Latest news with #Volodymyr
Times
3 days ago
- Sport
- Times
Meet the teenage Ukrainian refugee heading to Wimbledon
He's the teenage tennis prodigy who fled bombs in Ukraine. Now he's set to fire aces at Wimbledon. Illia Snaksarov was discovered hitting a tennis ball against the outside wall of the Glasgow hotel he and his parents were living in after fleeing Russia's invasion of their home town in 2022. The determined 13-year-old was spotted by Svetlana Mackenzie, an interpreter who was working with displaced families as they arrived in Scotland. Mackenzie, who is a member of Western Tennis Club, arranged for Illia to play with other children there. He rose rapidly through the club ranks, eventually winning the West of Scotland inter-club leagues, and secured his place at the Wimbledon juniors tournament after a win in the West of Scotland finals of the Play Your Way to Wimbledon event. Next month he'll head south to SW19's hallowed grass courts to face competition from youngsters from around the UK. Illia, a pupil at St Mungo's Academy, trains four times a week with his dad, Volodymyr, who ran tennis tournaments in Ukraine before the war — now he makes Wimbledon-themed bracelets to sell outside concerts and sports events raising money for his country's war effort. Illia, who speaks seven languages (Ukrainian, Russian, English, Spanish, Italian, French and Polish), said: 'It's been great to play at Western, because up until that point I didn't have anywhere else to play, I didn't know about any courts to go to. 'When I came here I started coming to do training sessions working on my game. Then I started playing league matches after a couple of months.' He added: 'My favourite player is Carlos Alcaraz, he plays good, aggressive tennis, and has a balanced mentality in games. I have a good serve, and can play aggressive forehands.' Mackenzie, who works for Glasgow city council's Ukrainian response team, said: 'I could tell that Illia had talent and I was delighted to invite him and his dad to train at my club, Western, where I knew they would be welcomed and given opportunities.' Illia's mother, Svitlana, who was a childminder and now volunteers in a city charity shop, has settled her family in Calton. She said: 'There was a helicopter landing area close to our home in Khmelnitskiy and because of that there was a lot of shooting and fighting. We had to leave. Our main goal in coming here was for Illia to be safe.' Volodymyr added: 'We are so grateful for the training sessions. It is so exciting, we are really happy about what's happening. It's such a good start and is a chance for him to respect what he can achieve. We are so grateful to the club for what they have given him.' Ian Campbell, the head coach at Western, said: 'It's been inspiring to watch how hard Illia and his dad train and we are delighted that we have been able to offer him extra training and we will be rooting for him all the way at Wimbledon.'
Irish Independent
17-06-2025
- Irish Independent
‘I abandoned my unit in Ukraine – now I'm going back to frontline'
Dispatch In between last-ditch prayers to God, Volodymyr could only think of one person to blame for what he feared would be his final moments on Earth. Russian mortars were hammering down on his hideout in an abandoned house on the front line in Ukraine's Donetsk region, while first-person view drones hunted for his exact position.
Yahoo
16-06-2025
- Politics
- Yahoo
I deserted my unit in Ukraine. Now I'm going back to war
In between last-ditch prayers to God, Volodymyr could only think of one person to blame for what he feared would be his final moments on earth. Russian mortars were hammering down on his hideout in an abandoned house on the front line in Ukraine's Donetsk region, while first-person view drones hunted for his exact position. 'I don't believe in God,' says the 23-year-old, but as the explosions shook the walls in the dead of night, he hedged his bets. Five hours earlier, he and a few other soldiers had been sent to reinforce a position they were told was 750 metres from the Russian lines, behind layers of Ukrainian defences. But when their armoured vehicle deposited them, the Russians were just 100m away – and the promised stocks of grenades, mortars and fellow infantry were nowhere to be seen. Under heavy fire, the men sprinted for cover. Internally, Volodymyr cursed his commander. This was the second poorly planned operation he had been ordered to carry out in weeks. After a bloody rescue following 12 hours of hiding, Volodymyr, known as 'Vova', told his commander to either transfer him to a different brigade or he would desert. The commander refused. So Vova simply walked away, hitch-hiking at first before taking a train home to his wife. In doing so, the former barista became one of tens of thousands of absconders, a number whose growing size has forced Ukraine to stretch its armed forces in new and elastic ways. Until September last year, soldiers who left their posts faced a prison sentence of up to 