This episode of the program «Free Our Relatives» will delve into the experiences of journalists working in occupied territories.
Angela Slobodyan, a journalist from Kherson with the «Ukraine» TV channel, chose to continue her work in the Russian-occupied city, persisting for a period of 4 months. However, in July 2022, she was abducted and detained by the Russians, enduring a month-long captivity in a torture chamber. Following her capture, Angela managed to escape the occupation. Subsequently, she released the documentary film «Invasion», recounting the events she witnessed. In February 2023, Angela Slobodyan provided testimony at the Hague Tribunal.
Angela Slobodyan: I have planned a trilogy. Currently, one part, «Invasion», has been released, and two more parts, «Occupation» and «Soldier», are yet to come out. I have already collected the material, and now I am preparing the elements to connect the parts for my story. I hope to finish one part this year, and it will be the story of «Soldier» – about my colleague from «Ukraine» TV channel who went to defend our territorial integrity in the Kherson region in the first days of the full-scale invasion.
Angela Slobodyan: Upon learning about the invasion, I swiftly packed my belongings and filled up the car, anticipating the challenging task of refueling later. I also aimed to retrieve the TV channel’s equipment and reached out to the cameraman, only to discover he was already in Mykolaiv. Initially, my actions focused on organizational aspects.
Subsequently, I ventured to Antonivskyi Bridge to observe the unfolding events. My intention was to gather information for afternoon and evening broadcasts, functioning as a journalist at that moment, with no expectation of a prolonged stay. However, by February 25, it became evident that leaving Kherson was no longer feasible. As we approached Antonivskyi Bridge in an ambulance, I witnessed a convoy of russian vehicles stationed on the bridge’s exit to Mykolaiv. It appeared that the Russian army was deliberating whether to proceed to Mykolaiv or enter Kherson. With the route to Mykolaiv no longer accessible, I decided to stay in occupation and disseminate information, a role I maintained until my eventual capture.
Angela Slobodyan: Approximately two or three weeks later, I contemplated concealing my face during on-air appearances. However, the reality was that those who had aligned themselves with the occupiers—our collaborators in power—knew that I was the sole person authorized to appear on «Ukraine» TV channel, being the correspondent at that time. Consequently, there was no practicality in concealing my identity.
Despite this, I endeavored to endure for as long as possible, managing to persist for four months. Upon receiving the first warning, I recognized the danger of staying at home, prompting me to go into hiding. During interrogations, it became apparent that the occupiers were initially unaware of my presence in Kherson. I strategically selected locations like hotel rooms or halls with high walls for my live broadcasts to signal that it was not a residential setting.
Angela Slobodyan: I functioned akin to an agent, as the occupiers labeled me. I constantly had a companion by my side who provided protection—walking ahead of me while I filmed with my phone trailing behind.
Filming under occupation is an art. On one occasion, I was documenting a story about a trolleybus driver displaying a Ukrainian flag, and during filming, we navigated through checkpoints.
To navigate these challenges, I carried two phones; one with a Russian SIM card containing only essential contacts, and the other, my work phone, meticulously cleaned regularly.
Angela Slobodyan: There were instances when the connection was completely lost. The first occurrence was in March, and it was quite unnerving. We found reception on a hill along the waterfront, and in the city center, there was a specific spot near a tree where reception was available for some reason. However, on May 1, the Ukrainian connection vanished for three days. Subsequently, everyone switched to Russian communication to stay in touch with their families.
Starting in May, transmitting information to the TV channel became challenging because we were uncertain about how the communication channels were controlled. Nonetheless, we found ways to relay information, even via the Russian internet.
Angela Slobodyan: The first time they sought me was in April. My neighbors called and reported that the occupiers had visited my house. Information from a person involved in law enforcement suggested that I was supposedly «on the list». While I had heard about such lists, I saw them for the first time when French journalists came to make a documentary after Kherson was de-occupied. They showed me these lists with my name on them. An investigation by these journalists revealed that the lists were allegedly compiled in January 2022.
In essence, the Russians had entered with lists of «dangerous» individuals who might obstruct their illicit activities in the Kherson region. I harbored no illusions that everything would be fine; I simply tried to be cautious.
Angela Slobodyan: I participated in protest meetings in Kherson. Initially, the Russians’ behavior at rallies was relatively tolerant. They were instructed to be patient with civilians, refraining from violence while people adjusted to the occupation and administration. However, when it became apparent that Kherson residents were not adapting, and a subversive group was active in the area, the Russians resorted to different, harsher methods. I witnessed the firing of tear gas, shootings, beatings, and the targeting of a man with limited mobility, who was shot in the legs right in front of me. Fear then gripped the populace, rendering protests less effective—lasting for only five minutes before people were shot at, pelted with grenades, and forced to disperse.
Violence became the Russians’ primary tool to instill fear. The fear of having an armed person or a collaborator who had switched sides behind you became even more terrifying than facing the enemy. With the enemy, things are clear— they are the enemy, and the person you speak to can betray you.
