“I was beaten for using the word ‘handful.’ How Oleksandr Savov, a defender of Azovstal, survived nearly three years of Russian captivity”
Source: Frontliner
Author: Artem Derkachov
He endured the hell of Mariupol and several Russian prisons, yet he did not break. Oleksandr Savov returned from Russian captivity on March 19, 2025. He spent 2 years and 10 months in captivity after leaving Azovstal in besieged Mariupol. During that time, he was held in Olenivka, the Taganrog pretrial detention center, and prisons in Kursk and Mordovia. Oleksandr was subjected to electric shocks, forced to stand for 16 hours at a time, tortured for speaking Ukrainian, and held for a week in a so-called “rubber cell.”Now, after his release, he is recovering from broken ribs, knocked-out teeth, ulcers, and the effects of chronic exhaustion. He’s also trying to learn not to be afraid of silence. Oleksandr’s daily life now revolves around hospitals, rehabilitation, and short walks. Frontliner spoke with him about his experiences in captivity and his return to normal life after three years of captivity.
Frontliner: Think back to the day you realized you were going to be part of a prisoner exchange—what were you thinking at that moment?
Oleksandr Savov: For the last few months, I’d been trying not to think about it. Every time you think that day has come, nothing actually happens. And then one day, one of the guards called me into a room. He said I needed to change my clothes. And interestingly, when I started picking out clothes from that pile, I found a bar of soap in one of the shoes, and on it was written: “Made in Ukraine.” I also noticed some Ukrainian-made condensed milk nearby—these were probably items from some humanitarian aid shipment. Later, they put us on a bus. They put a bag over our heads and tied our hands with straps. Once on the plane, I tore the ties and took off the bag because I couldn’t breathe.
A few hours later, when they started leading us off the plane, I immediately noticed the white buses. It was an incredible feeling. I don’t even remember what I was thinking—I was just happy that this day had finally come. I really wanted to see my family.
All this time, thinking about my daughter helped me hold on—I knew she was waiting for me.
– And I also really wanted to eat the things I hadn’t been able to eat all these years. In the camps, everything revolves around sauerkraut. And you know, while I was there, I reevaluated so many things. It turns out you don’t need that much to be happy.
– How did you end up in captivity?
– We were right on the front lines in Mariupol when it all started. We thought: there’ll be a little fighting, and that’ll be it. But very quickly the city turned into ruins; we were under heavy fire. It was total chaos—everything imaginable was flying around: helicopters, planes, artillery, rockets. It was hard to watch civilians die and see schools and maternity hospitals destroyed. But, as they say, you get used to everything. We hoped that in a couple of days they’d bring us at least some food or medicine, but no miracle happened.
One day, my comrades and I decided we needed to get to the Azovstal plant. But at that moment, the city was swarming with Russian soldiers. Nevertheless, we figured out a way to do it: we painted “Z” symbols on our vehicles, removed the insignia, got in our cars, and drove off. The Russians probably didn’t expect us to drive through the city so brazenly, in a whole convoy. And there were several checkpoints on the way to the plant. It went something like this: we’d pull up and shout, “Hey, guys!” And I also kept my gun pointed at them the whole time. That’s how we made it to the plant. Later, along with everyone else, I was taken into “honorable captivity.”
“They beat me for using the word ‘handful.’ How Azovstal defender Oleksandr Savov survived nearly three years of
Russian captivity” – What happened next? Where were you held?
– The first place, where I spent 10 days, was a penal colony in Olenivka. Back then, it wasn’t yet clear what awaited us. Some of our guys even gave money to the guards; they’d exchange it for rubles and buy food and cigarettes. But of course, a pack of cigarettes cost as much as four hundred hryvnias. Overall, it was a regular prison; you could even find a phone among the guards and call home. I immediately called my mother and told her what had happened. But later they took me to Taganrog, and that’s where the hell began.
Even on the way there, one of the guys escorting us said: “I don’t recommend falling, but if you do fall—get up quickly, because they’ll just beat you up.” While we were driving, I shifted the blindfold over my eyes a little so I could see where to fall out of the police van. We arrived, I ran out—and saw about ten men standing there with batons, and dogs barking. I rammed my forehead into the gate, but they beat me anyway—with batons and stun guns. And while they were beating me, I could hear them beating those who had fallen even harder.
After I was put in a cell, there were regular searches, interrogations, and beatings every day. Usually, from morning until night, you just stand in the cell all day long. To sit down even for a little while, we took turns asking to use the bathroom; there, we could at least rest for fifteen minutes. To give you an idea: after my first day in Taganrog, I slept on my back for a week because my whole body was bruised from the beatings.
They also forced us to learn Russian songs, the national anthem, the meanings of their state symbols, and things like that. Then they tested our knowledge—and if you stumbled even once, they’d beat you right away, or make you do squats or push-ups, and then beat you anyway. Of course, speaking Ukrainian was forbidden. Once I asked the supervisor for some laundry detergent to wash my clothes. I said, “a handful.” But in Russian, the correct word is “a handful.” So I got such a beating for that “handful” that I thought I’d never get back up.
