Consider This from NPR - For Families Of Ukrainian Prisoners Of War, An Agonizing Search For Answers

Episode Date: August 24, 2022

The soldiers known as the Azovstal defenders are heroes in Ukraine. They held out for months against the Russians, fighting from a bombed-out steel plant in the southern port city of Mariupol. When the city fell, the Ukrainian soldiers were taken captive by Russia. Last month, the prison where they were being held was rocked by an explosion. More than 50 people died according to Russian sources, and both Russia and Ukraine blame each other for the attack. NPR's Joanna Kakissis and producer Iryna Matviyishyn spoke to some of these soldiers' families as they waited to find out whether the men were dead or alive.In participating regions, you'll also hear a local news segment to help you make sense of what's going on in your community.Email us at [e-mail] more about sponsor message choices: podcastchoices.com/adchoicesNPR Privacy Policy

Support for NPR and the following message come from the Kauffman Foundation, providing access to opportunities that help people achieve financial stability, upward mobility, and economic prosperity, regardless of race, gender, or geography. Kauffman.org When Russian forces invaded Ukraine in February, Anna Krylova, who's 47, was working the night shift as a gas purification operator at Azovstal. It's a massive steel processing plant in the southern port city of Mariupol. Her 14-year-old daughter Maya came with her because no one was at home to look after her.

We didn't leave that plant for the next 70 days. We went underground to a bomb shelter until it got hit by a missile strike. Then we moved further into another shelter. A vast network of tunnels with bunkers was under the sprawling Soviet-era plant. Anna and Maya were among hundreds of civilians who barricaded themselves underground to escape the siege of Mariupol. They were joined by at least 2,000 Ukrainian soldiers who were staging a last stand for the city. The rest of Mariupol was in Russian hands, reduced to smoldering rubble. We were scared. We were under constant shelling.

The earth under us was shaking. The plaster was falling off the walls. It was like the apocalypse, like a horror film. In May, dozens of civilians, including Anna and Maya, were evacuated to safety in Ukraine. The soldiers remained. These soldiers became known as war heroes. They were called the Azovstal Defenders, committed to holding out until the bitter end. Stanislav Korod was one of them. He goes by Stas for short. He sent NPR voice memos from inside as Russian forces were closing in. The situation is really catastrophic. It's getting worse every day. We can't do anything about it because we're trapped. No one can bring us any kind of aid.

Stas said his family wasn't anywhere near the plant or Mariupol. I send them to a safer city inside Ukraine. My family wants to stay in Ukraine. And I also think it's unacceptable for us to leave. We have to stay and do everything we can to support our country. He explained that moving around the labyrinth of tunnels under the Azevstal plant was dangerous because constant bombing and shelling by Russian forces destroyed many of the underground bunkers.

Soldiers worried that the shelters would cave in if the plant's buildings kept collapsing. How can anyone leave the plant if it's under airstrikes and shelling 24-7? If we leave this bunker, we die. What needed to be done, above all, he said, was to get the civilians out, especially those who were wounded. We're trying to help civilians with food and medicine. We will not leave them hungry and fighting for survival. But we can only share what we have. The last message Stas sent to NPR simply said that he and the other soldiers were being

evacuated to captivity. That was May 17. We found out later that they were sent to a prison in Olenivka, part of Russian-held territory in eastern Ukraine. That prison was then rocked by an explosion on July 29th. Major developments in the war in Ukraine, the deaths of dozens of Ukrainian POWs. More than 50 people died, according to Russian sources. Dozens more were wounded, and each side blamed the other for the attack. Consider this. It's been weeks since that deadly explosion, and many families of the Azevstal defenders are in agony, wondering if their loved ones are dead or alive as they

search for answers. From NPR, I'm Elsa Chang. It's Wednesday, August 24th. This message comes from WISE, the app for doing things in other currencies. Send, spend, or receive money internationally and always get the real-time mid-market exchange rate with no hidden fees. Download the WISE app today

