The Kids Aren’t Alright

KYIV—When Svitlana Markina’s daughters asked to go to a holiday camp in Russian-occupied Crimea last October, she thought it might be their only chance to take a break from the brutal and exhausting war.

Schoolteachers said it was an opportunity for the girls—Yana, 15, and Yeva, 12—to rest and recuperate away from Kherson, which was being hit by shelling as Ukraine’s southern counteroffensive drew near; the city had been under Russian occupation since just after the full-scale invasion in February. “Why do you want to keep your children here? Why do you want to keep them from the sea and fresh air?” members of the Russian administration insisted.

“I’m a single mother. I work full time in a factory, and things were really hard for us even before the war,” said Markina, 36, who is originally from Crimea but has not been able to visit since Russia illegally annexed it in 2014. “The girls had never even left Kherson before.” 

Svitlana Markina with her daughter Yana at the Save Ukraine office in Kyiv on April 8.

On Oct. 7, Yana and Yeva were loaded onto buses alongside dozens of other children, clutching their original birth certificates as instructed. Yura Verbovytskyi, 15, who was also on the buses that day, said the mood was excitement, not fear. But as they set off, the Russian soldiers overseeing the trip made the sign of the cross. “That’s when we first thought, ‘What the hell is going on?’” Yura said. 

The children didn’t return two weeks later, as the Russian administration had promised. “I realized the girls were not coming back, and I tried to reach the school, but no one was there,” Markina said. Another two weeks passed, and Ukrainian forces arrived in Kherson, liberating it from Russian occupation—but leaving Markina’s daughters trapped on the opposite side of an all-out war, with no border crossings open to Crimea. 

For months, families in Kherson could only reach their absent children through messaging apps, occasionally a call, sometimes going a week without speaking when heavy shelling took out phone connections. They struggled to get through birthdays, Christmas, and New Year’s apart. Yura’s mother, Toma Verbovytskyi, 45, said she would wear his clothes around the house “just to feel close to him.”

Toma Verbovytskyi with her son Yura, 15, at the Save Ukraine office in Kyiv on April 8.

According to Ukraine’s National Information Bureau, more than 16,000 children have been taken to Russia or Russian-controlled territory since the invasion last February, while other estimates place the figure as high as 400,000. Moscow claims any children now under its watch were either orphans or had requested evacuation, but Kyiv warns of a far more sinister plot: generational genocide, an attempt to erase Ukraine’s identity by stealing its future. 

Some children were taken from occupied areas such as Kherson and the Kharkiv region, their parents asked to sign a release form without being told the children would not be coming back. Others were taken from conflict hot spots such as Mariupol or from filtration camps, the clearinghouses in Russia for evacuees from war zones in Ukraine. Many remain in camps or foster homes, but an unknown number of children, including children whose parents were killed by Russian forces, have been forcibly adopted in Russia. 

The deportations have been condemned as a war crime by the international community, with the International Criminal Court issuing an arrest warrant in March for Russian President Vladimir Putin and his children’s rights commissioner, Maria Lvova-Belova, who herself adopted a 15-year-old, Filip, from Mariupol.

But some, a tiny handful, of the Ukrainian children have been brought back home. Through a local Telegram group, Markina, Verbovytskyi, and others heard about a charity, Save Ukraine, that was working to repatriate Ukrainian children. After two months of nervous planning, a group of 13 women set out in early April on an arduous journey through Poland, Belarus, and deep into enemy territory to rescue 31 children. They were eventually reunited in a camp on the western side of the Crimean Peninsula.

“My legs are like jelly. They’re numb. My hands are tingling, and my ankles are swollen. It was a really tough, long journey, but I have my girls,” Markina said with tears in her eyes as they arrived back in Kyiv a week later. 

“I am incredibly happy—I brought my son back, and I feel like I’m complete again. Before, it was as though I was without air,” said Verbovytskyi, stepping off the bus still wearing Yura’s sweatpants. 

