poisonous gas was pumped into the basement, and they had no means of protection. Gennadiy sent Oksana a message: “Well, so be it! If only they’d add some sleeping pills to it, so we could just fall asleep and never wake up again.”
“On May 14, I found out that a rally was being organized in Toronto in support of the defenders of Mariupol. I persuaded Gennadiy to let me give an interview and speak at the event. Gena wrote an appeal to the people of Canada and sent a few photos of himself. I printed some posters, gathered some friends, and we went to Toronto’s main square. It was my first time speaking in front of such a large audience. I recorded a few short videos and managed to send them to Gena. They watched them with the guys and were so happy that the world hadn’t forgotten them and that they had support.
And that evening, Kalush Orchestra’s victory at Eurovision and the call from the stage to save “Azov” brought yet another reason to rejoice. That was May 15. The next day, Gena sent my mom a message saying he wouldn’t be reachable for 3–4 months, asking her to pass this on to me so we wouldn’t worry. We didn’t understand what was happening yet, and then the news began showing the evacuation from “Azovstal.”
The struggle for liberation thousands of kilometers
away Gennadiy Kharchenko was taken prisoner on May 17.
“Ossetians were escorting them on the buses. They were so afraid of the ‘Azov’ fighters that they tried not to look them in the eye or touch them. They believed that the guys were being helped by Shaitan, because fighting so bravely under such terrible conditions and standing up to an enemy army several times their size was only possible with the help of magic. Gena impressed them with his appearance. He’s tall, burly, strong, bearded, and very charismatic—and he was sitting in the middle of the bus, which is why there are so many photos taken from different angles. The Ossetians bought them water, milk, and bread. They were afraid, but they respected their courage and bravery. The guys who had already been exchanged told me about this. And I also learned from them about the wound to his thigh at “Azovstal.”
And then, in Oksana’s life, the horrific daily routine of searching for and fighting for Gennadiy began.
“I didn’t know what to do next. Then one of my friends sent me a list of contacts where you had to file reports if someone had been taken prisoner. It was at least some kind of plan of action. Since there was still no separate agency in May of last year dedicated to dealing with prisoners of war or those missing in action, everything was scattered. I had to wake up at three in the morning, because it was already morning in Ukraine, and spend hours calling the hotlines of the SBU, the National Information Bureau, the Coordination Headquarters, the International Committee of the Red Cross, the police, and the “Angels of Azov” support service. The worst part was that I’m not a relative, and my mom is too old to handle all of this. I coordinated all my actions with her. And as it turned out, Gena hadn’t left any instructions or contact information for such a situation—neither for my mom nor for his friends. My mom didn’t have any copies of documents confirming their family relationship. My friends and I had to do a tremendous amount of work to track down his personal information—copies of his passport and ID number—and find out where and in what capacity he had served, because all we knew was that he was in “Azov,” and that was it.”
There was not a trace
left of the once-sturdy, handsome man. By the end of July 2022, Gennadiy had sent three messages and called his mother once—on her birthday, when she turned 75. And on July 9, he turned 50. For his birthday, his comrades gave Gena some pieces of bread they hadn’t finished—the most valuable thing they had at the time.
“I also found out that Gena was teaching the guys English. Without notebooks or books, just by ear—to keep their minds occupied, to make time pass more quickly, and to stay sane. He translated rock ballads into Ukrainian, loved listening to travel stories, and enjoyed discussing old soccer matches. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight; when I saw the videos and photos in August 2022, it was hard to recognize him. Just a stick, like a 14-year-old teenager. There was no trace left of the once-burly, handsome man. His pants were held up by some kind of string, and his sweater was three sizes too big. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, his forehead had become rounded, and his arms had grown longer. This whole scene took place at the hospital, after the explosion in “Barrack 200,” where he had been.
They had been transferred to that barracks the day before according to a list; there were only “Azov” fighters there. Deep down, the boys had hoped it was for a prisoner exchange, but it turned out to be a death sentence...
“In the middle of the night, I got a message from one of my friends: ‘Do you know anything about this?’ along with a link to a pro-Russian website. I read it and fainted from horror; my heart told me he was there. When I came to, I rushed to look for him—no one knew anything, and there were no lists. Those were the most terrifying 42 hours of my life! My hair turned gray overnight. My friends and I organized a massive rally outside the Russian consulate. We shouted with all our might—Russia is a terrorist state!
Fortunately, Gena survived; he must have a very strong guardian angel, and my prayers helped. I saw him on the list of the wounded—not in the first version, though; his last name was listed as number 55. But I didn’t know anything about the severity of his injuries. Later, from the holes in his sweater, I realized there were two shrapnel fragments in his back—one on the left above his heart and one on the right above his kidney. They weren’t removed; they simply healed, remaining in his body. Gennadiy spent a month in the hospital under guard. At least there was water and slightly better food there. All his belongings had burned in the barracks, so the guys chipped in again to at least get him some clothes before the cold weather set in. In early September, they were returned to Olenivka, which had already begun to be disbanded and its inmates dispersed to other correctional facilities; and after a major prisoner exchange, everyone’s hopes were rekindled that they would all be exchanged soon. But those hopes were dashed!”
