BORONDIANKA, Ukraine – The first sign of trouble was when a group of Chechen soldiers broke into the gate. They jumped out of their jeeps, their combat boots hit the sidewalk loudly and ordered the 500 patients and staff of Borodianka’s special needs home to enter the yard, at gunpoint. “We thought we would execute,” Maryna Hanitska, the house’s director, said in an interview this week, days after Russian forces withdrew from Borodianka. Subscribe to The Morning Newsletter from the New York Times He said how the soldiers took out a camera. They barked in Hanitska to make everyone smile. Most patients cried. “We order you to say on camera, ‘Thank you, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin,’” the soldiers asked Hanitska. With many weapons in her face, she said, she quickly ran her choices. He would never thank the Russian president, whom he called a “liar” and a “murderer.” But he did not want the soldiers to hurt anyone. So he managed to say: “Thank you for not killing us.” And then he fainted. So began a nightmare at a Ukrainian mental health unit in Borodianka, a small town with a few apartment buildings located at a strategic junction about 50 miles northwest of the capital, Kyiv. In more than a dozen interviews conducted over the past two days in Borodianka and other cities in the devastated areas around Kyiv, villagers described the Russian soldiers as brutal, sadistic, ill-mannered and underage. The villagers’ testimonies could not be independently verified, but were consistent with other reports and visuals about Russian behavior in the area. The siege of the mental health center lasted for weeks, during which the building lost heat, water and electricity and more than a dozen patients lost their lives. What unfolded there represents the depths of despair and at the same time the astonishing aroma under a brief but painful Russian occupation. In all parts of Ukraine recently liberated from a monthly Russian occupation, a long series of disturbing stories of horror and death caused by Russian soldiers to unarmed Ukrainian civilians under their control is emerging. The story goes on Every day, Ukrainian investigators enter a damp cellar or muddy field or yard and discover the bodies of villagers who have been shot in the head or show signs of torture. Most bills appear on the surface of civilians held as human shields and some die from lack of food, water or heat. On Friday, Ukrainian officials said Russian forces had killed at least 900 civilians as they withdrew from the Kiev region. Much of this misery manifested itself in small towns near Kyiv, where the Russians occupied a large area in the early days of the war, but were driven out two weeks ago by less well-equipped but much more determined Ukrainian forces. Managers at Borodianka’s mental health home said Russian soldiers stole their pharmacy to drink alcohol. Villagers elsewhere said they stole sheets and sneakers and disfigured many of the homes they took over with child graffiti. Mental health workers also said that on their way out, Russian soldiers posted obscene messages on the walls – in human feces. “I vomited when I saw that,” Hanitska said. “I do not understand how they grew up, by whom and who could do that.” Lypivka, a village hit by huge wheat fields, was occupied by Russian troops until March 31. Here, the villagers said that the Russians had crossed them. Some women in the village had asked the Russian commanders for permission to evacuate, and the Russians seemed to agree. Thus, on March 12, a group of elderly men, women and children gathered in 14 cars and slowly began to drive to what they thought would be safety. “We all had white flags and we had a license,” said Valriy Tymchuk, a shopkeeper who drove a minibus to the escort. But then Russian armored personnel carriers turned their turrets toward them, villagers said. A shell broke in the first car. And then another. And then another. The convoy was turned into a fireball. Tymchuk said he saw a family of four, including a small child, trapped in their car and engulfed in flames. Many of the cars are still on the road. The child’s charred bones are still in the back seat, Tymchuk said. What appeared to be pieces of bone were scattered between the blackened metal and piles of ashes. Next to the cars lay two dead dogs, with their fur sung. Tymchuk just escaped after his minibus was hit and the shrapnel was cut in his face. He shook his head when asked why he thought the Russians had done this. “He’s a zombie,” he said. These villages were on the front lines, part of Russia’s failed attempt to encircle and occupy Kyiv. The same thing happened with Bucha, another village north of Kiev and the site of the worst atrocities ever discovered. All of these places are quiet now, allowing medical examiners to do their job. And the more they search, the more they find. In Makariv, another small town near Kyiv, authorities said they had recently discovered more than 20 bodies in various courtyards and homes, many of which bore the marks of torture. In the Brovary area, further east, police had just found six bodies in a cellar, all men apparently executed. “We have seen corpses with knife wounds and signs of beatings, and some with their hands tied with tape,” said Oleksandr Omelyanenko, a police official in the Kiev region. “The places that were most affected,” he added, “were more occupied.” This was the story of Borodianka and the Borodianka Psychoneurological Nursing Home. Hanitska, a 43-year-old former school principal, said she was watching from the windows of the three-story special needs building as Russian trucks poured in. Count 500. Concerned about the snipers, the Russians then began bombing apartment buildings in the streets and dozens of residents died under a waterfall of rubble, according to emergency services officials. The shock waves shook the home for the disabled, built in the 1970s to provide adults with neurological and psychological disorders. Hanitska said that some of her patients became aggressive and three even escaped and have not been found yet. Others were terrified and curled up under their beds and in their closets. “It was more than 10 times scary,” said Ihor Nikolaenko, a patient. On March 5 it got worse. Then the Chechens appeared. Chechnya’s troops are particularly feared, they are believed to be more ruthless than other Russians, as a result of their own failed multi-year separatist war against Russia’s central government. Hanicka and other staff members said they could understand that the troops were Chechens by their light beards and the language they spoke to each other. The Ukrainian authorities posted messages on social media referring to the Chechens and warning them not to harm patients. “These are mostly sick people with developmental disabilities,” said Oleksandr Pavliuk, a senior Ukrainian military official. “But these are our people and we can not and will never leave them.” At this point, for some people inside, it was too late. Hanitska said her first patient died of cold exposure in late February. In early March, half a dozen more died. He lost a total of 13. It was 20 degrees Fahrenheit inside the building, even colder outside. There was no heat, electricity, running water and little food. Eventually Borodyanka was under siege. “We started drinking water from the lake,” Hanitska said. “We are all sick.” The Chechen corps mysteriously withdrew the same day it arrived, but other Russians took their place. They did not allow anyone to leave the building, not even to go out to look for food, and hit the building with artillery, mortars and heavy weapons, knowing that the Ukrainians would be reluctant to strike. “We have become human shields,” said Taisia Tyschkevych, the house’s accountant. The Russians took everyone’s phone. Or almost everyone. Hanitska said she hid her own and used it to communicate secretly. He looked out the window of the nurse’s office and spotted Russian vehicles, he said, and then sent the details to Ukrainian forces. “They were beating the Russians,” he said. “If we had not done that, the fighting would have taken place in Kyiv.” Many Ukrainian civilians have helped so, Ukrainian officials said. While spying on the Russians, Hanitska also cooked meals on a fire outside, pushed patients into the basement when the artillery became deafening, set up sleeping halls in the corridors for dozens of people who had fled bombed-out buildings in the city and flocked to its facilities. – more than anything else – it helped calm everyone’s nerves. On March 13, Hanitska looked out of the same window and for the first time in weeks saw something that lifted her heart: an escort of yellow buses. The gate burst. “Either I was going to be shot,” he said. “Or save people.” The humanitarians had organized a rescue and the Russians finally allowed the patients to leave. They were transported by bus to other facilities in less disputed areas. Hanitska is tough but humble with a dry sense of humor. When asked how long he worked at home, he laughed. “Two months,” he said. “I guess you could say I’m lucky.” © 2022 The New York Times Company
