How two Ukrainian children, taken to Russia, fought their way back home

Denys was almost rescued. The 17-year-old Ukrainian orphan had been forced onto a bus months earlier, in the fall of 2022, and taken to a re-education camp in Russian-occupied Crimea. As he endured day after day of attempted indoctrination and propaganda against his home country, his brother and grandmother in Germany were searching for him. So was Save Ukraine, a non-governmental organization that rescues children from Russia and occupied territories. Save Ukraine managed to track down his location in Henichesk, an area under Russia’s control - they had made contact with Denys as well as other children they were trying to rescue there. The Globe and Mail is only identifying Denys by his first name because he could risk repercussions for sharing his account. The nonprofit recruited Denys’s godmother in a daring attempt to bring him home. She flew to Moscow and planned to travel through Russia to reach him. But she was held for questioning by the Federal Security Service upon arrival. As soon as they confirmed why she had come, she was arrested. In Henichesk, a security officer hauled Denys into a vehicle and showed him footage of the interrogation. The officer held the teenager at gunpoint and asked whether he would like to leave. He saw no way out. He shook his head no. Ukraine’s government estimates that at least 20,000 Ukrainian children have been forcibly brought to Russia and occupied areas since the full-scale Russian invasion began in 2022. That figure covers cases where there are indications of deportation or forced transfer. Children taken to Russia by their own parents, or who live under occupation, are not captured in the number, but are offered the same support when they return to Ukraine. An estimated 1.6 million children are living under occupation, forced to attend so-called summer camps and study a Russian curriculum that glorifies its military and bans Ukrainian content. Many are eventually drafted and trained to fight against their own country. Nathaniel Raymond, executive director at the Humanitarian Research Lab at the Yale School of Public Health, has previously told The Globe this is “the single largest kidnapping” since the Second World War, and accused foreign governments of doing nothing about it. The lab published a report last year documenting the placement of Ukrainian children in at least 210 locations in Russia and occupied territories in Ukraine. The Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe’s Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights released its own detailed report in July. The ODIHR report said Russia has orchestrated an elaborate system that suppresses dissent and uses education as “an instrument of State security and identity transformation.” Researchers identified what they described as “probable war crimes,” including “torture and inhuman treatments, causing great suffering to children, and unlawful deportation and transfer of children.” Canada is co-hosting a conference with Ukraine and Norway this week in Toronto that seeks to “strengthen international support for efforts to bring people home, protect those who remain under Russian control and ensure that those who return can access rehabilitation and reintegration services,” as the Canadian announcement of the event described it. Experts say the accounts of children who made it home are the best way to understand what is happening to the generation of Ukrainian kids under occupation. The Globe and Mail travelled to Ukraine and spoke with some of those who returned. Getting even one child home is a herculean task. For Denys, it would take years. After the failed rescue attempt, he would have to do much of the heavy lifting on his own. The bus came for the children on an October morning, months after Russian forces had occupied Kherson in southern Ukraine. Denys was told to wait in front of his school with other children from his orphanage. They would be picked up and taken to Yevpatoria, a city in the western part of Crimea, which Russia had occupied since its annexation in 2014. Denys told his teacher he didn’t want to go. But the teacher said he had no choice. Russian soldiers would force him. The bus travelled in a lineup of vehicles that included armoured personnel carriers Denys could see out the window. The children were told they would spend two weeks at camp, and that they had to go because Ukrainian forces were intensifying attacks. They arrived after midnight and were sent to sleeping quarters. The next morning, the kids woke up to the Russian anthem blaring through the speakers. At an assembly hall, they were given strict orders: Anything related to Ukraine was forbidden. If they disobeyed the rules, the police would come. Denys remembered days of incessant indoctrination. Russian films, Russian songs, Russian history, Russian culture and the patriotic class called “Conversations about Important Things,” which was full of more propaganda. They were told nothing about what was happening outside the camp’s walls. Denys would later learn that Ukraine’s counteroffensive ultimately succeeded, and