Torture with a “tapik” and a wet rag on the face
From Olenivka, Gennadiy was taken to Taganrog for interrogations. FSB officers were interested in his tattoos—runes, ravens, and the Black Sun on his elbow. Shortly before the war, he had gotten a tattoo on his arm, which is why he was later interrogated and tortured.
“They started spouting nonsense about Nazism, claiming that the Black Sun was a mystical symbol invented by Blavatsky. But he responded to them with dignity, as a historian. Then they picked on his faith—why wasn’t he Orthodox, since he came from a Cossack family? Then they started taunting him, asking why the “Azov fighters,” being so brave, had surrendered; they should have died as warriors. And he said, “But we continue to fight.” They asked, “Where are your weapons?” to which Gena replied, “Inside us!” I’m immensely proud of him.”
Then came the Horlivka colony. The captured “Azov” fighters were kept “in the pit”—in the basement of a cramped, damp cell. Outings were very rare, and their rations were cut by a third compared to the others. And there was daily torture, beatings, and humiliation. One shift of guards—they were real sadists. Every evening, they chose a victim for their amusement. They’d beat him all night with a water bottle, a baton, or a stun gun. They tortured him with a “tapik,” an induction-coil telephone set. It has a handle, and if you twist it, it generates an electric current. They’d wrap two wires from this device around different parts of the body, and a painful electric current would course through the person’s body. They also did the “little dolphin”—that’s when they cover your face with a rag and pour water on it, making you feel like you’re drowning.
The guys said that Genu was beaten the most often because he was the oldest, born in the USSR, and for some reason wasn’t as enthusiastic as they were about the “Soviet system,” and had raised a new generation of “Nazis” just like himself
. “For the book, for the Maidan, for the ATO.” He took this torture upon himself to protect the younger guys, and then for several days he was out of it, moaning in pain, his body turning blue. He said, ‘I’ve already lived my life, but you’re young—you still have families to build and children to raise.’ The guys said he was very stubborn; they called him “Grandpa,” even though his call sign was “Tereherya,” meaning “talkative.” It was a hereditary Cossack nickname passed down from his ancestor, who was actually taciturn—the nickname was a play on words. He shared that he’d found this information in the archives a long time ago… And then there was his magnificent beard, which he’d always been proud of and said he’d only shave off after victory. He had to shave it off because lice were eating away at it. Instead of their worn-out clothes, they were given prison uniforms; their combat boots were taken away and replaced with regular shoes; the food rations were better than in Olenivka, but not enough to help him regain his former weight. This was recounted by a young man who shared a cell with him; he was released on May 6 of this year.”
To celebrate Gennadiy’s anniversary, she walked through Kyiv
carrying his photograph From May through November, Oksana was in Kyiv. She completed her studies remotely from Toronto and returned home. Instead of clothes or gifts, her suitcase contained drones for the army; Oksana crossed three borders with them. She says she had to get used to an empty apartment, to an unfamiliar Kyiv, to daily anxieties, and to people who had been through a lot and carried heavy burdens on their shoulders. The first thing Oksana noticed right away was the emotional restraint. Everyone had become withdrawn, anxious, and closed off, and she didn’t fit into this world. She felt out of place in Canada and like a stranger in Kyiv. But she gradually adapted. She was helped by kind people she met under incredible circumstances.
“At a music festival, I met Nataliia Zarytska, the head of the nonprofit organization ‘Women of Steel’; her husband, Bohdan, had been with Gena in Olenivka. Then there was Oleksiy Strebkov, who had also been with him until September 2022, and whose wife was killed at Azovstal. I pieced together information bit by bit, reconstructing the events step by step. I also met with two other young men who had been with Gena at the penal colony in Horlivka. It took me a long time to build trust with them before they could confide in me and tell me the truth—not just a “humane” message for their mothers. I visited them in the hospital, and now we’ve become good friends.”
Oksana joined the organization “Women of Steel” from its very beginning, in June 2022, even though she was in Canada at the time.
“I was invited to the anniversary event, where I read my poems and was able to speak with Andriy Yusov, the spokesperson for the Main Intelligence Directorate (GUR), about the horrific torture that Hennadiy had to endure. There were several meetings at the Coordination Headquarters, where I prepared a report on Gena and handed over all the materials and eyewitness accounts I had collected to the staff. On Gena’s birthday, I ‘went to a restaurant with him’—or rather, with his photo—and ordered his favorite dishes; we talked and walked along the banks of the Dnipro. Maybe from the outside it looked like madness, but I didn’t care at the time. Because I was with him!”
Oksana attended everything that was happening in Kyiv—briefings, performances, exhibitions, rallies, marches—trying to gather bits and pieces of information about Gena through new acquaintances. She kept a diary. That’s how she ended up at the book launch for Anastasia Dmytruk’s *The Eyes of Mariupol*—for which she’s currently organizing several exhibitions in Canada—and at a meeting with the Azov commanders who had been returned from Turkey; she got to know each of them personally.
