‘No one touched us. They were reasonable guys.’ Two Sudzha residents describe seven months under Ukrainian occupation
On March 12, Russia’s Defense Ministry announced the liberation of Sudzha from Ukrainian forces that seized the city in August 2024. A day earlier, the Ukrainian military had reported that fighting was still ongoing in the city’s outskirts. Residents trapped in Sudzha under Ukrainian occupation (their exact number remains unknown) lost contact with relatives, and some were reported missing. Many lost their lives during Ukraine’s attack and Russia’s countermeasures, either in the artillery fire or due to a shortage of medical care. The independent journalists’ cooperative Bereg spoke with Sudzha residents Alexey and his daughter, Elena, who survived the occupation and were able to evacuate to Kursk after Ukrainian forces withdrew from the city. Meduza is publishing their account in full.
The names of the individuals interviewed have been changed to protect their safety.
“Among the first assault troops who entered our apartment, there was a young man who said he would protect us from the ‘Putin regime.’”
Elena, 49 years old: I worked here as a store clerk. On [August] 6, we’d already heard that Goncharovka had been shelled, but I still went to work to find out what was happening. I was walking down the road, shaking all over. When I got to work, management told me, “Elena, everyone has left [town] in their cars. Everything is closed. Go home.” I walked back and saw missiles flying over the houses — it was terrifying.
Alexey, 77 years old: On the first day, we refused to leave because we hoped they’d protect us. On TV, they said it would only last a few days. We debated whether to go or stay and eventually decided to stay — I told my son [who lives in another city] about it over the phone. The next day, there was shelling, and Ukrainian soldiers appeared. It happened like this: I went outside around seven in the morning to feed the chickens — we have our own small farm. And then, soldiers appeared at our doorstep. They asked me if I’d seen any Russian soldiers. I told them no. They entered the building, searched our apartment, and then checked other apartments. At first, I didn’t pay much attention, but then I noticed the blue-circle armbands on their shoulders — that’s when it hit me: These were Ukrainian soldiers, and they were inside the city.
Elena: Among the first assault troops who entered our apartment, there was a young man who said he would protect us from the “Putin regime.” He told us, “Everything will be fine, don’t worry. We don’t fight civilians, we don’t rape women, and we don’t kill children like your Russian troops do.” He said this while crying. It was an awful situation.
Alexey: I couldn’t reach my son after they took the city. All the lines were down. After August 6, we had no electricity, gas, or water. Leaving on our own wasn’t an option: my wife and I are both disabled and struggle to get around, and we had our daughter with us. How were we supposed to leave? We didn’t have our own car and couldn’t count on anyone for help. Only two other families remained in our 42-unit building. And there was no point in discussing anything with them either — no one was planning to leave on foot; the roads were constantly under fire.
“We soaked pasta in water, ran it through a meat grinder, and ate it like that.”
Alexey: The lack of electricity, gas, and water lasted — it still lasts — right up until the day before yesterday [March 12], when we were finally able to leave. We ate whatever we could and cooked however possible. At first, we ate food raw. For example, we soaked pasta in water, ran it through a meat grinder, and ate it like that, washing it down with cold water. At some point, we managed to get hold of a small wood-burning stove, which allowed us to heat our food and burn firewood — meaning that for all those months, only our kitchen was heated.
On January 2, we decided to move into the basement. My wife is almost immobile, and we just couldn’t get her downstairs [to take shelter] when there was shelling. From mid-winter on, for the last two and a half months, this is how we lived: My wife stayed in the basement at all times, while my daughter and I would go up to the apartment, cook, and then return to the basement. Over this time, our apartment’s windows were shattered multiple times, the balcony was completely destroyed, and shelling was constant — the entire apartment was left open to the elements.
Elena: Once, during the winter, Dad and a neighbor were patching the broken windows again. It was freezing inside, and Mom was lying there, sick. By then, it had become impossible to stay in the apartment [because of the cold]. And then, out of nowhere, another strike hit. Dad didn’t have time to run to the corridor. The ceiling light in the kitchen crashed down, and all the windows were blown out again. I ran out, thinking he was gone. When I came back in, I said, “Dad, are you okay?” And he just answered, “It’s all the time now, I didn’t even bother [to take cover].”
Alexey: The entire time, assault troops came to our neighborhood almost daily. First, they broke into garages in the area. Later, they started raiding abandoned apartments. They stole, looted, and took vehicles from the garages. Many of them regularly went to Sumy, rotated out, and were replaced by new units. They would also take “souvenirs” so they wouldn’t go home empty-handed. They packed everything into cars and drove it away.
It happened to us, too. We were in our apartment when we suddenly heard someone trying to break down the door. I knocked [on the door], begging them not to break it. Realizing someone was inside, they said, “Hands up, come out!” They asked who was with me, and I told them — my wife and daughter. They ordered them to come out, too. My daughter burst into tears: “I won’t go out. Mom is sick, and this will make it even worse.” They barged in, saw that my wife was indeed bedridden, and left to check other apartments. They always spoke to us in perfect Russian. They spoke to each other in Russian, too. They always entered apartments in pairs.
We often had to go outside — we had the chickens and a dog to feed. And of course, we had to go to the store. But who was selling food? The owners were gone, and the locks were broken — you could take whatever you wanted. I don’t consider it looting — we had to survive. When we ran into friends or neighbors on the street, we talked about only one thing: when it would all be over. And, of course, about food and aid.