12 years. With their name added to a list for investigation by military police, they could be arrested at the post office, in the bar or trying to cross a checkpoint. Deserters from the front line faced harsher penalties than those who went AWOL from a base or on leave. But the situation on the battlefield means Ukraine must carefully husband its reserves of manpower. Vladimir Putin's forces outnumber the Ukrainian military by a factor of at least two to one, with around 2.35 million soldiers to 900,000. According to Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine's president, Moscow is now recruiting up to 50,000 men a month. With roughly a quarter of the population, Ukraine manages around 27,000. In response, the Ukrainian parliament passed a law allowing deserters to avoid punishment if they agreed to rejoin the army. Initially, they were given a deadline of Jan 1 2025. That was extended to the end of March, and then again recently to Aug 30. More than 100,000 cases of absconding have been registered with the prosecutor's office since the war began, with almost two-thirds in the last year. Kyiv cannot afford to jail so many able-bodied men – let alone shoot them, as Putin's forces have done. It has left deserters in a surprisingly powerful position, whether they present themselves to authorities – as around 6,000, including Vova, did in the first month – or are rounded up by police. Held in reserve battalions, they are visited by recruiters from various units in desperate need of manpower. Soon after the law changed, Ukraine's elite 47th Brigade published an advert specifically aimed at absconders. Men like Vova cannot be forced back to the front; they pick whichever unit makes them the best offer. In his office above a theatre in Kyiv, Roman sits back in his chair and flicks through his phone. The recruitment officer for the Da Vinci Wolves, part of the 59th Brigade, has a 'million' chats with deserters, he says. Once he has filtered the list, he will attempt to persuade the best of them to join the battalion, one of the most disciplined and respected in the armed forces. 'When I start the conversations, nobody wants to fight,' he says. 'Who would?' Soldiers can be discharged if they have disabled parents or three children. Some prefer prison to returning to the front. In his early calls, Roman asks if the men have any STIs, heart problems or a history of trouble with the law. Then he will lay out his cards: men can be offered a different specialism, such as being a drone pilot, moving them back from the zero line. Roman understands only too well the horrors of that place. A combat medic built like a boxer, he has been temporarily reassigned to the recruitment office to recover from Bakhmut. 'There were just endless barrages of artillery fire, just pouring down on you,' he says. 'Planes, rockets, artillery, infantry, constant assaults.' He cannot count the number of men he treated. In one final assault before Ukraine retreated, he was the only man of 20 not to be killed or wounded. His brother was among the victims. 'After that, I kind of hit rock bottom,' he says. In this office role, he tries to understand those who fled 'just as a human being', while assessing whether he would be willing to fight alongside them when the time comes for him to return to the front. Vova's case is a relatively easy one. Stick thin, with large brown eyes and bony hands, the young man wants to fight – and is open to joining the Da Vinci Wolves. They fought near his position on the front, and he has seen social media clips of their exploits. In addition, Roman can offer him a return to the role of reconnaissance drone pilot. It was Vova's commander's decision to transfer him into the infantry that sparked his desertion. '[The commander] was in the infantry himself and didn't know anything about this business [drone warfare], to put it bluntly,' he says. Such shifts contribute to a fair amount of desertions. According to Ukrainian Pravda, a local news site, more than 1,200 members of the 155th Mechanised Brigade absconded over five months, after hundreds were forced into the infantry. Vova's paperwork is still incomplete; other units can still secure his signature. Outside a reserve battalion barracks, Roman tells Vova that if he does well, he might even be sent abroad for extra drone training. As the men speak, a soldier who goes by the call-sign 'Psycho' walks over. His combat style might be guessed by the tattoos that adorn his body: 'Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!' spirals manically up his right arm, towards a ring of assault rifles around his elbow. Given a lift to meet his girlfriend in town, Psycho speaks gently about deserters. He joined the army as a teenager in 2015 and has seen more war than all but a few of the surviving soldiers of that generation. When deserters join up, he asks why they left. One told him once that he had slept with a major's wife, he says, laughing. 