Reading the Psalter, searches, and looting: 33 days of Russian occupation of a village in the Chernihiv region, where the occupiers did not know how to brew tea, but knew how to kill civilians.
Mykhailo-Kotsiubynske is a village in the Chernihiv district of Chernihiv region. Before the full-scale invasion, almost 3000 people lived here. At that time, many local residents left for Kyiv, Chernihiv, and other cities of Ukraine in search of a somewhat safer place.
From February 28 to April 2, 2022, the village was under occupation. During this time, Russian shelling almost completely destroyed 8 private houses and damaged 130 more. In addition, two civilians died here, two people went missing, and four others were injured.
‘It was a very mild invasion’
At the beginning of the occupation, there was chaos here. The occupiers drove tanks into people’s yards, looted shops, sped at enormous speeds in ‘BTRs’ along the streets, and threatened everyone who crossed their path. Resistance was unwise, because no one really knew what was going on in their heads.
Local residents were genuinely surprised by the Russians’ ineptitude when they managed to do something new every time. The woman herself remained in the village during the occupation, saying, ‘Well, what should I be afraid of? I’ve lived here since 1994.’
Today, Raisa Vasylenko shares her memories of that difficult month.
— Come in, this is my office. I work here, everything is at hand for me here. — Ms. Raisa leads into a small room on the first floor of the culture house. At the entrance, she points to the door lock. Near it, on the doorframe, rough traces of torn wood are visible. — This is how they tore out the doors to enter my office. With a crowbar, probably, they pried it open.
As soon as she put water on to boil in the kettle, the woman began a mini-tour of her office. On the wall near the window is a large portrait of Taras Shevchenko. Before the Russians settled here, there was a large hand-embroidered rushnyk on it. The occupiers stole it when they fled, and in addition, they thoroughly searched every cupboard in the brown wall unit near the entrance. Ms. Raisa smiles ironically: they stole many things that were hidden somewhere. They hardly touched the items that were in plain sight.
Pouring boiling water into mugs, Ms. Raisa shares her memories of the morning of the full-scale invasion. She says she remembers that time very well:
— I’m a light sleeper, and at night my husband tells me: “Get up, because the war has probably started. They are shooting from the direction of Belarus and Slavutych.” When I got up, explosions could be heard, but I wasn’t afraid. Probably because since childhood I’ve been used to the noise of the nearby airfield, to planes and engines.
The next day, the woman received a call from the village council. They said that a bomb shelter needed to be prepared.
— We carried water and benches there so people could stay. It was clear then that we had to prepare for anything.
For a moment, the woman falls silent and sits quietly, as if recalling something. Eventually, she begins to recount that on February 27, some soldiers “in black uniforms, without any insignia” entered the village from the direction of Gomel. They spoke Russian with a Belarusian accent. They walked through the streets to check if “everything was clear,” and if there were any “saboteurs” anywhere. They stayed only one night in the village itself, spending the night on the second floor in the choreography class of the cultural center.
— No one saw how or where they dispersed afterward, in which direction they went, — says Ms. Raisa. — The next day I returned to the House of Culture, went up to the second floor and found the place where they had spent the night. They didn’t take anything with them and didn’t break anything. But I found keys with a keychain that they had forgotten. It had the inscription — “SOBR”*.
“And who are they liberating us from?”
And on February 28, Russian troops entered the village.
— They came from the direction of Belarus. At first, explosions were heard somewhere near Ripky. We already understood that it was the Russians, because ours had no way to be here. And then a column of military equipment moved from that direction. I remember that there was no communication then: they were jamming. But my husband had a small radio and my son’s old headphones. That’s how we managed to catch at least some information from the capital.
Russian military personnel roamed the streets, entered local homes, sometimes took away some men and drove them in an unknown direction. No one entered Raisa’s house, but her neighbors were less fortunate. The woman recalls how she decided to visit her neighbor right after another such ’round-up’.
— Well, how are you doing here? — she asks her friend.
— How many did you have? — the neighbor replied with a question.
— Who was there?
— Well, who else? They are walking the streets, checking phones, they took Serhii from our street somewhere.
— But I didn’t have anyone!
— What, you don’t believe me?