“There was also a rally marking the anniversary of the terrorist attack in Olenivka, the play *Voices of Azovstal*, chamber music concerts for Mariupol Day, and joint prayer services with chaplains at St. Vladimir’s Cathedral and the Lavra. I gave a dozen interviews to foreign journalists. My photo appeared in news outlets in the U.S., Canada, Italy, and Germany, but in Ukraine, it seems as though the topic of the captured ‘Azov’ fighters is being hushed up.”
A Sham Trial and a Real Sentence—25 Years
In Kyiv, Oksana attended sessions with military psychologists who discussed the specifics of rehabilitating prisoners of war, and in her free time, she wove camouflage nets with women displaced by the conflict and organized aid for the 1st Azov Battalion, establishing contact with Gennadiy’s immediate commander, she supplied the men with medicine, energy bars, snacks, drones, camouflage nets, and warm socks. Friends from Ukraine and expatriates provided financial support. At the same time, Oksana worked on publishing a collection of poetry titled “People of Steel,” which included poems by other women whose lives are connected to “Azov.” The book was published thanks to the support of the Vancouver-based Ukrainian organization Maple Hope Foundation.
The collection “People of Steel” was published on November 1, 2023. And on that very same day, Oksana found a post online stating that a show trial was being prepared against Gennadiy and other men from “Azov.” So, with a suitcase full of books, she flew back to Canada to continue her fight for the release of prisoners of war from the Mariupol garrison.
“I immediately started looking for lawyers, even though I knew this was a sham, not justice. I’ve never had any ties to those territories. But I found a news article about a lawyer who defended a female cook from ‘Azov’—she was sentenced to 14 years, even though she wasn’t a soldier. I tried to contact him, but he demanded an exorbitant fee and didn’t pass my background check. It turned out that a woman with that last name wasn’t even on Azov’s roster, meaning the article about the defense was also fake. That’s how these con artists make money off relatives who’ll do anything to help a loved one. Then, on November 14, I found first a photo and then a video in which Genu and his comrade are forced on camera to admit guilt and repent for “crimes” they didn’t commit.
The occupiers destroyed Mariupol with daily shelling and bombings, and then “pinned” their own crimes on the defenders of Mariupol
. This is complete absurdity and idiocy. I didn’t really listen to his words, realizing he was speaking under duress; I just stared at him intently, trying to glean as much information as possible and analyze what I saw. I then consulted with a psychologist, who confirmed my observations and feelings 100 percent. What struck me most were the changes in Gennady’s appearance, voice, and behavior over the past year. They’ve probably just broken him! Although he’s once again worried not about himself but about his subordinates, taking as much blame as possible and taking responsibility for them, defending them as if they were his own family.
Seeking justice in Wonderland is a futile endeavor! Twenty-five years of strict regime! At the Coordination Headquarters, I was assured that his status as a convict would not affect the exchange; on the contrary, it might slightly improve his situation
. There may no longer be hours-long interrogations where confessions are extracted through torture; only daily beatings and punishments in the penal colony will remain. I didn’t know where he was or where he might have been sent to serve his sentence; if to Russia, that would be terrible, because I wouldn’t be able to find him there. I wrote to international human rights activists, our authorities, and personally to Ombudsman Lubinets. I also sought protection from the Church: priests, chaplains, and the Patriarch of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church himself are saying prayers for my Hennadiy; they even helped forward a request to the Vatican, to the Pope.”
I won’t give up—God helps those who are determined!
Thanks to caring people who remain in the occupied territory, Oksana managed to find out that Gennadiy is, in fact, in the “DPR.” But there is no way to contact him; letters and packages are prohibited. The FSB ensures that no information leaks out. It’s impossible to find out anything, even for money. People are intimidated; they fear for their lives and don’t want to end up in his situation.
Oksana has no intention of giving up; she will fight for Gennadiy’s return until the very end
“In free Ukraine, the situation is dire: the Ukrainian authorities continue their policy of silence; everyone pretends the problem doesn’t exist; society is indifferent. In the media, this topic is practically taboo. Only the relatives of prisoners of war are fighting for them. There are no prisoner exchanges at all, and there is no oversight by the International Committee of the Red Cross regarding compliance with the Geneva Convention. There is also no medical care or documentation of the effects of torture. People have been condemned to a slow, horrific death. Those who were exchanged have said more than once that “it would have been better if we had died with weapons in our hands rather than carry out that order.”
No matter how difficult it is, Oksana continues to fight for Gennadiy’s release. She says she will never give up.
“I won’t back down; I won’t abandon him. I’m an ordinary Ukrainian woman; I don’t have millions or any connections in high society. But I believe that God helps determined people who fight for justice and for their love.”
Author: Hanna KURTSANOVSKA
She dedicated many poems to him, which were included in the collection *People of Steel*, published on November 1, 2023. Although Oksana evacuated to Canada—where her daughter lives—when the full-scale war began, she continues to fight for Gennadiy’s release. All proceeds from the sale of the poetry collection in Ukraine and Canada go toward the rehabilitation of prisoners of war and support for “Azov.”