– Which place you had to stay at was the most brutal?
– For example, in Taganrog, the Russians abused one of my acquaintances—they shoved that same rubber baton, the one they usually beat us with, up his ass. We found out about it when we ran out for a check. Usually, you run toward it bent over like a crab—and at that moment, he was constantly urinating. We asked why that was happening, and he replied that it just happened on its own, out of fear. That’s how we found out about the situation.
Or, for example, when I was imprisoned in Kuršina. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about at the time—we seemed to be celebrating something, because right then our troops launched an offensive. One of the officers heard what I said. Usually, before you run into the cell, they tap you with a baton, and you have to say your last name. It was my turn, but there was no “run” command. First, they beat me badly, and then they took me to a rubber cell that was completely empty. I asked, “Where am I supposed to sleep or go to the bathroom?” And he replied, “In this corner you can eat, in the other—use the bathroom, and in the third—you sleep.” I sat there for a week. They fed me once a day. There was no light—they only turned it on once to check if I was still alive.
The harshest conditions were probably at the prison colony in the Republic of Mordovia. During the medical examination upon arrival, when we were coming out of the X-ray room, the doctor who was examining us would shock us in the butt with a stun gun. And at that moment, you were supposed to shout, “Glory to Russian medicine!” What made this colony unique was that we really did stand there all day long—there was simply no opportunity to sit down at all. The rules were very strict: everything had to be done on command. Even going to the bathroom required permission, and only at specific times, which were closely monitored.
– Were there people among you who couldn’t handle the treatment?
– No one knows about that; people are constantly being taken away and brought in. You never find out if the person who was in the cell with you is still alive, and there could be as many as 15 of us in a single cell. There were, for example, those who collaborated with them, or who received leniency in exchange for work. Usually, the work they offered was weaving nets for their troops—but why? Why should I help the occupying army for an extra portion of gruel or a cigarette?
– It’s been almost four months since you were exchanged. Is it hard to reintegrate into society?
– I’m glad that society’s attitude toward the military has changed. If you compare 2015, when I started my service, to now—it’s a completely different story. But I have quite a few mental health issues. For example, when I go to the hospital now and wait in line, I can’t sit still.
I constantly pace back and forth down the hallway, as if I’m waiting to be inspected or interrogated. I have a constant feeling of anxiety.
I’ve even had auditory hallucinations: I was sitting in a café and it seemed like someone said something to me in a rough, masculine voice. Even though I’m no longer there, the thoughts that something bad is about to happen are constantly on my mind.
Author: Artem Derkachov
He endured the hell of Mariupol and several Russian prisons, yet he did not break. Oleksandr Savov returned from Russian captivity on March 19, 2025. He spent 2 years and 10 months in captivity after leaving Azovstal in besieged Mariupol. During that time, he was held in Olenivka, the Taganrog pretrial detention center, and prisons in Kursk and Mordovia. Oleksandr was subjected to electric shocks, forced to stand for 16 hours at a time, tortured for speaking Ukrainian, and held for a week in a so-called “rubber cell.”Now, after his release, he is recovering from broken ribs, knocked-out teeth, ulcers, and the effects of chronic exhaustion. He’s also trying to learn not to be afraid of silence. Oleksandr’s daily life now revolves around hospitals, rehabilitation, and short walks. Frontliner spoke with him about his experiences in captivity and his return to normal life after three years of captivity.
Frontliner: Think back to the day you realized you were going to be part of a prisoner exchange—what were you thinking at that moment?
Oleksandr Savov: For the last few months, I’d been trying not to think about it. Every time you think that day has come, nothing actually happens. And then one day, one of the guards called me into a room. He said I needed to change my clothes. And interestingly, when I started picking out clothes from that pile, I found a bar of soap in one of the shoes, and on it was written: “Made in Ukraine.” I also noticed some Ukrainian-made condensed milk nearby—these were probably items from some humanitarian aid shipment. Later, they put us on a bus. They put a bag over our heads and tied our hands with straps. Once on the plane, I tore the ties and took off the bag because I couldn’t breathe.
A few hours later, when they started leading us off the plane, I immediately noticed the white buses. It was an incredible feeling. I don’t even remember what I was thinking—I was just happy that this day had finally come. I really wanted to see my family.
All this time, thinking about my daughter helped me hold on—I knew she was waiting for me.
– And I also really wanted to eat the things I hadn’t been able to eat all these years. In the camps, everything revolves around sauerkraut. And you know, while I was there, I reevaluated so many things. It turns out you don’t need that much to be happy.
– How did you end up in captivity?
– We were right on the front lines in Mariupol when it all started. We thought: there’ll be a little fighting, and that’ll be it. But very quickly the city turned into ruins; we were under heavy fire. It was total chaos—everything imaginable was flying around: helicopters, planes, artillery, rockets. It was hard to watch civilians die and see schools and maternity hospitals destroyed. But, as they say, you get used to everything. We hoped that in a couple of days they’d bring us at least some food or medicine, but no miracle happened.