'We are all human. If you're not scared, you're crazy.' Veterans recognise that conscripts – who just weeks ago may have been teachers or IT workers – can struggle to adapt to the front. In Psycho's case, he realised after his first assault in Luhansk, in 2015, that there would be 'dead people, meat and all that unpleasant stuff'. It helped to steel his mind for the next time. Like the deserters, the army itself is in a bind. Despite Western pressure, Mr Zelensky is unwilling to lower the conscription age to 18. Instead, the army now offers 18- to 24-year-olds large bonuses, including a $20,000 one-off payment, to sign up. Take-up has nevertheless been slow, admits Roman: perhaps 10 a month come to him in the recruitment office. Meanwhile, the government has repeatedly extended the term of existing soldiers, who have no end to their service in sight. One knock-on effect of the deserters' reform might be to gradually 'squeeze out and starve the worst of the brigades' through a process of 'natural selection', says Gil Barndollar, a former infantry officer in the US marines and a senior research fellow at the Catholic University of America. More soldiers now feel at liberty to quit poorly led battalions. 'It's better for these people to end up in good positions. But it does create a problem for the army and I suspect these worst brigades are going to get starved of men,' he added. Before he heads back into the barracks, Vova shakes hands with Roman. The meeting seems to have stiffened his resolve to sign up with the Da Vinci Wolves. Asked whether he felt relief when he walked away from the front line, he demurs. He will only feel relief when he's back 'serving in a brigade I want to'. Broaden your horizons with award-winning British journalism. 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Telegraph
16-06-2025
- Politics
- Telegraph
I abandoned my unit in Ukraine. Now I'm going back to war
In between last-ditch prayers to God, Volodymyr could only think of one person to blame for what he feared would be his final moments on earth. Russian mortars were hammering down on his hideout in an abandoned house on the front line in Ukraine's Donetsk region, while first-person view drones hunted for his exact position. 'I don't believe in God,' says the 23-year-old, but as the explosions shook the walls in the dead of night, he hedged his bets. Five hours earlier, he and a few other soldiers had been sent to reinforce a position they were told was 750 metres from the Russian lines, behind layers of Ukrainian defences. But when their armoured vehicle deposited them, the Russians were just 100m away – and the promised stocks of grenades, mortars and fellow infantry were nowhere to be seen. Under heavy fire, the men sprinted for cover. Internally, Volodymyr cursed his commander. This was the second poorly planned operation he had been ordered to carry out in weeks. After a bloody rescue following 12 hours of hiding, Volodymyr, known as 'Vova', told his commander to either transfer him to a different brigade or he would go AWOL. The commander refused. So Vova simply walked away, hitch-hiking at first before taking a train home to his wife. In doing so, the former barista became one of tens of thousands of absconders, a number whose growing size has forced Ukraine to stretch its armed forces in new and elastic ways. Until September last year, soldiers who left their posts faced prison; around five years for an AWOL offence, and up to 12 for the more serious crime of desertion in the heat of battle. With their name added to a list by military police, absentees could be arrested at post offices, bars, checkpoints or in their homes. But the situation on the battlefield means Ukraine must carefully husband its reserves of manpower. Vladimir Putin's forces outnumber the Ukrainian military by a factor of at least two to one, with around 2.35 million soldiers to 900,000. According to Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine's president, Moscow is now recruiting up to 50,000 men a month. With roughly a quarter of the population, Ukraine manages around 27,000. In response, parliament passed a law allowing first-time deserters and AWOL soldiers to avoid punishment if they agreed to rejoin the army. Initially, they were given a deadline of January 1, 2025. That was extended to the end of March, and then again recently to Aug 30. More than 100,000 cases of absconding have been registered with the prosecutor's office since the war began, with almost two-thirds in the last year. Kyiv cannot afford to jail so many able-bodied men – let alone shoot them, as Putin's forces have done. It has left deserters in a surprisingly powerful position, whether they present themselves to authorities – as around 6,000, including Vova, did in the first month – or are rounded up by police. Held in reserve battalions, they are visited by recruiters from various units in desperate need of manpower. Soon after the law changed, Ukraine's elite 47th Brigade published an advert specifically aimed at absconders. Men like Vova cannot be forced back to the front; they pick whichever unit makes them the best offer. In his office above a theatre in Kyiv, Roman sits back in his chair and flicks through his phone. The recruitment officer for the Da Vinci Wolves, part of the 59th Brigade, has a 'million' chats with deserters, he says. Once he has filtered the list, he will attempt to persuade the best of them to join the battalion, one of the most disciplined and respected in the armed forces. 