‘They beat me for speaking Ukrainian’: How an Azovstal defender survived three years of torture in Russian captivity
He survived the hell of Mariupol and several Russian prisons—and never broke. Oleksandr Savov, 46, was one of the last Ukrainian soldiers to surrender at the Azovstal steel plant — the vast industrial fortress in the besieged southern city of Mariupol— in May 2022. Three years later, on March 19, 2025, he stepped off a prisoner-exchange flight with broken ribs, missing teeth and a single thought: to hug his daughter. During 34 months of captivity, Savov says he was repeatedly beaten, shocked with a stun gun, forced to stand for 16 hours straight and locked for a week in a dark “rubber cell.” Guards even beat him for using the word zhmenka—Ukrainian for “a handful.” He was shuttled from the Olenivka prison camp in Russian-occupied eastern Ukraine to a pre-trial jail in Taganrog and, finally, to hard-labor prison camps in Russia’s Kursk and Mordovia regions. Now home and undergoing treatment for broken ribs, knocked-out teeth, ulcers and chronic exhaustion, Savov is also learning to live with silence—and with the memories of what he went through. Frontliner spoke with him about his experiences in captivity and his return to life after three years of imprisonment.
Frontliner: Take us back to the moment when you realized you were being exchanged. What were you thinking at the time?
Oleksandr Savov: In the last few months, I tried not to think about it. Every time you think that day has finally come, but nothing happens. And then one day, one of the guards called me into the room. He said I needed to change my clothes. Interestingly, when I started picking out clothes from the pile, I found soap in one of the boots with the words “Made in Ukraine” written on it. I also noticed some condensed milk made in Ukraine nearby — these were probably items from some humanitarian aid shipment. Then they put us on a bus. They put bags over our heads and tied our hands with straps. Once on the plane, I tore them off because I couldn’t breathe.
A few hours later, when they started to take us off the plane, I immediately noticed the white buses. It was an incredible feeling. I don’t even remember what I was thinking—I was just happy that this day had come. I really wanted to see my family.
All this time, thoughts of my daughter helped me hold on—I knew she was waiting for me.
I also really wanted to eat things I hadn’t been able to eat for all those years. In the prison camps, everything is connected with sauerkraut. And you know, being there, I rethought so many things. It turns out you don’t need much to be happy.
How did you end up in captivity?
We were on the front line in Mariupol when it all started. We thought it would just be a bit of fighting, and then it would be over. But very quickly, the city was reduced to ruins, and we were under heavy fire. It was complete chaos – everything was flying around: helicopters, jets, artillery, rockets. It was difficult to watch civilians dying and schools and maternity hospitals being destroyed. But, as they say, you get used to everything. We hoped that in a couple of days we would be brought some food or medicine, but the miracle never came.
One day, a group of us decided that we needed to get to the Azovstal plant. But at that time, there were a lot of Russian soldiers in the city. So, we came up with a plan: we painted “Zs” on our vehicles, took off our insignia, got in the cars, and drove off. The Russians probably didn’t expect us to be so brazen as to drive around the city in a convoy like that. There were several checkpoints on the way to the plant. It happened something like this: we would drive up and shout, “Hey, guys!” And I had my gun pointed at them the whole time. That’s how we got to the plant. Later, I surrendered with everyone else and entered what they called “honorable captivity.”
What happened next? Where were you held?
The first place I spent 10 days was the Olenivka penal colony. (Editor’s note: Olenivka is a Russian-run prison camp in occupied eastern Ukraine, notorious for harsh conditions and a July 2022 explosion that killed dozens of Ukrainian POWs.) Back then, we didn’t understand what was coming. Some of our guys even gave money to the guards, who exchanged it for rubles to buy food or cigarettes, though a pack of cigarettes cost as much as 400 hryvnia. Overall, it was a normal prison; you could even find a phone among the guards and call home. I immediately called my mother and told her what had happened. But then they took me to Taganrog, and that’s where the hell began. (Editor’s note: Taganrog SIZO-2 is a Russian pre-trial detention center in Rostov Oblast, near the Sea of Azov, notorious for systematic beatings and torture of Ukrainian prisoners.)”
