Oksana, 52, continues to live in her apartment in Berdyansk, southern Ukraine, despite the Russian occupation she has been suffering for the past year. He is tied up by his mother Lina, 83, who cannot be evacuated from this city on the Azov Sea in the Zaporizhia region. With resignation, he accepts the price that he has to pay every day. He is borne by the hope that one day, who knows when, this population, which numbered around 110,000 before the war and has now shrunk by half or less, according to those responsible for exile, will be liberated. The situation is similar for those holding out in Melitopol, another occupied city in the same region. Both are in a land corridor important for Moscow to maintain the connection between the Crimean peninsula and the Donbass, which also penetrates into occupied territories. Breaking through this corridor, which also runs through crucial Mariupol, is the main goal of the Ukrainian army. But what is everyday life like for Ukrainians living under Russian yoke in these cities outside the combat zones?
Like many others, Oksana’s life has turned upside down, she admits in a telephone interview with EL PAÍS. She lost her job as a chemical engineer because she refuses to accept the Russian passport and cooperate with the authorities. Also, the invasion keeps her away from her two children and her husband Oleksii. The man buried his mother in July and in September had to move to the regional capital Zaporizhia, which is still in Kyiv’s hands, in order not to lose his job in the customs administration. Oksana’s main occupations now are caring for Lina and getting groceries, which she has to pay for in rubles.
Surrounded by collaborators
This woman does not deny that she is surrounded by collaborators or employees originating from the puppet authority in Moscow, but that the new administration was unable, for example, to manage the collection of public services such as electricity, gas or water, which he pays not for months. They try to spread their tentacles by handing out Russian passports, paying pensions of 10,000 rubles (about 125 euros) to the elderly and disabled, forcing purchases of cards with telephone numbers from that country, or enforcing their means of communication and propaganda. It also imposes its digital censorship, which many citizens have learned to circumvent by using, for example, VPN tools that bypass website or application blocking.
The only daily expenses Okasna has to carry, besides Lina’s food and medicine, are the internet connection, which comes from the occupied Ukrainian peninsula of Crimea, and the community fees for the building where she lives. The woman also does not deny that there is a section of the population that agrees with the imperialist plans of Russian President Vladimir Putin. This forces you to limit your contacts and the topics of your conversations as much as possible. “I know it’s very difficult to get her to change her mind. We cannot trust them and what the consequences of speaking out can be for us,” he warns. Still, he believes life in cities is “safer” than in the countryside, where individual houses allow Russians tighter control over citizens.
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Fear of reprisals, like the others interviewed by telephone for this report, prompted this woman to request that her real name not be published. Despite everything, his life passes with little contact with the Russian security forces. The military has its bases on the outskirts of Berdyansk and police officers are tasked with patrolling the streets more frequently and conducting searches or questioning suspected collaborators with Kiev. The resistance has already managed to plant a few car bombs that have claimed the lives of some officials in the pro-Russian power grid. However, in those months Oksana only had to face one check by the occupiers, it was last July to go to the cemetery to the funeral of her mother-in-law.
A Russian soldier guarding the area of an explosion in Melitopol in late October told local TV STRINGER (AFP)
Meanwhile, Kiev continues to pay pensions like Lina’s at 5,000 hryvnia a month (about $150), enough for expenses she and her daughter incur at 3,000 to 4,000 hryvnia a month. The Ukrainian government is also trying to keep civil servants’ salaries up to date despite the difficulties of a banking system in limbo. Amid these hardships for those living under occupation, Health Minister Viktor Liashko insisted on national television last summer that Ukraine does not view health workers who retain posts in hospitals and health centers as pro-Russian collaborators. The warning is not free as one of Kiev’s biggest concerns is finding out who is working on the pro-Russian side and trying to catch them after liberation.
The shortage of medicines, as explained by some respondents, is offset by the arrival of Russian generics. Cleaning and hygiene products have become particularly expensive, says Oksana. And diapers and other basic baby items are almost luxury items, says Iryna, 28, who fled Berdyansk in September with her four-year-old son and other family members. “The occupation ruined my life” and the city was “a huge prison,” explains this woman, who had to quit both jobs, that of a journalist for a radio station and that of an administrator in a company.
At the local market, fresh food from local producers alternates with what is imported by the pro-Russian authorities. Of course, since January 1, these have become stricter, enforcing the use of the ruble as currency. The only remedy left to citizens is to resort to an unofficial currency exchange system that works in everyone’s eyes. “I transfer a lot of hryvnias to this secret exchange office and they give it to me in rubles,” explains Oksana, who can no longer use her Ukrainian card to pay. The official exchange indicates that one hryvnia is equal to two rubles, but according to the collected testimonies, in these places they receive 1.5 rubles for each hryvnia.