his home of Kherson was liberated. Weeks turned to months, and there was no sign of returning home. Denys missed his room in the orphanage, a small space with his belongings. Now he didn’t have anything. So-called camp counsellors told them: “No one defended you. No one protected you. No one needs you.” Denys recalled wondering if that was true. “Sometimes I started to think that if they took me, maybe they’re doing something right,” he said. The kids were moved to occupied Henichesk after a few months. Denys was brought to a dormitory that he said was horrible and freezing. When he tried to raise the conditions with authorities, they reprimanded him. He remembers them saying that they had rescued him, and threatening to take him to the forest and beat him to death. They told him: “No one will try to find you, because you are an orphan. You have no one.” Days later, Russian media stopped by the school with volunteers who offered the children porridge and canned meat. But in order to receive anything, he said, they had to give interviews. Denys said the children were told to “show that we’re really grateful and we respect the help we get from them. … I was even told that I have to say that I really like studying here, and I was even considering joining the armed forces of Russia and fight against Ukraine.” Incentives are a big part of the strategy, experts told The Globe. Young friends are told they will be separated and sent to Russian orphanages if they do not attend the military academy together. Russian officials present such options as a choice, said Mykola Kuleba, the president of Save Ukraine. But these are not real choices, he said. And preparing children for military service supports a longer-term goal, Mr. Kuleba suggested, of “future war with the West.” Ukrainian human-rights lawyer Oleksandra Matviichuk agreed, describing all Ukrainian children under occupation as “a new generation” of soldiers for Russian President Vladimir Putin. The indoctrination can be successful, she said. Ms. Matviichuk, chair of the Center for Civil Liberties organization, which was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 2022, said many people think about war crimes as perpetrated by political or military officials. But the teachers and social workers who support the system must also be held accountable, she said. In occupied areas, Ukrainian parents are presented with impossible choices, too, Mr. Kuleba said. Russian soldiers enter their homes and tell them that if they don’t accept Russian citizenship, and if they don’t send their children to school, their parental rights will be terminated. Mothers are told their children will be ripped from their arms and brought to orphanages. In areas where there is more violence, many also feel forced to make bigger decisions about their safety. Alina’s village outside Mariupol, in southeastern Ukraine, was occupied in a matter of days after the full-scale invasion began. She was 15. She recounted seeing Russian missiles fly toward the city. Sometimes they would be intercepted, sending debris crashing to the ground. After about three months of this, in the late spring of 2022, Alina’s mother decided it would be safer for them to go to Russia. “I don’t want to live in Russia,” Alina told her mom. But she had no choice. They set out for Nizhny Novgorod, a large city east of Moscow. Alina – whom, as with Denys, The Globe is identifying only by her first name – found life in Russia to be painful. She thought about how taxes on her purchases would fund the Russian army. “I was feeling like a traitor,” she said. Not long after the move, she went to a tattoo parlour that was offering free tattoos. She asked the artist to write “dirt” on her arm in Russian. “It’s an act of resilience,” she said. “It’s the description of what I was surrounded by. … It’s all dirt.” Like Denys, Alina found herself experiencing attempted indoctrination. In the fall of 2022, she moved into a dormitory at a vocational school, where she would stay for about seven months before returning to live with her mother. Every Monday, students raised the Russian flag outside their school before attending the same class Denys was forced to take, called “Conversations about Important Things.” In one class, she said, students were shown a picture of a dead pig covered in a Ukrainian flag. Another time, the lecturer told students that Ukraine was bombing its own people. Alina spoke up and said she had seen the direction the missiles were flying with her own eyes. She was suddenly moved to the corridor, where the teacher told her if she said anything like that again, she and her mom would have criminal cases opened against them. Three times a week, Alina and her classmates were made to weave camouflage military nets for Russian troops to use in front-line areas. Alina said the teacher told her that if they didn’t make nets, there would be consequences. Alina said she was also required to attend a class focused on protecting Russia, where her teacher called the students cadets. She and her classmates were taught tactical medicine and how to hold, load and reload an automatic machine