“You’re Not Getting Out of Here”: The Story of Konstantin Davydenko’s Captivity in Russia
Source: KHPG
Author: Oleksandr Vasilyev
Kostyantyn Davydenko was detained on February 11, 2018, in the temporarily occupied Simferopol by officers of the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) on charges of “espionage.” He spent seven and a half years in detention, where he was subjected to physical and psychological torture. In a maximum-security prison, Kostiantyn suffered a stroke and lost his health. On August 24, 2025, he was released as part of a prisoner exchange.
It was February 11, 2018. I was arrested in Simferopol. I was leaving my colleagues’ appraisal office and walking toward my car.
They pounced on me; no one showed me anything: no IDs, no badges, no arrest warrants—nothing. They just knocked me down, started beating me, twisted my arms, put handcuffs on me—you know, all that. They shoved me onto a bus and took me to Pavlyuk Street, down into a basement.
There, at first, they just beat me—without any charges, without any formalities—they just beat me for several hours. Whenever I tried to ask a question, they’d yell at me: “You’re a Bandera supporter, you’re a fascist, you’ve been caught, we’re going to beat you up, we’re going to kill you.”
No charges were brought against me. Although I understood that my activities and views were unpopular with many people, including my colleagues. Because the legal assessments I conducted effectively confirmed, under Ukrainian law, that Crimea belongs to Ukraine.
I obtained documents in accordance with Ukrainian law, conducted appraisals in accordance with Ukrainian law, and prepared the corresponding legal documents: either a deed of gift or an inheritance agreement under Ukrainian law. This legally confirmed that Crimea is part of Ukraine. And I held fast to these views; I never shied away from them, and I was never afraid to express them openly.
A few hours later—maybe two, maybe three; I don’t know exactly how much time had passed while I was being beaten—a man in uniform arrived. The people who had initially detained me were in civilian clothes, wearing balaclavas, and had no identifying marks. But this person was in uniform, introduced himself as FSB Captain Pavel Shentyayev, and said that I had been arrested on suspicion of spying for Ukraine.
I said that this was absurd—what kind of spying? The most I could be accused of doing illegally there was engaging in business activities, since I hadn’t paid taxes to the Russian budget. I was working on Ukrainian territory, where I was legally present. The most they could have charged me with was tax evasion or document forgery—something related to my actual activities.
This captain replied that he wasn’t interested in that, that he had a plan: he needed to “catch” three spies a year to get promoted to major and go to Moscow for a promotion. He said outright that my confession was just a formality and was needed for his reports.
He said, “Whether you confess or not—it doesn’t matter. You’re already here; you won’t get out of here. At best, you’ll be sent for a prisoner exchange.”
I agreed to write a confession because I realized that, objectively speaking, there was nowhere else for me to go. They cleaned me up a bit: they washed me off and removed the blood and dirt, since I’d been lying on the ground. They took me to the former SBU building on Ivan Franko Street, which by then housed the FSB office. There, they filmed me reading my confession.
After that, they took me to the detention center. I spent the night in a cell there, and in the morning they flew me to Moscow. First, they took me to court, where I was ordered to be held in custody as a preventive measure, and then they took me to the Lefortovo Pretrial Detention Center.
There, in the “reception area,” they beat me again: a little with a stun gun, a little with their feet. But they didn’t beat me too badly. Why? Lefortovo is the pretrial detention center of the FSB’s Central Investigative Directorate; that’s where people against whom cases are being brought are held. The FSB officers there consider themselves the elite—above resorting to physical violence. The torture there is more psychological: they don’t let you sleep; the solitary confinement cell is constantly lit; music plays nonstop—sometimes Radio “Spas,” sometimes “Zvezda.”
For example, one day it’s “Spas” radio, with Gundyaev’s sermons and church hymns; the next day it’s “Zvezda,” with military songs—and it alternates like that.
They barely feed you there; you can’t wash properly; once a week they take you to the bathhouse and give you a small bar of soap. But that’s how it is in any pretrial detention center.
Then I was transported via Rostov and Krasnodar to Crimea, to Pretrial Detention Center No. 1 in Simferopol. The trial took place there. After that, I was transported again to Moscow for the appeal, then back to Simferopol for two weeks until the court’s decision took effect.