'When I start the conversations, nobody wants to fight,' he says. 'Who would?' Soldiers can be discharged if they have disabled parents or three children. Some prefer prison to returning to the front. In his early calls, Roman asks if the men have any STIs, heart problems or a history of trouble with the law. Then he will lay out his cards: men can be offered a different specialism, such as being a drone pilot, moving them back from the zero line. Roman understands only too well the horrors of that place. A combat medic built like a boxer, he has been temporarily reassigned to the recruitment office to recover from Bakhmut. 'There were just endless barrages of artillery fire, just pouring down on you,' he says. 'Planes, rockets, artillery, infantry, constant assaults.' He cannot count the number of men he treated. In one final assault before Ukraine retreated, he was the only man of 20 not to be killed or wounded. His brother was among the victims. 'After that, I kind of hit rock bottom,' he says. In this office role, he tries to understand those who fled 'just as a human being', while assessing whether he would be willing to fight alongside them when the time comes for him to return to the front. Vova's case is a relatively easy one. Stick thin, with large brown eyes and bony hands, the young man wants to fight – and is open to joining the Da Vinci Wolves. They fought near his position on the front, and he has seen social media clips of their exploits. In addition, Roman can offer him a return to the role of reconnaissance drone pilot. It was Vova's commander's decision to transfer him into the infantry that led him to go AWOL. '[The commander] was in the infantry himself and didn't know anything about this business [drone warfare], to put it bluntly,' he says. Such shifts contribute to a fair amount of desertions. According to Ukrainian Pravda, a local news site, more than 1,200 members of the 155th Mechanised Brigade absconded over five months, after hundreds were forced into the infantry. Vova's paperwork is still incomplete; other units can still secure his signature. Outside a reserve battalion barracks, Roman tells Vova that if he does well, he might even be sent abroad for extra drone training. As the men speak, a soldier who goes by the call-sign 'Psycho' walks over. His combat style might be guessed by the tattoos that adorn his body: 'Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!' spirals manically up his right arm, towards a ring of assault rifles around his elbow. Given a lift to meet his girlfriend in town, Psycho speaks gently about deserters. He joined the army as a teenager in 2015 and has seen more war than all but a few of the surviving soldiers of that generation. When deserters join up, he asks why they left. One told him once that he had slept with a major's wife, he says, laughing. 'We are all human. If you're not scared, you're crazy.' Veterans recognise that conscripts – who just weeks ago may have been teachers or IT workers – can struggle to adapt to the front. In Psycho's case, he realised after his first assault in Luhansk, in 2015, that there would be 'dead people, meat and all that unpleasant stuff'. It helped to steel his mind for the next time. Like the deserters, the army itself is in a bind. Despite Western pressure, Mr Zelensky is unwilling to lower the conscription age to 18. Instead, the army now offers 18- to 24-year-olds large bonuses, including a $20,000 one-off payment, to sign up. Take-up has nevertheless been slow, admits Roman: perhaps 10 a month come to him in the recruitment office. Meanwhile, the government has repeatedly extended the term of existing soldiers, who have no end to their service in sight. One knock-on effect of the AWOL reform might be to gradually 'squeeze out and starve the worst of the brigades' through a process of 'natural selection', says Gil Barndollar, a former infantry officer in the US marines and a senior research fellow at the Catholic University of America. More soldiers now feel at liberty to quit poorly led battalions. 'It's better for these people to end up in good positions. But it does create a problem for the army and I suspect these worst brigades are going to get starved of men,' he added. Before he heads back into the barracks, Vova shakes hands with Roman. The meeting seems to have stiffened his resolve to sign up with the Da Vinci Wolves. Asked whether he felt relief when he walked away from the front line, he demurs. He will only feel relief when he's back 'serving in a brigade I want to'.
