How Russia tries to turn desperate Ukrainians into traitors

Svitlana says she never thought about giving up her country, “not for a second.”

“My husband would never forgive me,” she says, when we meet in her apartment near Kyiv.

The 42-year-old has been waiting for news from her husband Dima, an army doctor captured by Russia, for more than two years when she suddenly received a phone call.

A voice at the end of the phone told him that if he rebelled against Ukraine, Dima could receive good treatment in prison, or be released early.

Svitlana explained: “A Ukrainian number called me. “He spoke in a Russian accent.”

“He said, ‘You can burn down the recruitment office, set fire to an army truck or destroy the Ukrainian Railways electrical box.’

There was one alternative: to reveal the location of close-range missiles – vital military equipment protecting Ukraine’s airspace from Russian drones and missiles.

When Dmitry explained what he wanted, Svitlana says he remembered the advice that the Ukrainian authorities gave to all families if the Russians were approaching: buy as much time as possible, record and record everything, and say it.

Svitlana said this, and took pictures of the message, which she showed to the BBC.

The Ukrainian Security Service, the SBU, told him to stop the Russians while they investigated. So he pretended to agree to blow up a nearby railroad.

When we sit in his living room, with the occasional airplane screeching outside, he sings to me the songs he made on his phone of the two voices he sang with Dmitry, which were created through the Telegram app. During the call, he gives instructions on how to make and plant a Molotov cocktail.

Pour a liter of lighting fluid and add a little oil,” says Dmitry. “Go to some kind of railroad crossing. Make sure there are no security cameras. Wear a hat – just in case.”

He also gave Svitlana a lesson on how to put his phone on air traffic when he was 1-2km away from his target, to prevent his signal from being picked up by mobile phones that could be used by researchers.

“Do you know what a relay box is? Take a picture of it. This should be the target of its attack,” said Dmitry, who wanted proof of the end of the mission.

“Write today’s date on a piece of paper and draw it with this piece of paper.”

In response, Dmitry said that he could fix the phone with his husband, or that it be given to him.

Later, the SBU told Svitlana that the man she was talking to was actually in Russia, and she should stop talking to him. Svitlana told Dmitry that she had changed her mind.

“That’s when the threats started,” says Svitlana, “He said he would kill my husband, and I would never see him again.”

For several days, she kept calling and saying: “Your husband is being tortured, and you are guilty!

“How worried were you that he would pass by and threaten Dima?” I ask Svitlana. His eyes are watering. “My heart ached, and I just prayed: ‘God, please don’t let that happen.’

A part of me said ‘this man has no connection with prisoners.’ Another part asks: ‘What if he can really do that when I’m alone?’

In a statement to the BBC, the SBU said that cooperation with Russian officials “will not reduce the prisoner’s situation; on the contrary, it may seriously affect their chances of exchange.”

The authorities are asking all relatives to come immediately if the Russian soldiers meet them.

Those who do, they say, will be “protected,” and treated like victims.

But if family members admit to sabotage or espionage, says the SBU, “this can be a crime. The maximum penalty is life imprisonment.”

Authorities regularly announce the arrest of Ukrainians who allegedly burn or expose military sites in Russia.

Pro-Kremlin TV is flooded with videos purporting to show Ukrainians burning military vehicles or railway electrical boxes.

Some of the perpetrators do it for money, paid by suspected Russians, but it is thought that there are also acts of violence by family members who are in need of help.

Petro Yatsenko, from the Ukrainian military’s headquarters for prisoners of war, says that about 50% of all PoWs’ families are connected to Russian agents.

“They are very vulnerable and some of them are ready to do anything,” says Petro, “but we are trying to teach them that it will not help them. [their loved ones in captivity].”

Petro says that an act like setting fire to a military vehicle is not considered a major loss for the Ukrainian Army:

“But it could undermine the unity of the Ukrainian people, that’s the biggest problem.

And, of course, if someone shares space, for example, an air defense system, it’s a big problem for us too,” he admits.

Officials do not publish the number of Ukrainians held as prisoners of war, but say the number is more than 8,000.

A Ukrainian legal expert told the BBC that the number of cases where family members agree to work with Russia is low.

The Russian government told the BBC in a statement that allegations that it uses the families of prisoners as an aid are “baseless,” and that Russia is treating “Ukrainian soldiers with compassion and in full compliance with the Geneva Conventions.”

The statement continues to criticize Ukraine using the same methods:

“Ukrainian officials are trying to force Russian residents to destroy and burn on Russian territory, targeting important weapons and civilian areas.”

Svitlana’s husband Dima was released from captivity three months ago.

The couple are now happily back together, and are enjoying playing with their four-year-old son, Vova.

How did Svitlana feel when her husband was released?

“They were the happiest tears I’ve ever cried,” she says, tearing up. “It was as if I had snatched my love from the jaws of death.”

Dima told his wife that the Russians did nothing to threaten him with punishment for refusing to cooperate with them.

When Svitlana told him about the phone calls, he was shocked.

“They asked me how I’ve been,” he says, winking. “Well, like I always say, I’m a police wife.”