Save Ukraine, which is working to locate and return as many children from Russia as possible, assisted with the ICC investigation. Mykola Kuleba, the head of the charity, said mothers first started reporting that their children were being taken to “summer” camps last August, with their first rescue mission taking place in September. 

Mykola Kuleba (right), the head of Save Ukraine, talks with a rescued child in Kyiv on April 8.

Russian law prohibited the adoption of foreign children without consent from their home country until last May, when Putin signed a decree to loosen regulations. Money is offered to Russian families willing to adopt. At least 400 Ukrainian orphans have been adopted by Russian families, according to the Ukraine-based Regional Center for Human Rights, which calculated its figure in January from Russian government statements. Russia said 1,000 more were waiting to be adopted. Research by Yale University’s Humanitarian Research Lab released in February identified 32 “integration” camps where children are indoctrinated in Russian history, propaganda, language, and culture.

“If a child stays for one year in the Russian Federation, it would be hard to return them,” Kuleba said. “The propaganda and brainwashing will convince them they are Russian, that Ukraine is not a country, so the key time to recover these children is now.” 

So far, Save Ukraine has recovered 95 children, with a further 100 being processed. Some return with stories of harsh punishments and strict regimes. At least one returned child is now in a psychiatric ward.

Families and children congregate after being reunited at the Save Ukraine office in Kyiv on April 8.

Markina’s and Verbovytskyi’s children did not report any ill treatment, although representatives of Save Ukraine said that sometimes it can take time for the children to absorb what happened. According to one child from the group, speaking at a press conference organized by Save Ukraine, there had been cockroaches in the dining facilities, the pillows had been moldy, and some of the children were beaten. Returned children are offered three months’ rehabilitation with mental health teams. 

The location of a child can be reported via Save Ukraine’s hotline, by police or NGOs, and by the mothers or children themselves. It’s too dangerous for charity workers to attempt to cross the border, and men between 18 and 60 cannot leave Ukraine due to the mobilization. Save Ukraine organizes a route, pays for the expenses through private donations, and assists mothers or close female family members to access Russia or the territory it controls. They advise the women what to say at the border, what to delete from their phones, and how to cope if questioned. 

Markina’s hands were shaking with nerves as the women set out from Kyiv. “I’m just so scared something will go wrong and I won’t be able to reach my girls,” she said at the time. From Belarus, they caught a flight to Moscow before driving 1,000 miles to Crimea. Along the way, they navigated hostile police checks and hours of airport questioning—a trip so physically draining that one member of the group, Olga, 65, died of a heart attack in Krasnodar, just hours from the crossing to Crimea. 

At Camp Druzhba—Russian for friendship—in Yevpatoria, where a few dozen children had been staying, there was an emotional reunion. “There was so much noise as all the children screamed, ‘Mama, mama!’ We all hugged and cried for 15 minutes nonstop and couldn’t let go of each other,” Markina said. The mothers said the children had grown noticeably taller while they were away.

Families reunite with their children in Kyiv on April 8.

After just an hour, the women were back on the road to do the same trek in reverse with Yana, Yeva, Yura, and most of the others. Some 14 Ukrainian children were left behind as they could only be released to a close family member. Olga’s two grandchildren were among them. Save Ukraine is working on another mission to retrieve them. 

Now, the returning families, most still decompressing in Kyiv, face a fresh challenge: going back to Kherson, a city still in recovery from eight months of occupation. There is little work, few shops are open, and it is regularly pounded by shelling. “One positive of the camp was that we were far away from the front line and there were no explosions,” Yana said.

On Friday alone, the Kherson region was hit 96 times; shelling continued on Saturday, killing a mother and daughter. Local residents were warned not to gather to mark Orthodox Easter, and Ukraine has signaled plans to launch a new offensive this spring to retake more territory held by Russia, which could lead to more retaliatory strikes. 

“I’m scared to go back to Kherson now—there’s so much shelling there,” Yura said. “It could be scary, but it’s home. I’m going to get used to it.”