The Ukrainian mayor who refused to flee the Russian invader and ended up accused of treason | International

“Being in court has been a terrifying experience.” The mayoress of Kozacha Lopan, in a town in the Kharkov region bordering Russia, remained in the town for the more than six months that the occupation caused. For Lyudmila Vakulenko, 62, not putting land in the way, as many other Ukrainian councilors did in the face of the invasion of their towns, implied being suspected of collaboration with the Russian enemy. That’s why she ended up before a Ukrainian court last month. After explaining that her resistance to leaving town never meant working for Moscow and thus being able to prove her innocence, Vakulenko was acquitted on March 6 of what she herself considers “one of the most serious crimes that someone can commit”, that of treason. to the motherland

Kozacha Lopan was one of the first places the Russians seized in the early morning of February 24, 2022, when President Vladimir Putin was likely to begin his full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The Kremlin troops had only to cross the checkpoint that separates both countries on the highway that runs 80 kilometers from Kharkov (Ukraine) to Belgorod (Russia). The invaders weren’t driven off until 9/11, but they’re still well within range. In fact, the artillery and missiles that still punish the people on a recurring basis come from Russian territory.

Sitting in a small office, Mayor Vakulenko looks back with relief—and no rancor—on those horrific days when she was exposed to possible conviction. Natural light is conspicuous by its absence in a room in which the window is protected by a wall of sandbags adorned with well-watered plants. The hunt for collaborators, in the midst of tip-offs that do not always hit the mark or are done out of a desire for revenge unrelated to the conflict, is the order of the day in the towns that are being freed from Russian occupation.

According to the accusation that brought her to justice, the mayoress had been helping neighbors and distributing humanitarian aid, which for some made her a collaborator of the invader. Vakulenko does not hide the fact that there are residents who are eager to see the Russian flag fly permanently in Kozacha Lopan. Some of them crossed over to the other side. “There are two ways out of this war. The human being can lose his personality and stop being what he was, or he can come out stronger. Each one of those that comes out reinforced is worth 20 of the others”, reflects the mayoress, convinced that her town was, is and will continue to be Ukraine. Relations are more than broken with Russia, once a major lifeline, but Vakulenko, all optimism in the face of a bleak outlook, has no doubt they will pull through.

He also believes that Vova, a 33-year-old neighbor (like most, he does not want to give his last name) who runs a butcher shop that continues with broken windows, will come out ahead. It is quite prefabricated in the central square, and crosses the paths where more dogs hang out than people. “Those pigs didn’t steal my pigs,” he explains gratefully, resorting to a slightly far-fetched play on words. In this way he manages to continue having gender on the counter.

A woman comes up to the reporter in the middle of the inhospitable road. Tired and eager for everything to pass, Lidia, 86, is covered in a dirty and threadbare pea coat. Through the holes she peeks out the wadding of the padding. “This is my second war,” she wails as she gesticulates endlessly, sticking out a stump as a reminder of her accident at a factory that left her without a left hand when she was 22. She later formed a large family, but now, with descendants scattered throughout Germany and Spain, she faces these uncertain and unstable times alone.

The train station and another building, also close to the Kozacha Lopan City Hall building, were shut down in Russian detention and torture chambers until the Ukrainian military managed to end the occupation almost six months later. Something similar happened in other towns such as Izium, Balakliia and Kupiansk. Danilo, 18, spent one day in August in one of those cells, being interrogated while different parts of his body were being beaten with a plastic bottle filled with metal balls. The Russians wanted will sing what he knew, though they weren’t looking for any specific information either. It is his grandfather, Volodimir, 58 years old, who tells the story.

Since August 18, Iván, 30, has been missing from that family. He is one of Volodimir’s sons and Danilo’s uncle. He was found deployed in the Konstantinivka area, at the gates of Bakhmut, when an enemy projectile fell in the mediations. A colleague of his arrived who was injured and transferred for a few weeks to a Russian hospital, but without being able to give any details. Since then, they do not know if Ivan ended up in the hands of the Russians or if he is dead and his body was not recovered. Bitter waiting counts down the days in the family village, Makarove, a stone’s throw from Kozacha Lopan.

There Tatiana, 60 years old and wife of Volodimir, struggles to get ahead with the humanitarian aid they get. Konstantin, a 31-year-old volunteer, travels from the city of Kharkiv with several packages of clothes. The distribution takes place at the home of some neighbors of Tatiana and Volodimir, where they have welcomed 11 dogs and 25 cats from other residents who have not yet returned after the end of the occupation. Outlining an absent smile, grandmother Nina, 76, leaves the sofa with several cats that she caresses from time to time with movements in slow motion.

“The Russians showed up here in the early hours. As soon as they arrived, they told us the rules and they took my husband’s three hunting rifles”, says Tatiana. Makarove was also released on September 11, but a heavy weight of mistrust and danger — the explosions and attacks continue — still hangs over the life of the town.

Each town, each house, each family, each mound around this border, which until a few months ago united more than separated, tells its own story of war. The greatest degree of destruction was not experienced in the occupied localities, but in those that were not invaded, especially those that remained as a dividing line between the two armies.

This is the case of Prudianka, where it is hard to find an entire home. One of those that remained inhabitable is that of the volunteer Constantin, now settled with his wife and children in a house for rent in Kharkov, about 40 kilometers further south. In Tsupivka, the church was blessed by artillery. There the neighbors still live at the door of the house with a useless tank of the Ukrainian army. Volodimir, 58 (same name and age as above), and another neighbor return after unearthing the casing of a cluster bomb that they plan to sell for scrap. As they count, they open the trunk of the car to account for it.

Back in Kozacha Lopan, Mayor Vakulenko, who has already passed through the bench for alleged collaboration, launches strong allegations not only against neighboring Russia, but also against the Ukrainian families in the town who sided with Moscow and have moved across the border when it was confirmed that the invasion had not materialized. “They lived here speaking ill of the local authorities. Who has ended up losing? Time will tell. The same Putin makes them a house and a new one so that they feel better, in the same way that he has done with all the Russian gardens ”, she launches in a sarcastic tone.

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