Historian, translator, economist, athlete
Oksana is one of the initiators and organizers of rallies, protest marches, and events in support of Ukraine and the prisoners of war from the Mariupol garrison. Over 80 such events have taken place in Canada and Ukraine over the past 19 months—the exact length of time Hennadiy Kharchenko has been held captive.
“An extraordinary, intelligent, noble, patriotic, and highly educated person. He graduated from the History Department of Zaporizhzhia State University with two degrees: as a history teacher and an English translator. He later earned a second degree in economics. His range of interests is extremely broad: history, literature, foreign languages, politics, archaeology, business, and sports. Gennadiy played handball professionally and even had his own team, “Khorta,” in the first division,” says Oksana.
“An Artilleryman’s Diary” and Fate Brought
Them Together Again Oksana and Gennady met as students back in 1990. But at the time, they hardly ever crossed paths and didn’t pay much attention to each other. Only one black-and-white photo from their freshman year remains, in which they appear together.
“I’m a simple girl from a poor family, but I’m ambitious and a natural leader, used to achieving everything through my persistence and hard work—getting straight A’s, never missing class, staying in the library until late at night, and giving it my all. Back then, he seemed like a ‘rich kid’ to me—somewhat frivolous, not very serious, and not particularly eager to study, since he missed a lot of classes playing handball; later, while still a student, he started working at a school. On top of that, I had a boyfriend whom I married and had a daughter with. I graduated with honors and eventually moved to Kyiv. So Gena and I went our separate ways until 2020. And my marriage fell apart after 25 years.”
In 2019, a reunion was organized for the first time in Zaporizhzhia for graduates of the history department where Oksana and Gennadiy had studied.
“Gena wasn’t there, but that’s when I first heard that he was in the Azov Regiment. When I got home, I found him on Facebook, looked at his photos, and was surprised at how much he had changed. Then, in May 2020, I happened to see an ad for his book *The Artilleryman’s Diary* online, ordered it, started reading it, and had a lot of questions. I took the plunge and wrote to Genya.
Gennadiy Kharchenko’s book *The Artilleryman’s Diary*
Since then, we’ve been in touch almost every day, whenever he was available. There was an endless supply of topics for conversation—from memories of our carefree student days to discussions of political events in Ukraine, and debates about movies, books, and travel.”
He always said—he was in the right place
When the Maidan protests took place, Hennadiy did not stand aside from events crucial to the country. And when the war began, he volunteered for the Armed Forces of Ukraine. In the summer of 2014, Kharchenko became a gun commander in the 55th Separate Artillery Brigade. Gennadiy recounted the most significant events of the artillery brigade’s active participation in the ATO in his book *The Artilleryman’s Diary*, which was published in 2019 with the help of renowned journalist Yuriy Butusov. To fast-forward a bit, in the fall of 2023, a court in Donetsk will recall this “Azov fighter” and hold him accountable for his crimes.
“After the second Minsk agreements, he was demobilized and spent some time trying to rebuild his civilian life, but the war was already in his blood; it wouldn’t let him rest and tore his soul to pieces. In March 2017, he signed a contract with ‘Azov,’ held the rank of staff sergeant, and served as the commander of a mortar crew. He renewed his contract every year. When I offered to help him find work in Kyiv so he could adjust to civilian life, Gena would smile and say he was where he belonged.”
“This is war.” After those words, Oksana left Kyiv
When full-scale war broke out, Gennadiy was at his military unit in Mariupol. His contract was due to expire in March, but fate once again turned everything upside down. First thing in the morning, he texted Oksana, telling her to leave Kyiv immediately because the capital might come under bombardment.
“Don’t listen to anyone, don’t trust anyone. Take your money, documents, and everything you need—don’t forget your diabetes medication! Trust your instincts—pay attention to what’s happening in the air!” he told Oksana at the time.
“I resisted, saying I had to go to work—I had important projects. I didn’t realize the full extent of the danger because the explosions were happening far away in Boryspil. But he said just two words: ‘This is war!’ I felt a chill run through me, and I obeyed. Half an hour later, I left the house and didn’t return until a year and three months later. On the doorstep, a flash drive containing my poems had come loose from my keys and had been lying on the doormat for several months. I thought I’d lost them forever. But my neighbors found them and mailed them to me. That’s how I restored my archive. I’m not a philologist; I’ve never studied the art of writing poetry. But under the influence of our conversations with Gennadiy, the poems began to take shape on their own and flow out of me. I posted a few on social media, received positive feedback, and from then on, writing every day became a necessity for my soul. The war only added to the emotions and turmoil, the pain and longing. I’m an optimistic person and wanted to write about something positive, but there’s a time for everything.”
Gena knew that all my poems, just like my prayers, were about him, for him, and for his sake. I talk to him in my mind like this, and it makes things a little easier
. The road was very difficult and long; Oksana drove 80 km along the Odesa highway, which was packed with cars, for nearly 7 hours.