Transportation to Simferopol
Then I was transported to Penal Colony No. 23 in the Saratov Region. I arrived there just before New Year’s 2019. I spent the next five years—until February 10, 2025—there.
The conditions were worst in Krasnodar: the cell was small, designed for 14 inmates, but there were 30–35 people there—once as many as 54. Hygiene conditions were appalling: bedbugs, cockroaches, and rats under the wooden floorboards.
In the Saratov colony, overcrowding was less of an issue, but the beatings were more severe. I spent a month in solitary confinement; they forced me to walk in circles and sing “Katyusha.” All these measures were intended to dehumanize and desocialize us.
There was practically no medical care. Due to vascular problems, I suffered a stroke in the prison in 2023—the right side of my face is partially paralyzed, my right eye has poor vision, and my right ear has poor hearing. I have joint problems, vitamin deficiencies, and my teeth are decaying.
After the full-scale invasion began, because I am Ukrainian and was imprisoned for “espionage,” my conditions became even worse.
I was held in the prison colony until February 10, 2025. Then I was transferred to Engels, a detention center for migrants, ostensibly for deportation, but I was not deported. On August 11, the warden announced an urgent prisoner exchange.
They took me to a military airfield in Engels, handed me over to the military police, and put me on a plane. Even though my eyes were blindfolded, I could make out our guys through the pixelated image. The plane took off, then landed in Gomel (Belarus). They transferred us to buses, counted us off, took us to the border, and released us. Our people were already there; we got on Ukrainian buses and headed home.
When the exchange took place, I was very happy. Finally home—it was finally over. I even cried because I’d been waiting for this for seven and a half years. During that time, my feelings toward Ukraine never changed; I never changed my mind about it, and I never planned to flee. I wanted to return to Ukraine.
It was very moving to see how the Ukrainians welcomed us: people from our former villages stood along the road waving Ukrainian flags. It’s impossible to put into words.
During the exchange, Kostyantyn Davydenko couldn’t hold back his tears
If you’d prefer to watch the video with subtitles in another language, go to YouTube Settings → Subtitles → Auto-translate and select the language you want.
Author: Oleksandr Vasilyev
Kostyantyn Davydenko was detained on February 11, 2018, in the temporarily occupied Simferopol by officers of the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) on charges of “espionage.” He spent seven and a half years in detention, where he was subjected to physical and psychological torture. In a maximum-security prison, Kostiantyn suffered a stroke and lost his health. On August 24, 2025, he was released as part of a prisoner exchange.
It was February 11, 2018. I was arrested in Simferopol. I was leaving my colleagues’ appraisal office and walking toward my car.
They pounced on me; no one showed me anything: no IDs, no badges, no arrest warrants—nothing. They just knocked me down, started beating me, twisted my arms, put handcuffs on me—you know, all that. They shoved me onto a bus and took me to Pavlyuk Street, down into a basement.
There, at first, they just beat me—without any charges, without any formalities—they just beat me for several hours. Whenever I tried to ask a question, they’d yell at me: “You’re a Bandera supporter, you’re a fascist, you’ve been caught, we’re going to beat you up, we’re going to kill you.”
No charges were brought against me. Although I understood that my activities and views were unpopular with many people, including my colleagues. Because the legal assessments I conducted effectively confirmed, under Ukrainian law, that Crimea belongs to Ukraine.
I obtained documents in accordance with Ukrainian law, conducted appraisals in accordance with Ukrainian law, and prepared the corresponding legal documents: either a deed of gift or an inheritance agreement under Ukrainian law. This legally confirmed that Crimea is part of Ukraine. And I held fast to these views; I never shied away from them, and I was never afraid to express them openly.
A few hours later—maybe two, maybe three; I don’t know exactly how much time had passed while I was being beaten—a man in uniform arrived. The people who had initially detained me were in civilian clothes, wearing balaclavas, and had no identifying marks. But this person was in uniform, introduced himself as FSB Captain Pavel Shentyayev, and said that I had been arrested on suspicion of spying for Ukraine.