gun. There were competitions where children would be rewarded for loading their gun the fastest, she recalled. They were taught how to shoot, with cans set up in the basement for practice. All the while, Alina thought about how she could use those skills to help Ukraine in the future. She went through the motions. She pleaded with her mother for them to move back. But her family was staying put, so when she turned 18, she decided she would leave of her own accord. She saw videos posted online about other Ukrainian teenagers who made it back home from Russia or occupied territories. Their success stories gave her hope. Most young people who return to Ukraine do so with the support of the Ukrainian government and non-governmental organizations. The majority re-enter the country through a humanitarian corridor between Ukraine and Belarus. According to Bring Kids Back, a Ukrainian presidential initiative, more than 2,600 children have been returned as of September, 2026. The ODIHR’s recent report said Qatar is the most “operationally significant diplomatic actor,” acting as an intermediary to facilitate the return of 87 children. The ODIHR said the Vatican and an initiative led by U.S. First Lady Melania Trump have also provided support. Save Ukraine has had the most success. As of September, the organization had helped around 1,763 of the children return. Mr. Kuleba said that every day, the group is working on more than 100 cases, which includes communication with kids and family members and arranging documents, accommodation and transportation. The specifics are kept confidential. Anastasiia Dovbnia, Mr. Kuleba’s deputy in charge of international relations, said the accounts of children who have been rescued offer the “clearest window of what is happening in occupation.” She said these returnees often produce videos to show their friends who are still facing manipulation in Russia the evidence that coming home is possible. The path out is complex, however, and not everyone returns the same way. Months after the failed attempt to bring Denys out of the Henichesk dormitory, he was taken to another so-called summer camp. There, he met the camp’s 28-year-old headmaster, who told him that she was powerful and had a lot of connections in Moscow. He could tell that she liked him, and he thought about how he could use her to escape. They started spending some time together, secretly, in her room. “I did everything she wanted,” he said. But Denys was moved again before he had a chance to act on his plans. Back in Henichesk, Russian authorities signed him up for the youth army and he was brought to a military training field. Instructors told his cohort that the West wants to start a war with Russia, and Russia needs to stop that from happening. Denys said they were taught tactical medicine, how to load and unload Kalashnikov machine guns, how to hit targets and how to throw training grenades. When Denys turned 18, he could leave Henichesk. Becoming a legal adult meant he could use a Russian passport issued to him to independently cross the border from occupied Ukraine into Russia, as well as cross international borders. But he would need help. He contacted his former headmaster. They arranged to meet at a hotel. The next day, he said, they went to Moscow, where he believed he would have more opportunities to plot an escape route. He spent about a month living in the woman’s apartment. He enrolled with a school in the Russian capital, one that had a dormitory he could move into. When his room was ready, he quickly gathered his belongings and left the headmaster’s apartment. Not long after, she ended contact with him, he said. His plan was to connect with Save Ukraine volunteers and get out of Russia. But he had to move fast. One day while studying at the college, the head of the school called him in for a meeting and handed him a draft notice. Denys had three months to show up to the drafting office and join the Russian military in earnest, or officers would track him down. Before the time was up, he bought a train ticket for Minsk, the capital city of Belarus. With the help of Save Ukraine, he was on his way to Europe. It was a cold day in February, 2024, two years after the full-scale invasion had begun. “I was just thinking: I hope this train won’t be stopped.” Denys spent six months in Poland and eventually made it to Germany, where he was reunited with his brother and grandmother. He started building a new life there, working as a football instructor and learning the language, but he missed his country. He again sought the help of Save Ukraine, which could assist with the logistics of re-entry. The organization helped him return this past April, more than three years after his ordeal began. Like Denys, Alina took action after she turned 18 and had more freedom of movement. She left school and got a job at a bar, saving up money for a flight out of the country. She decided to plot her journey via Turkey, telling her mother that she wanted to go there to earn money. Shortly after arriving, she sought help from volunteers to get a Ukrainian passport. With that in hand, she travelled to Moldova and from