“The gas tank was almost empty, so I kept turning off the engine. At the exit from Kyiv, there were thousands of people trying to leave the capital; two soldiers rushed up to me in the far lane and asked for a ride to Bila Tserkva, so I gave them a lift. I told them, ‘Guys, I’m low on gas—if the car stalls, you’ll have to push it.’ The whole way, we listened to alarming news reports on the radio. In Bila Tserkva, I dropped them off, filled up the tank, and drove on—to a village to visit distant relatives who had fled the war in Luhansk Oblast back in 2014, and whom I had been helping all along. I stayed there for a month. When their children and grandchildren arrived from Severodonetsk with their pets, I realized I had to keep going. The village in the Zaporizhzhia region where my parents lived was occupied on the third day of the war. I couldn’t get them out because they were both seriously ill with COVID-19. I arranged for my mom to receive insulin through volunteers, calmed down a bit, and agreed with my brother that he would take care of our parents, while I would provide for them financially. No one realized back then how long this might drag on.”
She took care of her friend’s
elderly mother In March, Gennadiy was in touch only a few times. He gave Oksana advice and reassured her. He’s not the type to say much. He’d just write that everything was fine or send an emoji or a heart. That meant he was alive. Oksana constantly followed the news from Mariupol—day and night—never letting her phone out of her hands.
“Even before the war, Gena told me that his mom lives alone in Zaporizhzhia, so I decided I had to find her and see how she was doing. I knew she was the one he worried about the most, but there was nothing he could do right now. She has diabetes. Her only family is her younger sister, who is a year younger and lives far away in the same city.
As it turned out, the situation was indeed critical—she had run out of money, medicine, and food; her legs were in very bad shape, and she couldn’t go outside to walk the dog or buy herself something to eat
. And the fact that her son was at war and out of contact completely devastated her. Neighbors would sometimes bring her bread and kefir, but she was constantly alone. I arranged for a doctor to visit her at home; it turned out she had contracted erysipelas, so I had to buy medicine and bandages. In addition, I bought groceries, household cleaning supplies, a glucose meter, and a blood pressure monitor, and transferred money to her. I asked acquaintances, friends, and classmates to visit her, call her, and help her. Twice a month, the guys would bring her everything she needed, while I financed and managed it all remotely, since I had left for Canada at the end of March, where my adult daughter has been living for a long time. I constantly supported Genya’s mom, calling her every day. That’s how we became friends from afar.”
I was in Canada, but my heart remained in Ukraine
Oksana planned to stay in Toronto until summer and then return. She was confused, sad, and felt guilty about being safe while her loved ones were at war. Physically, she was thousands of kilometers away, but her heart remained in Ukraine.
“I couldn’t sleep; I only slept in fits and starts. I had no contact at all with Gena, and only sporadic contact with my parents. I was terrified that if I fell asleep, I’d miss the moment the green dot lit up online. I wandered aimlessly through the streets; as soon as I saw a church—no matter what denomination—I’d go inside and pray. I didn’t want to adapt; I pushed away everything here. I was afraid of the sounds of airplanes or helicopters, or the wail of sirens; I’d flinch whenever I heard Russian. I cried when no one was looking. Several weeks passed like that. My daughter tried to help me; she bought me clothes—since I had absolutely nothing—helped me get my paperwork and health insurance in order, and even sent me to school to learn English practically from scratch. I guess that’s what pulled me out of my depression, and I started doing something. I studied, worked part-time preparing meals to order, and sent money to my parents, Gena’s mom, and to “Azov.” I went running in the park in the mornings and evenings, and wrote poems and letters to him every day. I knew that Gena was alive, and that sooner or later he would read them.”
I reread our correspondence thousands of times and even memorized it
And that’s exactly what happened—on April 15, Gennady got in touch and, almost every day until May 16, let me know he was okay with short messages. Sometimes they came in “batches”—he’d write whenever he had a chance between battles, and would send messages when he found himself near a satellite link or climbing to the surface using rebar.
“It was probably the scariest, but also the happiest month of our lives. The whirlwind of emotions was so intense that the tension felt like an electric shock running through my body and mind. His mom and I took turns online around the clock, seizing every moment to share with each other what he’d written. We prayed for him constantly. Of course, our correspondence is preserved; I’ve reread it thousands of times and memorized it. Sometimes, when I closed my eyes, I could clearly see the world around me through his eyes.
"
Oksana wrote long, optimistic letters full of hope to support Hennadiy, to distract him from the terrible reality, and to keep his spirits up; she told him about life in Canada, with humor or even irony. She wrote messages to the guys, and he read them in the bunker. She recalled how every month she would send them various homemade treats to Mariupol, especially their favorite “Snickers” cake with nuts.
A poem about those days when the connection at Azovstal was weak | Photo: Oksana’s
personal archive “I’m an avid traveler—I’ve been to 78 countries around the world—and he really wanted to travel, but his service didn’t really allow him to be away for long, so that was our favorite topic. Gena was also fascinated by my style; he said I had a knack for writing. That my language is very vivid, expressive, and colorful, and that both poetry and prose come just as easily to me. He, on the other hand, preferred translations. He especially loved the old ballads from our youth—Deep Purple, Accept. In Olenivka, he translated the anthem of the English soccer club Manchester United into Ukrainian. He also knows countless poems by heart and can recite them for hours on end.”
