In brief
In a remote camp behind high walls in Western Ukraine, men formerly fighting for Russia wait for capture. Many were born in Ukrainian towns of the Donbas and now identify as Russian, citing propaganda and forced conscription. Their testimonies highlight a blurred sense of national identity, a loss of trust in both sides, and the grim conditions of POW life. The story underscores the human cost of the war and the complex dynamics of prisoner exchanges.
Captured Ukrainian-born soldiers tell BBC why they fought for Russia
Behind high walls and locked gates in a POW camp in Western Ukraine, men who had once joined the Russian army sit in a dim yard. Some came from big Russian cities, but an emerging group are school‑aged Ukrainians born in Donbas regions now claiming a Russian identity.
Anton, 32, was ten when Moscow‑aligned forces took his town. When he turned 18 in 2022 he signed up for Russia, arguing, "I go to defend my land." He and others say comrades died, and that fewer volunteers arrive as war drags on, hinting a looming force shortage for the Kremlin.
Some captives say they were conscripted against their will. Official counts put more than 50,000 Ukrainians pressured into the Russian military, a figure contested by independent observers. One man, from Donetsk, confessed that he had fled home after fighting, only to avoid return to the front line.
In the camp, prisoners are asked to speak in Russian, and many describe Putin as "my President" and claim a duty to hold the rest of Donbas. They withdraw from the war’s moral calculus, stating "I see nothing good in any war" yet believe the conflict will not end until total domination.
Beyond their comments, the camp’s work sheds light on daily realities. Men hammer wooden coffins, craft wooden Christmas trees, and farm strawberries behind hospital windows. Wages acquired for better food and cigarettes are levered against the cost of conscription fees, a glimpse of survival tactics under siege.
Ukrainian authorities treat these soldiers as traitors, yet only a handful are swapped for Ukrainian POWs, leaving the Donbas fighters overlooked in exchange lists. Video clips in the dining hall touting myths about Crimea are dismissed by the captives, underscoring contempt for propaganda.
The interviews reveal a split in identity and purpose, a testament to how war can warp national allegiance and personal resolve. The story throws open the stark contrasts between the front lines and the silent, tired camps that hold them. It leaves the world questioning whom the instruments of war truly serve and whether the promise of return will ever become a reality.
