Surviving Russian captivity: How former civilian prisoner founded Ukrainian Men's Network to support fellow survivors
Russian soldiers came for Oleksii in the sixth month of Kherson's armed occupation. Bursting into his apartment, they began to brutally beat him. They searched his home and took him to a basement. Before the war, most of Kherson's residents had one thing in common — many worked in the shipping industry as the city was once a significant producer of ships and an educational center for merchant marines. After the invasion, they share a new devastating characteristic. Many had their own experience of torture — either personally or through someone they knew.
Oleksii had been a sailor, working on passenger and cargo ships for the last 17 years until the Russian forces arrived in his city. He and his wife couldn't leave during the occupation. His wife's mother had a severe disability after a stroke, making it impossible for them to escape. So, they stayed in the city.
Oleksii Sivak. Photo from Oleksii Sivak's personal archive
During the occupation, Oleksii and a group of friends organized a field kitchen. They cooked meals for the city's older people in need of care. Later, when the Russians came for him, this volunteer work became one of the reasons for his arrest.
Another reason was photos troops found on a neighbor's phone, a man the Russians had arrested a few days earlier. Some photos showed Oleksii making Ukrainian flags at home; in others, he was already hanging them up. It was only a matter of time before they would break into his apartment.
"They came because of the flags and the field kitchen," says Olesii. "They said I had gathered a group of old women as agents and was buying information from them in exchange for food. Separatism, terrorism, and moral damage to the Russian army."
Oleksii spent the first day and night in a police station. Then, they transferred him to a temporary detention facility, where he was kept for most of his imprisonment. It was there that they interrogated and tortured him.
Russians asked him about sabotage groups, partisans, weapons stockpiles, and also about the ATO (Anti-Terrorist Operation), Nazis, and Bandera supporters. They tortured him, trying to force answers to questions he didn't know. They would ask, "What has Ukraine ever given you?" — a standard method they used to break people. Regardless of the reason for detention, the Russian Federal Security Service (FSB) interrogated most people using the same template, Oleksii recalls.
"There was a man with me in the cell. One evening, he was walking home, just ten meters from his apartment. He got a text message and took out his phone to check it. At that moment, they hit him in the forehead with a rifle butt. He never found out who sent the message, but they accused him of giving away [their] coordinates," Oleksii says.
After two months of torture in the detention facility, he was returned to the police station. He was placed in a cell that was two by four meters, along with 20 other people. Russian captors were preparing his case to send him to a prison colony but failed to do so in time.
According to Oleksii, on the night of October 20, the Russians unexpectedly began burning documents and hastily packing up their belongings. They then loaded six people into a police van and drove away. Oleksii was supposed to be taken next, but that van never returned.
The following day, the guards simply opened the cell doors and kicked out everyone who was left. On October 21, Oleksii's captivity ended. Two weeks later, on November 11, the occupation of Kherson ended as well — Ukrainian forces liberated the city.
"In simple terms, the occupation was like a concentration camp, and where I was kept was like solitary confinement," Oleksii says.
What's the problem?
Oleksii was only able to start his rehabilitation in the summer of 2023, nine months after Kherson was liberated. He met with specialists in Kyiv, where he was to testify to the prosecutor's office about the Russian army's crimes. During this time, he worked with a psychologist, had a medical check-up, and took necessary tests.
The Russian captivity survivor points out that there are many hidden problems that people who haven't been in captivity don't realize. One of them is that men can also be victims of sexual violence, so rehabilitation should include examinations and treatment by appropriate specialists.
Another issue is that former civilian prisoners usually don't get dental care covered. The water quality and food in Russian prisons are terrible, and this affects people's teeth. Also, during torture, like being electrocuted, people often clench their jaws hard due to pain, damaging the enamel or even breaking their teeth.
It's difficult for former civilian POWs to prove that dental problems came from captivity and torture, so they are often denied assistance. On the other hand, if there are visible signs of torture — like if the Russians filed down part of a tooth — then those issues are addressed during rehabilitation.
One of the biggest challenges for former civilian prisoners of war is proving that they were in captivity. To do this, they need to submit a bunch of documents and evidence to a special commission at the Ministry of Reintegration, leading to more problems.
The main issue is the lack of evidence. Many Ukrainian citizens were held in torture chambers without any legal basis. We're not talking about Ukrainian or international law — Russians detain people without charges, criminal cases, or court decisions.