“Let us fall asleep and never wake
up again.” The hardest day was May 8. From their correspondence, it’s clear that they were utterly exhausted and losing hope. Later, Oksana learned that close friends of Hennadiy had been killed that day during the shelling and bombing. At the same time, there were attempts to use chemical weapons against our defenders. Poisonous gas was pumped into the basement, and they had no means of protection. Gennadiy sent Oksana a message: “Well, so be it! If only they’d add some sleeping pills to it, so we could just fall asleep and never wake up again.”
“On May 14, I found out that a rally was being organized in Toronto in support of the defenders of Mariupol. I persuaded Gennadiy to let me give an interview and speak at the event. Gena wrote an appeal to the people of Canada and sent a few photos of himself. I printed some posters, gathered some friends, and we went to Toronto’s main square. It was my first time speaking in front of such a large audience. I recorded a few short videos and managed to send them to Gena. They watched them with the guys and were so happy that the world hadn’t forgotten them and that they had support.
And that evening, Kalush Orchestra’s victory at Eurovision and the call from the stage to save “Azov” brought yet another reason to rejoice. That was May 15. The next day, Gena sent my mom a message saying he wouldn’t be reachable for 3–4 months, asking her to pass this on to me so we wouldn’t worry. We didn’t understand what was happening yet, and then the news began showing the evacuation from “Azovstal.”
The struggle for liberation thousands of kilometers
away Gennadiy Kharchenko was taken prisoner on May 17.
“Ossetians were escorting them on the buses. They were so afraid of the ‘Azov’ fighters that they tried not to look them in the eye or touch them. They believed that the guys were being helped by Shaitan, because fighting so bravely under such terrible conditions and standing up to an enemy army several times their size was only possible with the help of magic. Gena impressed them with his appearance. He’s tall, burly, strong, bearded, and very charismatic—and he was sitting in the middle of the bus, which is why there are so many photos taken from different angles. The Ossetians bought them water, milk, and bread. They were afraid, but they respected their courage and bravery. The guys who had already been exchanged told me about this. And I also learned from them about the wound to his thigh at “Azovstal.”
And then, in Oksana’s life, the horrific daily routine of searching for and fighting for Gennadiy began.
“I didn’t know what to do next. Then one of my friends sent me a list of contacts where you had to file reports if someone had been taken prisoner. It was at least some kind of plan of action. Since there was still no separate agency in May of last year dedicated to dealing with prisoners of war or those missing in action, everything was scattered. I had to wake up at three in the morning, because it was already morning in Ukraine, and spend hours calling the hotlines of the SBU, the National Information Bureau, the Coordination Headquarters, the International Committee of the Red Cross, the police, and the “Angels of Azov” support service. The worst part was that I’m not a relative, and my mom is too old to handle all of this. I coordinated all my actions with her. And as it turned out, Gena hadn’t left any instructions or contact information for such a situation—neither for my mom nor for his friends. My mom didn’t have any copies of documents confirming their family relationship. My friends and I had to do a tremendous amount of work to track down his personal information—copies of his passport and ID number—and find out where and in what capacity he had served, because all we knew was that he was in “Azov,” and that was it.”
There was not a trace
left of the once-sturdy, handsome man. By the end of July 2022, Gennadiy had sent three messages and called his mother once—on her birthday, when she turned 75. And on July 9, he turned 50. For his birthday, his comrades gave Gena some pieces of bread they hadn’t finished—the most valuable thing they had at the time.
“I also found out that Gena was teaching the guys English. Without notebooks or books, just by ear—to keep their minds occupied, to make time pass more quickly, and to stay sane. He translated rock ballads into Ukrainian, loved listening to travel stories, and enjoyed discussing old soccer matches. He had lost a tremendous amount of weight; when I saw the videos and photos in August 2022, it was hard to recognize him. Just a stick, like a 14-year-old teenager. There was no trace left of the once-burly, handsome man. His pants were held up by some kind of string, and his sweater was three sizes too big. His eyes and cheeks were sunken, his forehead had become rounded, and his arms had grown longer. This whole scene took place at the hospital, after the explosion in “Barrack 200,” where he had been.
They had been transferred to that barracks the day before according to a list; there were only “Azov” fighters there. Deep down, the boys had hoped it was for a prisoner exchange, but it turned out to be a death sentence...
“In the middle of the night, I got a message from one of my friends: ‘Do you know anything about this?’ along with a link to a pro-Russian website. I read it and fainted from horror; my heart told me he was there. When I came to, I rushed to look for him—no one knew anything, and there were no lists. Those were the most terrifying 42 hours of my life! My hair turned gray overnight. My friends and I organized a massive rally outside the Russian consulate. We shouted with all our might—Russia is a terrorist state!