Then she and I went outside, opened the gate a little, and saw about seven Russian soldiers walking towards the center of the village. And while they were visiting the neighbors, I was sitting in the house and reading the Psalter. That time, they just didn’t come to our house.
When the Russians entered the settlement, they thought it was already Chernihiv, because there was electricity, water, and gas. They called the settlement ‘Mykhailyk’. Among many stories about the clumsiness and short-sightedness of the Russians, Mrs. Raisa particularly vividly recalls one.
— On our side of the street, an old man lived. Somehow, they entered his house. They asked for tea. Well, he gave them regular packaged tea. But they tore these packets open, poured the contents into cups, and only then added water. They said that ‘that’s how everyone does it where we’re from’. Apparently, they had never even seen such tea before.
‘I believed the occupation would not last long.’
— The main blow was taken by Chernihiv, and here they just lived with us. I remember once [the Russians — ed.] got drunk and started telling a lot of things. Not long before that, in our settlement, they destroyed a school with a rocket strike. So, when they were drunk, they said that they “accidentally” hit the building. One woman died then.
Sadly looking into her almost empty cup of tea, Mrs. Raisa reflects on what happened to their settlement during the occupation.
— They lived in many houses here, which is why we didn’t have many shellings. They couldn’t aim at themselves, could they? Often at night, they went to the other side of the settlement, to the Shestovytsia forest. There they dug trenches and stayed, and in the morning they returned here again. We call that part of the settlement “the swamp.” That area is completely mined. Six months ago, sappers found the remains of a boy who went missing in that spot. They say his parents recognized him by the jacket that was found there.
On April 2, the Armed Forces of Ukraine entered the settlement. A few days before this, the shelling became more intense, and Russian military personnel began hastily gathering their belongings and retreating. Mrs. Raisa recalls those days with a slight uplift: it was finally over.
— We already knew that Ukrainian troops were approaching Chernihiv and would soon liberate our settlement. I believed that the occupation would not last long. Meanwhile, the Russians were gathering their things, which they washed and hung right in front of the culture house, and fled somewhere. They also took our equipment – one of the two large speakers we need for concerts. It was good equipment, completely new. After themselves, they left only piles of garbage, dry rations, and a completely looted store.
The Armed Forces of Ukraine began inspecting the settlement from the culture house. They went through all the premises, holding their automatic rifles ready, but found only a cluttered assembly hall. By that time, three days had passed since the Russians left Mykhailo-Kotsyubynske. All that remained was to clean up the mess they left behind and somehow move on with life.
Mrs. Raisa exhales heavily. In such an unpleasant tangle of uncertainty, rage, and the unknown, strength was only given by faith in Ukraine’s victory. And the psalter, which was always at hand for the woman under any circumstances.
Today turned out to be surprisingly good weather. A little snow fell overnight, a light frost hit, and now it was sunny and fresh. Not far from the culture house, in a small square, locals had brought out all sorts of goods for sale. It was clear that today was market day here. Men and women walked calmly through the streets, greeted each other, sometimes stopping to exchange a few words. It’s hard to imagine what was happening on these streets two and a half years ago.
— I don’t recall the occupation. I don’t want to recall it. We live our own lives now. We also have a lot to pray for and worry about now. Someone volunteers, someone helps, someone worries about their children. Look, my cousin lives in the Krasnodar region, she says she is Russian. And I tell her: «Listen! Where is your umbilical cord buried? That’s right, here, in Ukraine, in your native village! In the village where your parents are buried! Whether you want it or not, it will concern you until the end of your days. So, how can you be Russian then?» That’s how it is! The Ukrainian umbilical cord will always prevail in a person! Because it’s our own, native.
* ‘SOBR’ is one of the federal and regional special units of the Federal Service of the National Guard Troops of the Russian Federation (Rosgvardiya). This structure was created to combat organized crime and terrorism. Since the beginning of the full-scale invasion, they have also been involved in the offensive actions of the Russian Federation on the territory of Ukraine — [ред.]
The text was written by Yurii Shtokaliuk, photography by Iryna Hubar and Kateryna Lavrinets. The material was created within the framework of the advanced school ‘Truth Through Stories’, implemented with the support of the National Endowment for Democracy (NED).