‘The Worst Thing Would Be to Be Captured Again’: Released Civilian POW

31-year-old Volodymyr Fomichov met us in the center of Kyiv and spoke about the two years he spent in Russian captivity in his native Donetsk in 2016 and 2017. But he was not a soldier - he was captured as a civilian - effectively a hostage. He had participated in the Euromaidan protests; he wanted a European future for his city and country. For this, he paid with torture and imprisonment.

Now he works as a journalist, focusing on business, infrastructure, and industry. He loves being in Kyiv even though the city and its people hadn’t immediately accepted him. But Formichov is not a quitter and despite all the social and psychological obstacles he faced, he found a way to reintegrate into public life. Now he is even looking to volunteer to serve in the armed forces.

In this interview with the Kyiv Post, he talks about the fears, problems, feelings, and aspirations of civilians who have returned from captivity.

Tell me, how did you decide to mobilize after being in captivity?

I always wanted to mobilize, but after the mobilization law was passed, I started looking for a unit or position that would minimize the risks of being captured again. This is very important to me. When I found positions that interested me, I had to pass a special check by the SBU [Security Service of Ukraine]. But it was simply impossible for me to pass it.

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Why were you informed that you were not accepted and that it was because of the SBU?

Yes. You apply, talk to the recruiter, and then they transfer you to the SBU for a special check. You provide documents, but you don’t pass simply because you were in captivity. If a person is from Zakarpattia or Lviv, they pass without problems if they have no direct ties with Russia. I was always told: “You were in the occupied territories for a long time, in captivity, and have connections with the so-called ‘DPR’ special services.” Those “connections” were just that I was interrogated and tortured in captivity. They can’t check if I was recruited.

Doesn’t the fact that you were a prisoner, that you were tortured have an impact?

You can’t explain anything. The special check happens without you; you’re informed afterward, yes or no. I was told “between us” that they don’t want to take responsibility. If something happens and you turn out to be a hostile agent, they’ll be held responsible for overlooking it. That’s how the system works—they see potential risks and immediately reject applicants.

Do you have any documentation showing you were in captivity?

Yes, when we were released in December 2017, the Coordination Center under the SBU provided a certificate stating that we were held captive as hostages by illegal armed groups.

Does that provide you with any benefits?

It doesn’t give anything, except for certain payments amounting to Hr.100,000 for each year of captivity. This certificate is the only thing that proves I was in captivity. This isn’t just about me; there are many of us. You won’t pass the security tests if you're a former prisoner.

What positions did you apply for?

I wanted to join the electronic warfare (EW) / RER division, which is a non-combat role. Another vacancy was as an OSINT analyst and a rear operator. But in all cases, the security checks came back negative.

Why would it be intolerable for you to be captured again?

This is one of our greatest fears as former prisoners. First, we’re well-remembered there; they keep files on all of us.

It was terrifying the first time - I was tortured repeatedly and constantly beaten. For the Russians, we’re criminals simply because they accuse us of belonging to Ukrainian organizations, which they consider to be criminal or spying related.

To them, we’re recidivists, which means harsher prisons, worse conditions, and no progress on exchange efforts. We’d also definitely meet the same people who “worked on” us the first time, meaning our torturers. It’s dangerous and inhumane.

The Ukrainian state should show humanity to people in such serious psychological states, to prevent them from being captured again. I’m not saying we don’t want to mobilize, but this could be done in a way that minimizes the chance of re-capture. For us former prisoners, this is a very strong fear. There would be no special checks if I applied for the infantry - everyone is accepted there.

How did you initially get captured?

I was captured in Donetsk, where I’d been involved in public activities before the Russian invaders arrived. I was 20 years old and attended the local Euromaidan as a student. After the separatists, with Russian support, took Donetsk in the spring of 2014, I went to Ukrainian-controlled territory, but survival was tough. Housing was rarely rented to displaced people, and jobs were scarce. I missed my parents, so in 2015, I decided to visit Donetsk briefly. In January 2016, the “MGB” [so-called “Ministry of State Security” in “Donetsk People’s Republic (DNR)] came to my parents’ apartment, and I was taken captive.

Weren’t you afraid of being arrested?

Listen, I wasn’t any prominent figure or Maidan leader. I was just a student who attended the protests. It’s important to understand that the so-called DNR special services included many former Donetsk SBU officers who had attended the Euromaidan in Donetsk and recorded everyone who was there.

I was interrogated by a former SBU officer from Donetsk and another “investigator” from the prosecutor’s office. Back then, there weren’t many Russians there; they hadn’t yet brought in Russian personnel. Russia wanted to create the illusion that it was locals from the “Donetsk People’s Republic” handling things themselves. Now, of course, the situation is different.