I said that this was absurd—what kind of spying? The most I could be accused of doing illegally there was engaging in business activities, since I hadn’t paid taxes to the Russian budget. I was working on Ukrainian territory, where I was legally present. The most they could have charged me with was tax evasion or document forgery—something related to my actual activities.
This captain replied that he wasn’t interested in that, that he had a plan: he needed to “catch” three spies a year to get promoted to major and go to Moscow for a promotion. He said outright that my confession was just a formality and was needed for his reports.
He said, “Whether you confess or not—it doesn’t matter. You’re already here; you won’t get out of here. At best, you’ll be sent for a prisoner exchange.”
I agreed to write a confession because I realized that, objectively speaking, there was nowhere else for me to go. They cleaned me up a bit: they washed me off and removed the blood and dirt, since I’d been lying on the ground. They took me to the former SBU building on Ivan Franko Street, which by then housed the FSB office. There, they filmed me reading my confession.
After that, they took me to the detention center. I spent the night in a cell there, and in the morning they flew me to Moscow. First, they took me to court, where I was ordered to be held in custody as a preventive measure, and then they took me to the Lefortovo Pretrial Detention Center.
There, in the “reception area,” they beat me again: a little with a stun gun, a little with their feet. But they didn’t beat me too badly. Why? Lefortovo is the pretrial detention center of the FSB’s Central Investigative Directorate; that’s where people against whom cases are being brought are held. The FSB officers there consider themselves the elite—above resorting to physical violence. The torture there is more psychological: they don’t let you sleep; the solitary confinement cell is constantly lit; music plays nonstop—sometimes Radio “Spas,” sometimes “Zvezda.”
For example, one day it’s “Spas” radio, with Gundyaev’s sermons and church hymns; the next day it’s “Zvezda,” with military songs—and it alternates like that.
They barely feed you there; you can’t wash properly; once a week they take you to the bathhouse and give you a small bar of soap. But that’s how it is in any pretrial detention center.
Then I was transported via Rostov and Krasnodar to Crimea, to Pretrial Detention Center No. 1 in Simferopol. The trial took place there. After that, I was transported again to Moscow for the appeal, then back to Simferopol for two weeks until the court’s decision took effect.
Transportation to Simferopol
Then I was transported to Penal Colony No. 23 in the Saratov Region. I arrived there just before New Year’s 2019. I spent the next five years—until February 10, 2025—there.
The conditions were worst in Krasnodar: the cell was small, designed for 14 inmates, but there were 30–35 people there—once as many as 54. Hygiene conditions were appalling: bedbugs, cockroaches, and rats under the wooden floorboards.
In the Saratov colony, overcrowding was less of an issue, but the beatings were more severe. I spent a month in solitary confinement; they forced me to walk in circles and sing “Katyusha.” All these measures were intended to dehumanize and desocialize us.
There was practically no medical care. Due to vascular problems, I suffered a stroke in the prison in 2023—the right side of my face is partially paralyzed, my right eye has poor vision, and my right ear has poor hearing. I have joint problems, vitamin deficiencies, and my teeth are decaying.
After the full-scale invasion began, because I am Ukrainian and was imprisoned for “espionage,” my conditions became even worse.
I was held in the prison colony until February 10, 2025. Then I was transferred to Engels, a detention center for migrants, ostensibly for deportation, but I was not deported. On August 11, the warden announced an urgent prisoner exchange.
They took me to a military airfield in Engels, handed me over to the military police, and put me on a plane. Even though my eyes were blindfolded, I could make out our guys through the pixelated image. The plane took off, then landed in Gomel (Belarus). They transferred us to buses, counted us off, took us to the border, and released us. Our people were already there; we got on Ukrainian buses and headed home.
When the exchange took place, I was very happy. Finally home—it was finally over. I even cried because I’d been waiting for this for seven and a half years. During that time, my feelings toward Ukraine never changed; I never changed my mind about it, and I never planned to flee. I wanted to return to Ukraine.
It was very moving to see how the Ukrainians welcomed us: people from our former villages stood along the road waving Ukrainian flags. It’s impossible to put into words.
During the exchange, Kostyantyn Davydenko couldn’t hold back his tears
If you’d prefer to watch the video with subtitles in another language, go to YouTube Settings → Subtitles → Auto-translate and select the language you want.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.