Ukrainian Journalist Tells of His Russian Imprisonment

Captured by Russian security services and sentenced on false charges, Ukrainian journalist Vladyslav Yesypenko spent more than four years in a Russian prison, enduring torture while trying to maintain his sanity and physical strength, wrote Gulnoza Said in an article titled “Life Goes on without You” that appeared on the website of the Committee to Protect Journalists (CPJ).

Yesypenko, who covered Ukraine’s Russian-occupied Crimea for the U.S. Congress-funded Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty (RFE/RL), was released in June. He was first detained by Russian authorities in March 2021. Since his release, Yesypenko has been actively advocating for the release of many other Ukrainians languishing in Russian jails. 

Russia is currently holding 28 journalists behind bars, according to CPJ’s research. Twelve of them are Ukrainians. Journalist Viktoria Roshchina, who reported from the occupied territories after Russia started the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, perished in Russian captivity in 2024. 

Seven out of the 12 Ukrainians are ethnic Crimean Tatar journalists who reported on human rights violations after Russia occupied and annexed the Crimean Peninsula in March 2014. They are serving lengthy prison sentences on anti-state charges.

CPJ’s Gulnoza Said spoke to Yesypenko on several occasions in Prague and New York in recent weeks about what having international support meant to him while he was imprisoned, and how his life has changed since his release. This interview was edited for length and clarity. 

Can you tell us the circumstances of your arrest in 2021 and conviction in 2022? 

Before my arrest, I was traveling to Crimea to cover various political, social, and other events and to do vox-pop with local people. I also contributed to RFE/RL’s investigative reporting about Western companies that continued working in Crimea even though it was illegally occupied by Russia. 

In March 2021, I was on assignment when I was stopped by FSB [Russian security service] officers. They planted a grenade in my car and accused me of possessing and transporting explosive ammunition. It was clearly fabricated. They took me to the basement of some building and tortured me with electrocution and beat me for more than 24 hours. They attached electric wires to my ears, forcing me to confess that I was spying for Ukraine. 

I was convicted in August 2022 for crimes I didn’t commit. 

In those circumstances, when you are tortured, all you want is for it to end. I could think of nothing but how to survive it. So, if the conviction meant the end of the torture, I was ready to be convicted. I didn’t want to die. That’s the main thought you have when you cannot stand the pain anymore. I was thinking about my daughter, my wife, and everybody else I love.  

What else helped you in captivity?

I used to do sambo and judo [martial arts] when I was younger. I didn’t have time to exercise or do martial arts before my imprisonment. But when I was captured, I realized that I must stay alive, be as healthy and fit as I could — for my family, friends, colleagues, and everyone who was fighting for my freedom. I needed to stay fit and strong to be able to fight for the freedom of other prisoners who became my friends in captivity. A physically strong body gives you strength of mind and spirit. I knew that as a former athlete. So, I knew that this was my way to not lose sanity in captivity. 

Aside from that, at some point when I was behind bars, I learned that people were protesting my imprisonment. My wife sent me photographs of people demanding my release and holding posters with my photo. It came as a surprise, because when you have no contact with the outside world, it’s easy to think that everyone forgot about you. My wife, Kateryna, became my biggest advocate. I know she was in touch with you from the beginning and that you advocated for my release, providing financial assistance to cover legal aid.

It gave me a lot of courage when I was behind bars to learn that so many people were supporting me and other political prisoners.

Your time in captivity was a horrific experience, but I’m happy you survived it. 

I did. But look at Viktoria Roshchina. Russian prison authorities killed her through torture. She was a hero because she decided to report from the occupied territories when Russia launched a full-fledged war on Ukraine. She took a risk, traveling there. Her body was returned to her family with multiple parts missing — her brain, her eyeballs, her larynx. Medical experts say that those body parts help identify whether a person was suffocated, which she [probably] was. When I was at her burial, I realized that capturing and killing Ukrainian journalists has become a goal [for the Russians] in itself. The press insignia on a journalist’s vest or helmet is a target for Russian forces, for their drones that let them see who is being targeted, who is in the crosshairs. 

[CPJ emailed the pretrial detention center No. 3 in Kizel, in Russia’s Perm Krai administrative territory, where Roshchina died, for comments on the circumstances of her death, but did not receive any response.]

What has been the hardest thing since your release? 

I would say two things: first, to realize that life continued while I was in captivity. My daughter grew so much. My wife and daughter have their own routine. They got used to living without me. One thing every prisoner should know is that it takes time to adjust to a new life, and that life goes on without you; you will not have the same life once you are out. 

The second is the work I have been doing. I am a reporter. I was never trained to speak in public. Look at me now. Here I am in New York, giving a speech at UN headquarters, at Columbia University. I’m meeting with CPJ. These are the things I never imagined doing. I still struggle to speak in public on such big podiums because I feel responsible for those who remain behind bars and are deprived of the right to speak for themselves. Being their voice and advocate is a very important job and responsibility.

You are working hard to advocate for justice in Roshchina’s case and the cases of your RFE/RL colleagues who remain in captivity, and for many other Ukrainians imprisoned unjustly.

Yes, I believe this is my duty now. I try to make people aware of the plight of my colleagues Nika Novak, jailed in Russia, and Farid Mehralizada, jailed in Azerbaijan, for working for RFE/RL. I also speak about my former cellmates — Ukrainian political prisoners, patriots of Ukraine — who died in Russian captivity because they were tortured or didn’t receive the medical help they needed. 

Do you have hope that more Ukrainians will be released? What are your thoughts on the war?

When I speak in public, many people approach me afterward and express empathy and support. Sometimes, they are ready to donate to help other Ukrainians in captivity. I’m very thankful to them. 

In terms of the war, many ask: “What can we do?” Honestly, this is not the question I would like to hear. This question was okay to ask in 2022 when Russia launched a full-fledged war against Ukraine. By now, the international community should have had a plan and mechanisms in place to stop Russia, stop the war, and free all political prisoners. In a few months, we’ll mark four years since this war started and 12 years since Russia occupied and annexed Crimea. We’re a very large, multimillion-person community of good people, but we can’t stop one man who decided he can wage an unprovoked war against civilized people?

Is there anything you would like to add?

I wanted to thank you, CPJ, and other international organizations, my colleagues at RFE/RL and the governments of Ukraine and the United States. It’s because of you all that I’m free. Let’s continue working together to make sure that everyone who is unjustly jailed is freed. Let’s stand together against the kind of aggression that kills not just people but freedom of speech and media. We rely on you for this.