I walked down the street, asking people, «Why accept this Russian humanitarian aid when you have enough to eat? You’re only creating a façade for the occupiers». Old ladies pointed at me, shouting, «She should be killed».
Realizing that I had to live among such people without revealing myself, I couldn’t even inquire about my friends’ well-being or whereabouts, fearing that tomorrow they might be captured, and I would be suspected of betrayal. In occupation, self-control is crucial to avoid unnecessary questions.
Angela Slobodyan: I couldn’t call my son, who was in Kyiv, to inform him of my detention. For over two weeks, neither my family nor my colleagues knew my whereabouts.
Initially, the Russians were displeased that I was living and gathering information in Kherson, right next to them. They believed that a reputable journalist would never stay under occupation. Consequently, they asserted that I was supposedly broadcasting, but they insisted that my primary activity was collaborating with the SBU.
Then there was the Kolikhayev incident. Kolikhayev was detained a week before my arrest, and I reported on the story. The content focused on the reenactment of events, but the occupiers failed to comprehend this. They accused me of spying on FSB in this manner.
Angela Slobodyan: We were held in the temporary detention center at 3 Teploenergetikiv Street. Men and women were kept together in one room but in separate cells. I shared a cell with four other women. I still maintain contact with these women, and together, we established a charity foundation. Unfortunately, one woman is no longer with us; she passed away in captivity due to a stroke that occurred in her cell. Interestingly, she was the sole woman in the cell whose relatives were aware of her detention and its location. Her daughter visited her, bringing parcels, which we divided among the five of us since we were scarcely provided with food in the cell.
People often ask if we were beaten in captivity. No, we were not physically beaten, but we were subjected to such moral pressure that not everyone can withstand it. We heard men being killed and raped. Our cell was on the middle floor, and torture was occurring both above and below. The occupiers intentionally conducted their torturous activities near our cell to further torment us.
Opposite us was cell number 17. It was horrendous. We only saw it once during our captivity when it was opened in front of us as we delivered water, as the boys inside were simply dying. It measured about 1.5 by 1.5 meters, yet six people occupied that space, either alive or decaying. The stench of a decomposing human body still lingers with me; I live with this smell. Just as we lived in captivity with various odors and sounds. Visibility was limited; I was even taken for interrogation with my hat on and my eyes closed.
We lived by sounds —the slam of the gate signifying the arrival of another person, signaling an imminent session of torture. That creak of the gate still haunts me like a triggering memory.
Angela Slobodyan: I provided testimony to international prosecutors at the International Criminal Court, and later, I was invited to the People’s Tribunal. This process is akin to a reenactment where I also testified. I have been informed that all my statements will be forwarded to the International Criminal Court.
We would like to remind you that our colleague, journalist Maksym Butkevych, remains in captivity.
Maksym Butkevych is a Ukrainian human rights activist and journalist, serving as the coordinator and co-founder of the project «Without Borders». This initiative focuses on aiding asylum seekers, Ukrainian internally displaced persons (IDPs), and combating hate speech.
He is also a co-founder of the ZMINA Human Rights Centre and Hromadske Radio. Previously, Maksym worked with the BBC World Service, various Ukrainian TV channels, lectured at the National University of Kyiv-Mohyla Academy, and served on the boards of the Ukrainian chapter of Amnesty International and the Public Council under the Ministry of Internal Affairs. For many years, he has moderated screenings and events at the Docudays UA international human rights documentary film festival.
Since the spring of 2014, Maksym Butkevych has been dedicated to assisting IDPs and refugees, protecting refugees, and fighting discrimination. Overall, he has been actively involved in human rights protection for the past 20 years.
With the onset of a full-scale war, Maksym put his humanitarian, journalistic, educational, and human rights activities on hold to join the Armed Forces in March 2022.
Russian propagandists published a video claiming that the military, including Maksym Butkevych, were taken prisoner near Hirske in the Luhansk region.
On March 10, 2023, the so-called LPR court sentenced Maksym Butkevych to 13 years in prison. The occupiers accused him and two other Ukrainians of «ill-treatment of civilians and the use of prohibited methods in armed conflict».
As of June 29, 2023, it became known that the Military Court of Appeal in the Moscow region would consider an appeal against the sentence of human rights activist Maksym Butkevych, who was sentenced to 13 years by the occupiers «for shooting a grenade launcher at a residential building in Sievierodonetsk.»
On August 22, 2023, the First Court of Appeal of General Jurisdiction in Moscow upheld the human rights activist’s «sentence». Simultaneously, the «judges» ruled to count the actual time of detention from August 19, 2022, i.e., from the moment of the Ministry of Defence’s confirmation of Butkevich’s imprisonment.
Following the court of appeal hearing, even his relatives were unaware of the human rights defender’s whereabouts.
The coverage of war crimes resulting from Russia’s war against Ukraine is made possible by the support of the American people through the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) in the framework of the Human Rights in Action Program implemented by Ukrainian Helsinki Human Rights Union.
Opinions, conclusions and recommendations presented in this publication do not necessarily reflect the views of USAID, the United States Government. The contents are the responsibility of the authors.