"We weren't on any lists, anywhere. When someone was taken to the basement, they just disappeared, essentially vanished. No investigation, no paperwork, no prisoner status," Oleksii explains.
So, after liberation, former prisoners didn't have any documents to prove they had been held captive. Usually, they prove their status through the results of Ukrainian investigations or the testimonies of fellow prisoners, but this process is more complicated and takes longer.
Another problem is knowing how to submit these documents correctly to the commission. Oleksii says many people don't know how to do this properly, so they get a response from the commission asking them to resubmit or fix something, but they don't understand how. Sometimes, they just get a reply saying, "Not enough votes."
In the end, people from de-occupied territories who survived captivity and torture have to spend a lot of time and energy just to get help. Life in these areas is still under constant Russian shelling, without electricity, water, or other basic services due to proximity to the front line. People, already exhausted from captivity, simply don't have the strength to deal with everything at once and give up trying to get help.
What's the solution?
After Oleksii completed his rehabilitation and confirmed his status as a former civilian prisoner, he realized he could help others. He knew how to fill out the paperwork correctly and where to find rehabilitation specialists, so he started advising his former cellmates.
Soon, representatives of the Mukwege Foundation approached him and suggested expanding support for former civilian prisoners by creating a network. They wanted to form an organization similar to SEMA Ukraine, which helps women but with a focus on men. That's how the Ukrainian Men's Network started to build last summer.
How does it work?
Group therapy
Currently, the Ukrainian Men's Network focuses on psychological and legal support. The organization operates on a "peer-to-peer" model, where former civilian prisoners share their experiences solving various problems.
The network specifically targets civilian men who have survived captivity and torture to bring together people who share a similar, unique experience. The network includes men from the Kherson, Zaporizhzhia, Donetsk, Luhansk, and Kharkiv regions — all the areas on the front line that used to be under Russian occupation or partially remain occupied.
Since residents of Kherson founded the network, most activities are centered there. These include informal monthly meetings for those who have been freed from captivity. In a sense, the network itself emerged from one of these "graduates" gatherings.
"We remind each other that we're not alone. In captivity, your cellmate could always help you — maybe just by shaking your hand or giving you water when you couldn't get up. Many things mattered there. Why shouldn't we continue helping each other here, too?" says Oleksii.
The network founder has been hosting these meetings for over six months, and the number of participants keeps growing. He says it's a very effective form of therapy. One man told Oleksii that he felt like he could "unload" during one of these meetings for the first time since being released.
The advantage of this type of psychological support is that it doesn't require much funding. The men usually gather in someone's apartment, ordering pizza or sushi. All it takes is a space where they can talk about their shared traumatic experiences.
Oleksii and his friend, a former prisoner, also organized a retreat for their fellow cellmates from one of the Russian torture chambers. It was a two-day event with informal support from a crisis psychologist. These kinds of events help break the stigma for men who might be reluctant to seek psychological help.
"After talking to the psychologist, the guys became more open and understood their trauma better and how to deal with it," says Oleksii. "It helped them and others because they shared their knowledge on how to support themselves."
So far, the Ukrainian Men's Network has organized only one such retreat, but they plan to hold more retreats for former civilian prisoners in the fall. Meanwhile, psychological and legal support is available on a peer-to-peer level across Ukraine. Essentially, those with more experience become mentors to those just starting rehabilitation or dealing with paperwork.
Raising awareness
Another critical aspect of the network's work is raising awareness about the issues men face after surviving captivity and torture and advocating for them. Members of the organization regularly attend events and meet with government and civil society representatives.
Oleksii says that the Ukrainian Men's Network is just getting started, comparing this stage to rafting: "You only have a few seconds to catch your breath, and then you're doing something again." The team is working on finding partners and building the network's brand. By the fall, they plan to officially register as a nonprofit organization. After that, they aim to do even more to help men who have survived Russian captivity and torture.
"We want people who come out of captivity not to go through the same difficult path we did," says Oleksii. "We want their recovery to be more comprehensive and faster so they can reintegrate into society much sooner. At the same time, we want to speak out about the problems that freed prisoners face."
We created this article as part of the Recovery Window Network. For more information on the recovery of war-affected regions in Ukraine, visit recovery.win
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