How Russia is trying to turn desperate Ukrainians into traitors

Svitlana said she never thought of betraying her country “not for one second”.

“My husband would never forgive me,” she says when we meet at her apartment near Kiev.

The 42-year-old woman has been calling her husband Dima suddenly for more than two years because he was being held captive by the Russian army.

The voice on the end of the phone told her that if she betrayed Ukraine, Dima might get better treatment in prison or even be released early.

“A Ukrainian number called me. I picked up and the man introduced himself as Dmitry,” Svitlana explained. “He spoke in Russian.”

“You can burn down a military registration office, burn down a military vehicle or destroy an electrical box of the Ukrainian Railways,” he said.

There was one other option: uncovering nearby air defense units — critical military assets protecting Ukraine’s skies from Russian drones and missiles.

As Dmitri proposed the idea, Svitlana recalled the instructions that the Ukrainian authorities issued to all families when they were approached by Russian agents: shop as often as possible, copy and photograph everything, and report it.

Svitlana reported and took screenshots of the messages, showing them to the BBC.

The Security Service of Ukraine, the SBU, told her to stop while they were investigating the Russians. So she pretends to agree to detonate a nearby railway line.

As we sat in her immaculate sitting room, with air raid sirens wailing every now and then, she played me the recordings she had made on her phone of the two voice calls she had made with Dimitri on the Telegram app. During the call, he gives instructions on how to make and plant a Molotov cocktail.

“Pour in a liter of lighting fluid and add a little gasoline,” Dimitri explains. “Go to some sort of railroad crossing. Make sure there aren’t any security cameras. Wear a helmet—maybe.”

Svetlana also taught them how to place her phone on the plane 1-2 kilometers away from her intended target, so that her signal would not be picked up by cell phone masts that could be used by investigators.

“Do you know what a relay box is? Take a picture. This should be a target for her to burn,” Dimitri explained, asking for confirmation that he had completed the task.

“Write today’s date on a piece of paper and take a picture with it.”

In return, Dimitri said he could make a phone call with her husband or have a package delivered to him.

Later, the SBU told Svitlana that the person she was talking to was actually in Russia, and that she should end the relationship. Svitlana tells Dmitri that she has changed her mind.

“That’s when the threats started,” Svitlana said, “he said he was going to kill my husband, and then I wouldn’t see him again.”

For days, “Your husband is suffering, it’s your fault!” He calls.

“How worried were you that Damon would go through with a threat to hurt you?” I ask Svitlana. Her eyes narrowed. “My heart breaks, and all I can pray is, ‘God, please don’t let this happen.'”

“Part of me was like, ‘This guy has nothing to do with prisoners.’ Another part of me was like, ‘How am I going to live with myself if he can actually do this?’

In a statement to the BBC, the SBU said cooperation with Russian agents “doesn’t alleviate the prisoner’s plight in any way, on the contrary, it greatly complicates their chances of being exchanged.”

The authorities are urging all relatives to come to the Russian representatives immediately.

Those who do so are “protected” and considered victims.

But if relatives agree to carry out sabotage or espionage, the SBU says, “This can be classified as treason. The maximum penalty is life imprisonment.”

The authorities regularly publicize the arrests of Ukrainians who have set fire to or disclosed the location of military bases to Russia.

Pro-Kremlin media is filled with videos purporting to show Ukrainians burning army vehicles or train electrical boxes.

Some criminals do it for money, paid by suspected Russian agents, but it is thought that there are attacks by desperate relatives.

Petro Yasenko from Ukraine’s Military Prisoner of War Management Headquarters said that 50% of all POW families are contacted by Russian agents.

“They are in a very vulnerable position and some of them are ready to do anything,” says Petro, “but we are trying to teach them (their relatives in captivity) that nothing will help them.”

An act like burning a military vehicle is not considered a major material loss for the Ukrainian Armed Forces, Petro said.

But this is the main problem as it can undermine the unity of Ukrainian society.

And of course, if someone shares, for example, air defense systems, it’s a big problem for us too,” he admitted.

Authorities do not publish the number of Ukrainians held as prisoners of war, but the number is thought to be more than 8,000.

A Ukrainian intelligence source told the BBC there were few cases of relatives agreeing to work with Russia.

In a statement to the BBC, he called accusations that the Russian government used prisoners’ families as leverage “baseless,” adding that Russia “humanely treats Ukrainian fighters and fully respects the Geneva Conventions.”

The statement went on to accuse Ukraine of using similar tactics:

“Ukrainian inspectors are actively attempting to force and arson Russian residents by targeting critical infrastructure and civilian facilities on Russian territory.”

Cvitlana’s husband Dima was released from detention only three months ago.

The couple are now happily back together, and enjoy playing with their four-year-old son Vova.

How did Svitlana feel when her husband was finally freed?

“It was the most happy tears I’ve ever cried before,” she said. “I felt as if I had snatched my love from the jaws of death.”

Dima tells his wife that the Russians did not act on their threats to punish him for refusing to cooperate.

He was shocked when Svitlana told him about the calls.

“He asked me how I was holding up,” she said and nodded. “Well, as I always say, I’m the officer’s wife.”