Where were you held captive?

First, for two months in the MGB facility in the DNR, then in a pre-trial detention center for a year and a half. For the last six months, I was in Colony No. 27 in Horlivka which didn’t even have proper cells. It was just a barracks with barbed wire. In detention, you sit in a cell, you’re let out out for a walk once a day and are regularly beaten.

You wrote about the torture that took place.

Yes, torture usually happens at the beginning when they need you to confess to being a member of all kinds of organizations or to being a spy. I was tortured in the MGB. They beat you, give you electric shocks using a field telephone, and humiliate you. You’re constantly beaten, kept on your knees, and unexpectedly hit when being led somewhere. It’s continuous, and the only people you see are those who beat or interrogate you.

They accused me of being a member of the right-wing Svoboda Party and of supposedly keeping weapons. They tried to label me as part of an extremist organization, but I was “lucky” - I received a short sentence.

What were you accused of?

Anything—extremism, espionage. They accused me of extremism on the territory of Ukraine, which they don’t consider Ukrainian territory. I was charged with “participation in prohibited organizations.”

Many were charged with espionage, especially those from whom they seized businesses. Some really did help Ukraine. Or you could simply have pro-Ukrainian views because you live in your own Ukrainian Donetsk.

For example, Yuriy Shapoval, who worked as a researcher in the Botanical Garden and once tweeted something pro-Ukrainian. They monitored Twitter and other social networks. Just expressing your emotions on Twitter or VKontakte could lead to arrest. They didn’t monitor Facebook much, but they loved Twitter. People wrote their opinions, sometimes about ordinary things, but that was enough.

A bizarre mix of the Russian world and Soviet terror.

Yes, it was like the USSR in the 1920s-30s, with “enemy elements,” “extremist organizations,” and “spies.” They adopted a convenient model.

Was it difficult for you and the many who were held in captivity to integrate into society after your release?

It was hard for me. I was imprisoned at 22 was almost 25 when I was released. I basically started life anew at 25. In Ukraine, at 25 people are usually working, have some career skills, but I had to learn everything from scratch.

I worked as an editor on radio and TV, learned to write articles, and adjusted to a new way of life. I had friends in Kyiv, including people from the East, who supported me morally, offered professional advice, and socialized.

But many others don’t have that. Imagine someone from Donbas, released from captivity, who comes here without connections, without property, without housing. They might end up in a provincial town, struggling with psychological issues they can’t share, with no understanding from locals, facing tough work conditions. In Kyiv, people are quite tolerant, but in smaller towns, people can be less understanding, which can isolate someone like that.

Do you have the same rights as former military prisoners?

No. A military captive has the right to mobilize only at their own will; they cannot be mobilized by summons or compulsorily. We propose a similar solution for civilian prisoners or changes to the mobilization law, giving them the same right to mobilize voluntarily.

There are quite a few such people. These include hostages and prisoners held by the Kremlin in Crimea. While often called “political prisoners,” they are still prisoners! These individuals come from Kyiv, Chernihiv, and other regions, having been captured, detained in basements, or taken to Russia, surviving torture, and later being exchanged or managing somehow to escape. This also applies to people from Kharkiv, Sumy, Zaporizhzhia, and Kherson regions.

How many of them can there be?

According to available data, 168 civilian prisoners have been exchanged since 2022. That’s not many. In reality, many more have been captured - I estimate there are 3,000 - 4,000 who have documents confirming their captivity, with many more who survived imprisonment without formal documentation. The exact number of civilians currently held captive in Russia is unknown.

Do you communicate with others who have been in captivity like you?

Yes, we stay in touch and coordinate with each other. Everyone shares a profound fear of being captured again.

The issues faced by internally displaced persons (IDPs) haven’t disappeared either…

No, they haven’t disappeared. But in 2022, it was likely easier for me than for many others. Those of us who went through 2014 and its aftermath in Donetsk seemed better prepared for 2022 than others. Yes, the full-scale invasion was dreadful, but we were arguably in a better position than today’s refugees.

Those of us who lost everything in 2014 in Donetsk had managed to rebuild something by 2022 - savings, housing, a degree of stability. Furthermore, in 2014, most of the IDPs were from Donetsk, a large, Europeanized city, making it somewhat easier to integrate into society than for today’s refugees, many of whom come from smaller towns and villages. They face even greater challenges adjusting to life in Kyiv or other major cities in Ukraine’s rear areas.