Iryna says surcharges for currency exchange were as high as 20% and that in the first few weeks of the occupation, there were long queues outside banks to withdraw cash. “I need shift 621,” he adds. She still remembers the day they were able to escape from Berdyansk because it was their wedding day, when the Russians had already enforced their education system and even controlled the kindergartens. He assures they reward even those who continue to bring their children money to try to normalize life under the new authority. In this sense, it commemorates the arrival of some families, identified by their Russian-speaking accent, from abroad to settle with the new officials or agents who came from the invaded country.
It is true that Russia did not manage to capture Kiev in three days, as it proudly did a year ago. But it’s also true that the majority of residents of the areas of Ukraine that fell into the clutches of his troops at the time never thought that liberation would cost – and take – so much. Ukraine has launched two major offensives in recent months to retake parts of the Kharkov and Kherson regions, but tens of thousands of people are still under Russian control. Because of this, many of those who considered stoically enduring the occupation have gradually escaped the continued Russian presence and the need to continue working to maintain income or, in the case of men, to flee conscription , which Moscow wants to impose on them is one of the Ukrainians.
This happened to Oleksii, Oksana’s husband. He now lives in a room in Zaporizhia that was made available to him as an IDP, but refuses to set down roots outside of Berdyansk, admits one of his sons, Sasha, who visits him from Kiev. “I hadn’t even bought plates and cutlery to eat with. I had to take her with me,” he insists, explaining that the only thought on his father’s mind is to return home as soon as possible. The impossible evacuation of Grandma Lina will keep the family apart for the time being. “I can’t leave her here, it’s up to me. Therefore, many of us decided to stay,” argues Oksana.
This is just one case among thousands of families divided by the long occupation and the need to survive. The women often remain in the occupied territory and look after the elders. Young people and men dare to jump into the territory controlled by Kiev. In September, Putin organized illegal annexation referendums in the Luhansk, Donetsk, Zaporizhia and Kherson regions of Ukraine, some of which he occupies. “I’m one of those people who didn’t open the front door when they came to vote,” says Okasana. The result of the election pantomime, the overwhelming support for Putin’s theses, was not recognized by any international body. These four regions, together with the Crimean Peninsula, which Russia has occupied since 2014, make up 22.5% of Ukraine’s 603,000 square kilometers.
A strategic victory for Moscow
The enclaves in which some of those interviewed in this report live represent one of Moscow’s strategic victories in that war. The southern cities of Melitopol, Berdyansk, and Mariupol form a corridor that Russia was able to open up and keep under its control during the current invasion. Its usefulness at the moment is to preserve affiliated areas of Ukraine that the Kremlin occupied back in 2014, such as the Crimean peninsula and troubled Donbass region. This corridor, located between the Donetsk region and the Zaporizhia region, is one of the closest targets of the local army, on the battlefield of which the future of the conflict can be decided.
Melitopol, just over 100 kilometers from Crimea, is the critical point, especially as an October attack destroyed part of the bridge connecting that peninsula to Russia. A year ago, about 150,000 people lived in this city, which was crucial for the Russian occupation’s land corridor, of which between 50,000 and 60,000 still live today, according to exile mayor Ivan Fedorov. The mayor warned during an appearance last Wednesday that the new authority is increasing its logistical and personnel presence in the face of a possible Ukrainian counter-offensive. Fedorov assures that it is becoming increasingly difficult to survive and get help without accepting the Russian passport, and at the same time this safe conduct opens the door for citizens to move between cities and thus flee to the territory below Control of Kiev. It also warns that it is increasingly “dangerous” for families to try to keep their children’s online education in Ukrainian while they are in school under the Russian system. As for the elections, there is already a Moscow Electoral Commission and members and supporters of Russian parties like United Russia or the Russian Liberal Democratic Party (LDPR) are already spreading their tentacles over occupied Zaporizhia.
Some citizens voted in September’s illegal referendum on Russia’s annexation of Zaporizhia province in Melitopol. ALEXANDER ERMOCHENKO (Portal)
“Sometimes I followed the Russian news and it made you doubt. I turned off the TV immediately when these doubts arose,” says Andri, 33, who fled Melitopol in July and now works as a salesman in Kiev. “Mentally, it was very difficult to stay there. You feel like you’re constantly under control, that you’re being followed.” However, he recalls with a laugh one of the attacks the city suffered from the Ukrainian side, specifically on June 12, which coincided with Russia’s National Day . He played soccer and the explosions were greeted with shouts of “Slava Ukraini!” (Long live Ukraine!). Andri points out that after attacks like this or last March on the airport used as a base for the invading forces, “you can tell by the faces of the people on the street who’s pro-Russian and who’s not.”
“In Berdyansk there is nothing left of Ukraine except the remaining population. There are no flags, no radio, no institutions…” Iryna regrets from her new place of residence in Kiev. Oksana, who stays there with her mother Lina, summarizes the crossroads she lives at: “I have a double feeling. On the one hand, I represent my family where we have our roots. We await victory and liberation. But sometimes we feel depressed because we feel defenseless and vulnerable and surviving is not easy.”
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