A table was set in Piazza Sofia with dishes from the typical Orthodox Christmas menu: ravioli, crepes, salads and desserts. In the middle of the table, barbed wire separates the dishes from the guests. Seven guys in military uniforms with empty prison bowls and downcast looks. Behind it is a women’s wall with posters and slogans. “It’s the Christmas of the Azov Battalion prisoners,” a spokesman called out to passers-by and journalists who stopped to capture the scene. With this sit-in in central Kyiv, surrounded by a battalion of new recruits in balaclavas and black suits, the decision was made to commemorate the prisoners of the Mariupol steel mill, who are still in Moscow’s hands and who will spend Christmas in captivity.
A sign in the hand of a blond girl reads the number 222. These are the days that have passed since the surrender of the last battalion of militants in the group that had been resisting the Russian siege of the city of Mariupol for weeks. About 100 of them were freed in several prisoner exchanges with Russia. But 700 remain in enemy hands and to demand their release, family members have gathered in one of the main squares in front of the city’s Christmas tree to draw world attention to the still-open issue of the prisoners.
Deputy Commander Azov: “Four months of solitary confinement in Russia. I’ll be back at the front soon”
by our correspondent Fabio Tonacci October 12, 2022
“We haven’t had any information about them since May, when they were released from Azovstal. This performance is meant to draw attention to their condition, so we imagine they will spend Christmas. It’s frustrating not knowing anything, just the news that we came from those who were freed, and they practically just confirmed to us that our children are alive,” says Jevgenii Sukharnikov, one of the organizers of the event and father of a fighter captured after the Azovstal surrender: “One of the points in the surrender agreement was that the prisoners would be exchanged, but as you can see that is not happening and my 25-year-old son is still a prisoner.”
Rita Manzkeas, 30, wipes away tears and clutches a yellow and blue flag with the battalion insignia on it. She only knows one thing about her 23-year-old husband, who resisted at the steel mill: “He was in Olenivka prison, but he survived the attack,” she explains, referring to the bombing of the prison that is widely attributed Moscow, where 50 prisoners of Azovstal surrender lost their lives. Several wives and companions are present who give the Oleniivka episode as the only certainty, but after this episode no one knows exactly where the survivors were transported to.
To the left of the table setting stand about fifty very small boys in a square formation, their faces half covered by black scarves, black jackets, shaved hair, serious faces, and tattoos on the back of their necks. They stand there in silence, four huge black flags of the Centuria formation waving above their heads. A spokesman in military garb outside the formation explains that they are “young Azov recruits” who are not yet combat-ready (they are between 15 and 18 years old) but are present and able to intervene if the need arises during the event leads to unrest.
Deputy Commander Azov: “Four months of solitary confinement in Russia. I’ll be back at the front soon”
by our correspondent Fabio Tonacci October 12, 2022
The Azovstal resistance made the Azov battalion a hero of the homeland for the Ukrainians. The action at the steel mill settled the controversy over the presence of neo-Nazi elements in the formation. The Azov battalion itself worked on its image to distance itself from ultra-nationalist ideology. But often the symbolism remains. In fact, a video posted on social media by Maksym Zhorin, the head of Azov’s political arm, is causing debate these days. The video shows the brigade’s rite to commemorate the fallen: a choreography that picks up on the Nordic celebrations of the winter solstice and is strongly reminiscent of the “sun rebirth” festival introduced by Nazism instead of Christmas in Germany.