One day, my comrades and I decided we needed to get to the Azovstal plant. But at that moment, the city was swarming with Russian soldiers. Nevertheless, we figured out a way to do it: we painted “Z” symbols on our vehicles, removed the insignia, got in our cars, and drove off. The Russians probably didn’t expect us to drive through the city so brazenly, in a whole convoy. And there were several checkpoints on the way to the plant. It went something like this: we’d pull up and shout, “Hey, guys!” And I also kept my gun pointed at them the whole time. That’s how we made it to the plant. Later, along with everyone else, I was taken into “honorable captivity.”
“They beat me for using the word ‘handful.’ How Azovstal defender Oleksandr Savov survived nearly three years of
Russian captivity” – What happened next? Where were you held?
– The first place, where I spent 10 days, was a penal colony in Olenivka. Back then, it wasn’t yet clear what awaited us. Some of our guys even gave money to the guards; they’d exchange it for rubles and buy food and cigarettes. But of course, a pack of cigarettes cost as much as four hundred hryvnias. Overall, it was a regular prison; you could even find a phone among the guards and call home. I immediately called my mother and told her what had happened. But later they took me to Taganrog, and that’s where the hell began.
Even on the way there, one of the guys escorting us said: “I don’t recommend falling, but if you do fall—get up quickly, because they’ll just beat you up.” While we were driving, I shifted the blindfold over my eyes a little so I could see where to fall out of the police van. We arrived, I ran out—and saw about ten men standing there with batons, and dogs barking. I rammed my forehead into the gate, but they beat me anyway—with batons and stun guns. And while they were beating me, I could hear them beating those who had fallen even harder.
After I was put in a cell, there were regular searches, interrogations, and beatings every day. Usually, from morning until night, you just stand in the cell all day long. To sit down even for a little while, we took turns asking to use the bathroom; there, we could at least rest for fifteen minutes. To give you an idea: after my first day in Taganrog, I slept on my back for a week because my whole body was bruised from the beatings.
They also forced us to learn Russian songs, the national anthem, the meanings of their state symbols, and things like that. Then they tested our knowledge—and if you stumbled even once, they’d beat you right away, or make you do squats or push-ups, and then beat you anyway. Of course, speaking Ukrainian was forbidden. Once I asked the supervisor for some laundry detergent to wash my clothes. I said, “a handful.” But in Russian, the correct word is “a handful.” So I got such a beating for that “handful” that I thought I’d never get back up.
– Which place you had to stay at was the most brutal?
– For example, in Taganrog, the Russians abused one of my acquaintances—they shoved that same rubber baton, the one they usually beat us with, up his ass. We found out about it when we ran out for a check. Usually, you run toward it bent over like a crab—and at that moment, he was constantly urinating. We asked why that was happening, and he replied that it just happened on its own, out of fear. That’s how we found out about the situation.
Or, for example, when I was imprisoned in Kuršina. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about at the time—we seemed to be celebrating something, because right then our troops launched an offensive. One of the officers heard what I said. Usually, before you run into the cell, they tap you with a baton, and you have to say your last name. It was my turn, but there was no “run” command. First, they beat me badly, and then they took me to a rubber cell that was completely empty. I asked, “Where am I supposed to sleep or go to the bathroom?” And he replied, “In this corner you can eat, in the other—use the bathroom, and in the third—you sleep.” I sat there for a week. They fed me once a day. There was no light—they only turned it on once to check if I was still alive.
The harshest conditions were probably at the prison colony in the Republic of Mordovia. During the medical examination upon arrival, when we were coming out of the X-ray room, the doctor who was examining us would shock us in the butt with a stun gun. And at that moment, you were supposed to shout, “Glory to Russian medicine!” What made this colony unique was that we really did stand there all day long—there was simply no opportunity to sit down at all. The rules were very strict: everything had to be done on command. Even going to the bathroom required permission, and only at specific times, which were closely monitored.
– Were there people among you who couldn’t handle the treatment?
– No one knows about that; people are constantly being taken away and brought in. You never find out if the person who was in the cell with you is still alive, and there could be as many as 15 of us in a single cell. There were, for example, those who collaborated with them, or who received leniency in exchange for work. Usually, the work they offered was weaving nets for their troops—but why? Why should I help the occupying army for an extra portion of gruel or a cigarette?
– It’s been almost four months since you were exchanged. Is it hard to reintegrate into society?
– I’m glad that society’s attitude toward the military has changed. If you compare 2015, when I started my service, to now—it’s a completely different story. But I have quite a few mental health issues. For example, when I go to the hospital now and wait in line, I can’t sit still.
I constantly pace back and forth down the hallway, as if I’m waiting to be inspected or interrogated. I have a constant feeling of anxiety.
I’ve even had auditory hallucinations: I was sitting in a café and it seemed like someone said something to me in a rough, masculine voice. Even though I’m no longer there, the thoughts that something bad is about to happen are constantly on my mind.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.