there caught a bus to western Ukraine, before ultimately arriving in Kyiv. It had been four years since she had left. Alina had never been to Kyiv, but had always dreamed of living there. She thought it would be busy and chaotic but was surprised by its sense of calm. Since the beginning of the full-scale war, significant infrastructure has sprung up in Ukraine to support young people on their way back and after their return. The government’s Coordination Center for Family Upbringing and Child Care Development co-ordinates with NGOs and international partners. The institution and the Child Rights Protection Centre are both notified when children are on their way back. Case managers, along with psychologists, interview the children. Then law enforcement services conduct their own assessments to document alleged crimes that happened in the occupied territories. The Coordination Centre develops individual plans for each child depending on their needs. A smattering of non-governmental organizations, including Save Ukraine, support children with short-term accommodation and help reunite them with families or caregivers. And if they don’t have families, NGOs help them find family-based care. Representatives from UNICEF, which receives funding from the Canadian government for its work, said they work to strengthen Ukraine’s social safety net and help children who have returned with psychosocial support, rehabilitation services, accommodation, education, health care, life skills and administrative work such as helping them restore their documents. Denys and Alina have different stories but find themselves in similar circumstances, having battled similar demons, the same ones that hundreds of children torn from their homes are now wrestling with upon return to a country that is still at war. Both live in apartment blocks reserved for people who have returned from Russia or occupied territories, where psychologists and other support staff are available on site. The Globe visited the apartment buildings this past summer. Denys keeps a few belongings in the narrow room he shares with two others in a building on the capital’s outskirts. There’s a T-shirt featuring Vincent Van Gogh’s “The Starry Night,” painting, still in its plastic packaging. A playing card signed by a famous magician. His Russian passport, which he said is evidence of a war crime. He writes everything down. He is still processing what happened to him. In Germany, Denys said he started drinking often as a coping mechanism, and a deep depression set in. “I even started to have some suicidal thoughts,” he said. He worries that people will judge him for what he did to survive, for the lies he was coerced to tell in interviews with Russian propagandists in exchange for food. Many people in Ukraine don’t trust him. Some even tell him they think he should be punished for the betrayal. Denys has trouble sleeping. He lies in bed with his thoughts turning over in his mind. When he finally drifts off, he often sees himself fighting for the Russian army against his home country. A nightmare that almost became his reality. Working with a psychologist has been helpful. “I hope to have a really good dream in the future,” Denys said. “And also find the ability, the capacity to trust people.” He hangs onto the convictions that kept him going after his abduction, and during his circuitous route home – “my inner faith and my Ukrainian identity.” He soon hopes to study at the police academy. Alina, now settled in Kyiv, has faced her own intense struggles with mental health. She said she attempted suicide while she was still in Russia, back when going home seemed impossible. In her apartment, she finds comfort in late-night talks with her new roommates. She is trying to find work that supports the Armed Forces of Ukraine – “I’m still feeling guilty that I didn’t donate to the Ukrainian army for the past three years when I was in Russia.” In the future, she hopes to attend college and study journalism. She still thinks about the curriculum she was exposed to as a teenager, and about the children who are born in occupied areas who only know Russian propaganda. “They don’t even know that it could be different.” With reports from Kateryna Hatsenko Russia and Ukraine at war: More from The Globe and Mail Moscow’s next moves Russia ‘trafficking’ foreigners to fight, Amnesty International says CIA director’s visit to Moscow signals real concern in intelligence circles Putin might widen war On the Russian front lines, drones are changing the dynamics of war The global context Canada, Ukraine sign 100-year agreement to work together on defence, energy, trade Ukraine discloses evidence of its military operations against Russia in Africa Ukrainian strike on Iranian cargo ship blurs line between two wars The Decibel podcast Don’t provoke the soldiers. “If he shouts – do not argue, hide and wait.” These are some of the things captured Ukrainian children are told to do in pamphlets from Russian detention centres. Last fall, reporter Janice Dickson spoke with The Decibel about the documents and Russia’s strategy for indoctrinating youth. Subscribe for more episodes.