Fortunately, Gena survived; he must have a very strong guardian angel, and my prayers helped. I saw him on the list of the wounded—not in the first version, though; his last name was listed as number 55. But I didn’t know anything about the severity of his injuries. Later, from the holes in his sweater, I realized there were two shrapnel fragments in his back—one on the left above his heart and one on the right above his kidney. They weren’t removed; they simply healed, remaining in his body. Gennadiy spent a month in the hospital under guard. At least there was water and slightly better food there. All his belongings had burned in the barracks, so the guys chipped in again to at least get him some clothes before the cold weather set in. In early September, they were returned to Olenivka, which had already begun to be disbanded and its inmates dispersed to other correctional facilities; and after a major prisoner exchange, everyone’s hopes were rekindled that they would all be exchanged soon. But those hopes were dashed!”
Torture with a “tapik” and a wet rag on the face
From Olenivka, Gennadiy was taken to Taganrog for interrogations. FSB officers were interested in his tattoos—runes, ravens, and the Black Sun on his elbow. Shortly before the war, he had gotten a tattoo on his arm, which is why he was later interrogated and tortured.
“They started spouting nonsense about Nazism, claiming that the Black Sun was a mystical symbol invented by Blavatsky. But he responded to them with dignity, as a historian. Then they picked on his faith—why wasn’t he Orthodox, since he came from a Cossack family? Then they started taunting him, asking why the “Azov fighters,” being so brave, had surrendered; they should have died as warriors. And he said, “But we continue to fight.” They asked, “Where are your weapons?” to which Gena replied, “Inside us!” I’m immensely proud of him.”
Then came the Horlivka colony. The captured “Azov” fighters were kept “in the pit”—in the basement of a cramped, damp cell. Outings were very rare, and their rations were cut by a third compared to the others. And there was daily torture, beatings, and humiliation. One shift of guards—they were real sadists. Every evening, they chose a victim for their amusement. They’d beat him all night with a water bottle, a baton, or a stun gun. They tortured him with a “tapik,” an induction-coil telephone set. It has a handle, and if you twist it, it generates an electric current. They’d wrap two wires from this device around different parts of the body, and a painful electric current would course through the person’s body. They also did the “little dolphin”—that’s when they cover your face with a rag and pour water on it, making you feel like you’re drowning.
The guys said that Genu was beaten the most often because he was the oldest, born in the USSR, and for some reason wasn’t as enthusiastic as they were about the “Soviet system,” and had raised a new generation of “Nazis” just like himself
. “For the book, for the Maidan, for the ATO.” He took this torture upon himself to protect the younger guys, and then for several days he was out of it, moaning in pain, his body turning blue. He said, ‘I’ve already lived my life, but you’re young—you still have families to build and children to raise.’ The guys said he was very stubborn; they called him “Grandpa,” even though his call sign was “Tereherya,” meaning “talkative.” It was a hereditary Cossack nickname passed down from his ancestor, who was actually taciturn—the nickname was a play on words. He shared that he’d found this information in the archives a long time ago… And then there was his magnificent beard, which he’d always been proud of and said he’d only shave off after victory. He had to shave it off because lice were eating away at it. Instead of their worn-out clothes, they were given prison uniforms; their combat boots were taken away and replaced with regular shoes; the food rations were better than in Olenivka, but not enough to help him regain his former weight. This was recounted by a young man who shared a cell with him; he was released on May 6 of this year.”
To celebrate Gennadiy’s anniversary, she walked through Kyiv
carrying his photograph From May through November, Oksana was in Kyiv. She completed her studies remotely from Toronto and returned home. Instead of clothes or gifts, her suitcase contained drones for the army; Oksana crossed three borders with them. She says she had to get used to an empty apartment, to an unfamiliar Kyiv, to daily anxieties, and to people who had been through a lot and carried heavy burdens on their shoulders. The first thing Oksana noticed right away was the emotional restraint. Everyone had become withdrawn, anxious, and closed off, and she didn’t fit into this world. She felt out of place in Canada and like a stranger in Kyiv. But she gradually adapted. She was helped by kind people she met under incredible circumstances.
“At a music festival, I met Nataliia Zarytska, the head of the nonprofit organization ‘Women of Steel’; her husband, Bohdan, had been with Gena in Olenivka. Then there was Oleksiy Strebkov, who had also been with him until September 2022, and whose wife was killed at Azovstal. I pieced together information bit by bit, reconstructing the events step by step. I also met with two other young men who had been with Gena at the penal colony in Horlivka. It took me a long time to build trust with them before they could confide in me and tell me the truth—not just a “humane” message for their mothers. I visited them in the hospital, and now we’ve become good friends.”
Oksana joined the organization “Women of Steel” from its very beginning, in June 2022, even though she was in Canada at the time.
“I was invited to the anniversary event, where I read my poems and was able to speak with Andriy Yusov, the spokesperson for the Main Intelligence Directorate (GUR), about the horrific torture that Hennadiy had to endure. There were several meetings at the Coordination Headquarters, where I prepared a report on Gena and handed over all the materials and eyewitness accounts I had collected to the staff. On Gena’s birthday, I ‘went to a restaurant with him’—or rather, with his photo—and ordered his favorite dishes; we talked and walked along the banks of the Dnipro. Maybe from the outside it looked like madness, but I didn’t care at the time. Because I was with him!”