Even on the way there, one of the guards said: don’t fall down. If you fall, get up fast, or they’ll beat you to death.
While we were driving, I shifted my blindfold slightly so I could see where to jump out of the van. We arrived, I ran out and saw ten men with batons standing there, dogs barking. I pressed my forehead against the gate, but they still beat me with clubs and stun guns. While they were hitting me, I could hear them beating the others even worse, especially those who had fallen.
After I was put in a cell, there were regular searches, interrogations, and beatings every day. Usually, you just stand in your cell all day, from morning until night. To be able to sit down for a little while, we took turns asking to go to the toilet, where we could rest for at least fifteen minutes. To give you an idea, after my first day in Taganrog, I slept on my back for a week because I was covered in bruises from the beatings.
They also forced us to learn Russian songs, the national anthem, the meaning of their state symbols, and so on. Then they tested us, and if you didn’t answer perfectly, they immediately beat you or forced you to squat or do push ups, and then beat you anyway.
Of course, speaking Ukrainian was forbidden.
One time, I asked the warden for some detergent to wash my clothes. I used the Ukrainian word “zhmenka” (a small handful). But the correct Russian word is “gorst.”
They beat me so badly for that zhmenka, I thought I wouldn’t be able to stand up.
Where was the most brutal place you had to stay?
For example, in Taganrog, the Russians tortured one of my friends – they shoved the same rubber baton they usually beat us with up his ass. We found out about this when we ran out for inspection. Usually, you run towards it bent over like a crab, and at that moment, he kept urinating on himself. We asked him what was going on, and he replied that it just happened, out of fear. That’s how we learned what they did to him.
Later, in the Kursk region, I don’t remember what we were talking about—maybe we were happy about our forces going on the offensive.
One of the officers heard what I said. Usually, before they rush into the cell, they beat you with a baton, and you have to give your name. It was my turn, but there was no command to “run.”
First, they beat me badly, and then they took me to a rubber cell with nothing in it. I asked, “Where am I supposed to sleep or go to the bathroom?” He replied, “You can eat in this corner, shit in the other corner, and sleep in the third corner.” I sat there for a week. They fed me once a day. There was no light—they only turned it on once to check if I was still alive.
(Editor’s note: A “rubber cell” is a bare punishment cell lined with rubberized walls to prevent prisoners from injuring themselves—or escaping beatings.)
The harshest regime was probably in the penal colony in the Republic of Mordovia. During the medical exam, right after the X-ray, the doctor who checked us would shock us with a stun gun in the buttocks. And at that moment, you had to shout, “Glory to Russian medicine!” The peculiarity of this prison camp was that we really stood there all day long—there was simply no opportunity to sit down.
The rules were very strict: everything was done only on orders. Everything had to be done by command. Even using the toilet—you needed permission and could only go at specific times. And they watched you closely.
(Editor’s note: Mordovia, a rural republic 250 miles east of Moscow, is infamous for harsh Soviet-style prison camps.)
Were there people among you who couldn’t survive the treatment?
Nobody knows. People were constantly being taken away or brought in. You never knew if the guy who was just in your cell—sometimes there were 15 of us—was even still alive.
Some cooperated with the guards or got perks for working. Usually, the work was weaving nets for the Russian army.
But why? Why would I help the occupier’s army in exchange for a bowl of gruel or a cigarette?
It’s been almost four months since you were exchanged. Is it difficult to re-socialize?
What makes me happy is how society’s attitude toward soldiers has changed. Comparing 2015, when I first joined the army, to now—it’s like night and day. But I’m dealing with a lot of mental issues.
For example, when I go to the hospital and wait in line, I can’t sit still. I pace up and down the hallway like I’m waiting for an interrogation or inspection.
I’m constantly anxious. I’ve even had auditory hallucinations. One time in a café, I thought I heard a man’s angry voice saying something to me.
Even though I’m no longer there, I still feel like something bad is about to happen. That feeling never goes away.
Text by Artem Derkachov (adapted by Jared Goyette)
Photos by Valentyn Kuzan
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