or visit wise.com. T's and C's apply. It's Consider This from NPR. This week marks six months since Russia launched a large-scale invasion of Ukraine. It's a conflict that many thought would be over in a matter of days, given the size and strength of Russia's military. But Ukrainian forces, supported by the West, put up fierce resistance. And to this day, they're fighting to push back Russian forces in the south and east of the country. It's the biggest war in Europe since 1945, and there's no end in sight for now. Thousands upon thousands of troops have died on both sides,

and an estimated 13 million Ukrainians have been displaced, including Olha Kirod. She fled the city of Mariupol early on and ended up in the western city of Lviv. Olha was busy at work at a pharmacy in July when she got a frantic call from her teenage daughter. My daughter said, mom, something exploded in Olenivka. They blew up a building and many people died. Olga is married to Stas. Remember him, one of the Ukrainian soldiers who was stuck at the Azovstal plant? Everyone started calling me, texting me, asking, Olga, Olga, what has happened? She was worried that he was among the many dead.

But I didn't cry. I didn't panic. I told myself and my daughter, don't believe anything until we know for sure. Olha hadn't seen stars for nearly six months since Russian forces bombed and shelled Mardyupol, leaving thousands dead and nearly every building damaged. NPR's Joanna Kakissis and producer Irina Matveishin met Olha not long after the explosion at Olenivka. Joanna takes it from here. Over the next several weeks, we speak several times.

She tells us she heard from Stas directly only once, in June, when he called her from a number she did not recognize. He told me the conditions inside the prison were terrible, that the prisoners were fed only once every two days. That hygiene was non-existent. Then, on July 29th, came the explosion. The blast destroyed a warehouse where prisoners had recently been moved. Images of charred bodies appeared on social media. Ukraine said Russian forces blew up the building

to cover up torture of Ukrainian prisoners. Russia, in turn, accused Ukraine of killing its own soldiers to keep them from talking. It all made Olha's head spin. I didn't believe it, that such a thing could happen, that even the Russians could do such a thing. Hundreds of miles east, in Kiev, Alla Samolenko was also shocked. She was desperate for news on her son, Ilya. Yes, I had only rumors, and it's very hard to tell about. Alla knew many soldiers from Ilya's regiment were in Alenovka.

She pleaded with the International Committee for the Red Cross for help. And they very polite and full of mercy, you know, and after that, no connection, no feedback, no feedback. The Russians blocked the Red Cross and other independent investigators from entering the site of the explosion. They instead brought in their own experts, who repeated Kremlin talking points, all false, that Ukraine and the U.S. were responsible. In cities across Ukraine, the families of the imprisoned soldiers took to the streets to demand information and justice. Yaroslava Ivanova protested from her home in the central region of Kirovograd, where she now lives

with her daughter and grandchildren after escaping the fall of Mariupol. Since the explosion, Yaroslava says she has spent hours scouring Russian social media channels for any details about her husband, Nikolai Ivanov, and her son-in-law, Oleksii Lyashuk. She says someone sent her a message that Nikolai and Oleksii were in the building in Olenivka that burned. I can't even begin to describe my reaction when I found out. I started to cry, and then I immediately got on the phone with Ukrainian military and government officials, but they said they had no information. A few days after the explosion, the Russian military

published a list of dead and wounded. Ivanzva saw her son-in-law's name on the list of injured. We started cold calling hospitals in the occupied territories to find out which ones had taken the wounded. But unfortunately, we couldn't get any information. The hospitals only said they didn't have any Ukrainian soldiers there. But her husband's name was not on either list. Neither was Alla Samolenko's son, Ilya. The women have not heard from the soldiers. Alla says their fate seems unclear. I mean, they can kill all of them without any responsibility.

And no one in the world can do something. Back in Lviv, Olha Kerot got better news. She finally heard from her husband, Stas. He wrote to say that he was alive, that he is tired and is wondering if people have forgotten about him and the other soldiers. But the families of the soldiers clearly have not forgotten. Olha recently posted a video on Facebook of the soldiers singing in the catacombs of Azovstal before the final fall of their city,

trapped underground and yet still free. That was NPR's Joanna Kikisis reporting from Dnipro with producer Irina Matyishin. It's Consider This from NPR. I'm Elsa Chang.