Oksana attended everything that was happening in Kyiv—briefings, performances, exhibitions, rallies, marches—trying to gather bits and pieces of information about Gena through new acquaintances. She kept a diary. That’s how she ended up at the book launch for Anastasia Dmytruk’s *The Eyes of Mariupol*—for which she’s currently organizing several exhibitions in Canada—and at a meeting with the Azov commanders who had been returned from Turkey; she got to know each of them personally.
“There was also a rally marking the anniversary of the terrorist attack in Olenivka, the play *Voices of Azovstal*, chamber music concerts for Mariupol Day, and joint prayer services with chaplains at St. Vladimir’s Cathedral and the Lavra. I gave a dozen interviews to foreign journalists. My photo appeared in news outlets in the U.S., Canada, Italy, and Germany, but in Ukraine, it seems as though the topic of the captured ‘Azov’ fighters is being hushed up.”
A Sham Trial and a Real Sentence—25 Years
In Kyiv, Oksana attended sessions with military psychologists who discussed the specifics of rehabilitating prisoners of war, and in her free time, she wove camouflage nets with women displaced by the conflict and organized aid for the 1st Azov Battalion, establishing contact with Gennadiy’s immediate commander, she supplied the men with medicine, energy bars, snacks, drones, camouflage nets, and warm socks. Friends from Ukraine and expatriates provided financial support. At the same time, Oksana worked on publishing a collection of poetry titled “People of Steel,” which included poems by other women whose lives are connected to “Azov.” The book was published thanks to the support of the Vancouver-based Ukrainian organization Maple Hope Foundation.
The collection “People of Steel” was published on November 1, 2023. And on that very same day, Oksana found a post online stating that a show trial was being prepared against Gennadiy and other men from “Azov.” So, with a suitcase full of books, she flew back to Canada to continue her fight for the release of prisoners of war from the Mariupol garrison.
“I immediately started looking for lawyers, even though I knew this was a sham, not justice. I’ve never had any ties to those territories. But I found a news article about a lawyer who defended a female cook from ‘Azov’—she was sentenced to 14 years, even though she wasn’t a soldier. I tried to contact him, but he demanded an exorbitant fee and didn’t pass my background check. It turned out that a woman with that last name wasn’t even on Azov’s roster, meaning the article about the defense was also fake. That’s how these con artists make money off relatives who’ll do anything to help a loved one. Then, on November 14, I found first a photo and then a video in which Genu and his comrade are forced on camera to admit guilt and repent for “crimes” they didn’t commit.
The occupiers destroyed Mariupol with daily shelling and bombings, and then “pinned” their own crimes on the defenders of Mariupol
. This is complete absurdity and idiocy. I didn’t really listen to his words, realizing he was speaking under duress; I just stared at him intently, trying to glean as much information as possible and analyze what I saw. I then consulted with a psychologist, who confirmed my observations and feelings 100 percent. What struck me most were the changes in Gennady’s appearance, voice, and behavior over the past year. They’ve probably just broken him! Although he’s once again worried not about himself but about his subordinates, taking as much blame as possible and taking responsibility for them, defending them as if they were his own family.
Seeking justice in Wonderland is a futile endeavor! Twenty-five years of strict regime! At the Coordination Headquarters, I was assured that his status as a convict would not affect the exchange; on the contrary, it might slightly improve his situation
. There may no longer be hours-long interrogations where confessions are extracted through torture; only daily beatings and punishments in the penal colony will remain. I didn’t know where he was or where he might have been sent to serve his sentence; if to Russia, that would be terrible, because I wouldn’t be able to find him there. I wrote to international human rights activists, our authorities, and personally to Ombudsman Lubinets. I also sought protection from the Church: priests, chaplains, and the Patriarch of the Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church himself are saying prayers for my Hennadiy; they even helped forward a request to the Vatican, to the Pope.”
I won’t give up—God helps those who are determined!
Thanks to caring people who remain in the occupied territory, Oksana managed to find out that Gennadiy is, in fact, in the “DPR.” But there is no way to contact him; letters and packages are prohibited. The FSB ensures that no information leaks out. It’s impossible to find out anything, even for money. People are intimidated; they fear for their lives and don’t want to end up in his situation.
Oksana has no intention of giving up; she will fight for Gennadiy’s return until the very end
“In free Ukraine, the situation is dire: the Ukrainian authorities continue their policy of silence; everyone pretends the problem doesn’t exist; society is indifferent. In the media, this topic is practically taboo. Only the relatives of prisoners of war are fighting for them. There are no prisoner exchanges at all, and there is no oversight by the International Committee of the Red Cross regarding compliance with the Geneva Convention. There is also no medical care or documentation of the effects of torture. People have been condemned to a slow, horrific death. Those who were exchanged have said more than once that “it would have been better if we had died with weapons in our hands rather than carry out that order.”
No matter how difficult it is, Oksana continues to fight for Gennadiy’s release. She says she will never give up.
“I won’t back down; I won’t abandon him. I’m an ordinary Ukrainian woman; I don’t have millions or any connections in high society. But I believe that God helps determined people who fight for justice and for their love.”
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.