Over these seven months, Ukrainian soldiers helped us maybe six or seven times — they distributed grain, flour, bread, and other necessities to households. Whenever they had something, they shared it with us. Meanwhile, we got absolutely nothing from our own people.
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Elena: I took some essential food supplies from the store where I worked. But later, I couldn’t bring myself to step inside and take anything else, even though the doors were broken open. Our neighbors helped us with food all this time. They acted quicker and shared what little they had — oil, canned goods. Ukrainian troops broke open storage warehouses and handed out food, saying, “This isn’t looting, we’re not taking anything for ourselves — this is all for you. Eat.”
Alexey: I know that during all this time, people from the town were being treated and sheltered at the Sudzha boarding school. A doctor came from Sumy to examine the sick. They also brought in food from Sumy and fed people at the school. But we never considered going there. First, it was too far, and we couldn’t get there, anyway. We lived near the station, while the boarding school was downtown, two kilometers [1.2 miles] away. And where would we go with a bedridden woman? I only went there once — to get a pass [from Ukrainian forces] to move around the city.
Elena: Normally, we didn’t get those passes [and moved around without them]. But one day, my dad was stopped — they asked him to show his. Dad said he didn’t have one; he had only been out to collect firewood, never going into the city center — just taking a cart, loading a couple of bags of wood, and hauling it back home. The soldier told him that didn’t matter and that next time, he had to get a pass; otherwise, it would end with “alright, you’re coming with us.” But that never happened again.
The Ukrainians placed guns and tanks between residential buildings. I saw our drones scouting, investigating, and then dropping bombs — even if the artillery piece they were aiming for had already been moved. It would have been better if they’d dropped some bread for us — nobody needed anything else.
It looks like [the Ukrainian military] needed our building for something. Even before the invasion, we knew Ukrainian drones were scouting overhead. They deliberately spared our building, didn’t bomb it — maybe it was useful for setting up artillery nearby or launching drones.
Things got really scary just recently, on March 8. As a “gift” for [International Women’s Day], before pulling out, Ukrainian soldiers left shells inside the building; they exploded, and the entire fourth stairwell burned down. I don’t know if they did it on purpose or by mistake — maybe they just smelled trouble and bolted.
I don’t want to make false claims. I’ll say that during this time, no one harmed us. Maybe incidents happened elsewhere, but no one touched us; they were reasonable guys. They didn’t beat us, and they didn’t insult us. Yes, they broke into apartments and garages and took cars. I think they took valuables from abandoned apartments. But this is war, and I guess that always happens in war.
Alexey: Funny how the strangers left us alone, while we gave up hoping for help from our own people.
Elena: I hope this is the worst thing we’ll ever go through. But the Lord never abandoned us, not for a single day, even when drones exploded and garages burned all around us. I remember praying to God to send rain so the sheds where we stored firewood wouldn’t catch fire during the shelling — and it rained. We ran out of sunflower oil, and just at that moment, a neighbor knocked on the door and said, “Elena, take this — we have a little left.”
“The city is just gone”
Elena: I’ve never been someone who scares easily. But in these past months, I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore [and wouldn’t last much longer] — either this would end, or I’d end up in a mental hospital. My mom and dad told me to hold on: What are we supposed to do if you break down? But I just ran out of strength. I didn’t give up, but I think I broke. A feeling of endless helplessness set in and never left.
We were terrified at the thought of our liberation — we know how Russian troops do it. I’m not saying anything; everyone has their job, but thank God we were spared a terrible purge.
Alexey: I saw those men, grimy and black as demons, in the street [Russian soldiers] climbing out of the pipeline, like something out of a fairy tale. Then, suddenly, there was a knock on the door — they told us these were our soldiers now: different uniforms, red bands on their shoulders. It felt like everything began out of nowhere and ended just as unexpectedly.
Elena: At first, there weren’t many [Russian troops] in the city. Our neighbor even said, “They don’t seem like our guys — they don’t even come up to hug us, nothing.” But later, she was mortified when she found out the price those men paid to break through to us. The soldiers approached us, asked how long we’d been waiting for them, and apologized for taking so long to get here. When our neighbor heard this, she burst into tears: “It’s good that we lived to see you.”
Alexey: Then they told us: “Three more days, and we’ll free you.” On March 12, our neighbor brought us food and canned goods, saying that they were no longer from the Ukrainians but from our side. That same day, evacuations began on the next street over, and soon we were taken as well — a young soldier came down the street shouting, “Civilians, evacuation!”
Elena: We didn’t see any heavy fighting, no actual [military] liberation. Suddenly, there were only our guys in the streets. At first, we were pretty excited, thinking life would go on. But we weren’t allowed to stay — they told us we had to leave and could return once the area was cleared. But I don’t want to go back: the city is just gone. And who knows how long it will take to rebuild.
Alexey: I just want to go back to my home. I’ve lived in that apartment for 30 years, in Sudzha for 50. Where am I supposed to go? How am I supposed to start over? Where do I do that? And why? This is my home. It always was and always will be.
Interviews by the independent journalists’ cooperative Bereg
Translation by Kevin Rothrock