New York Post
07-06-2025
- Health
- New York Post
‘Harmful' TikTok trend fueling new wave of ‘dangerous' diet culture
TikTok has long been a breeding ground for viral trends, but its latest subculture, 'SkinnyTok,' is reigniting old diet culture in a digital age. Behind the trendy filters and catchy sounds lies an extremely problematic reality – a community where thinness is idolised, extreme calorie deficits are glamorised, and the pursuit of a shrinking body is celebrated, often at the expense of mental and physical health. The rise of SkinnyTok Advertisement SkinnyTok refers to a corner of the internet where creators openly document their weight loss journeys, post 'what I eat in a day' videos featuring alarmingly low calorie counts, and share 'body checks' (videos where people weigh and measure themselves). Some even boast about 'gaslighting' themselves into being skinny, or confess to daily gym visits out of a fear of being 'fat' – even when they already fit society's narrow beauty standards. TikTok has, for its part, attempted to clamp down on this content. 5 TikTok has long been a breeding ground for viral trends, but its latest subculture, 'SkinnyTok,' is reigniting old diet culture in a digital age. Volodymyr – Advertisement Searching for 'SkinnyTok' now triggers a warning: 'You're not alone' and prompts people to seek help if they're struggling with body image, food, or exercise. Influencers like Liv Schmidt, who built a following of over 670,000 with her 'blonde and skinny' persona, have been banned. Yet, the algorithm still seems to serve up the very content it claims to protect users from. So, what can people do to safeguard themselves online? Advertisement First, you need to understand what SkinnyTok is, how the trend has managed to gain such a huge following, and who is most at risk. 5 Searching for 'SkinnyTok' now triggers a warning: 'You're not alone' and prompts people to seek help if they're struggling with body image, food, or exercise. Odua Images – The personal toll Jemma Haythorne, a confidence coach, speaker, and podcaster, knows firsthand the damage that online diet culture can do. 'I started hating my body when I was 12 years old, but really spiralled into disordered eating when I was 16. My friends and I would follow skinny content on Tumblr, using it as 'motivation' to eat less to achieve our goals of being thin,' she tells Advertisement For Haythorne, the pressure peaked during Schoolies, when the prospect of hundreds of Facebook photos led her to subsist on scarily low calories and avoid water to prevent 'bloating' – all ideas she picked up from social media. 'Instagram then became a dangerous place too for someone with body image issues and a fraught relationship with food,' she says, adding that the rise of fitness influencers and 'clean eating' trends was fuel for her already disordered behaviors. Her lowest point came between 2017 and 2019. 'Social media told me that everyone was thin, gorgeous, tanned, hairless, toned, and successful, because that's what the algorithm was serving me, and those were the people who were platformed,' she says. 'The message that I received was that I was failing, because no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't meet those standards.' Haythorne believes that without social media, she would never have developed an eating disorder, depression, and anxiety to the extent she did. The cyclical nature of online trends She says she has witnessed body ideals shift over the years, from ultra-thin, to athletic and toned, to the 'Kim Kardashian' hourglass, and now back to just 'plain thin.' Advertisement Despite the rise of the body positivity movement, she's sceptical about its real-world impact: 'The body ideal has always come back to being in a smaller body — something that I desperately hope we can change in the future.' The influencer effect Influencers and content creators play a massive role in shaping body image perceptions, Haythorne argues. 5 Psychologist Carly Dober confirms that SkinnyTok can trigger and exacerbate disordered eating behaviors and eating disorders. Kate – 'Those who post content that encourages unhealthy relationships with food and bodies are directly damaging their audience. SkinnyTok content is incredibly problematic and harmful, and when this becomes trendy, it becomes dangerous, especially for those who don't have the knowledge and understanding of how damaging it is.' Advertisement But the damage isn't always obvious. Seemingly innocuous 'before and after' photos reinforce the idea that smaller is better, while meal inspiration videos suggest that copying someone's diet will yield the same body. 'Any form of editing of bodies or faces makes people think they need to live up to looking like that in order to be beautiful or worthy, yet the person themselves doesn't even look like that,' she notes. She claims that while platforms like TikTok and Instagram have a responsibility to manage the harm they promote, individual influencers must also be aware of their impact. The psychological impact Advertisement Psychologist Carly Dober confirms that SkinnyTok can trigger and exacerbate disordered eating behaviors and eating disorders. 'These trends influence how people perceive and evaluate their own bodies, and the bodies of others. Behaviorally, people may self-isolate, which can also impact their work, education, and relationships,' she explains. Beyond the psychological impact, the physical consequences are dire too. Eating disorders can harm the heart, digestive system, bones, teeth, and mouth. Advertisement Typical serious side effects include low blood pressure, slow or irregular heartbeats, feeling tired, weak, dizzy, or faint, constipation and bloating, irregular periods, and weak bones. Who's most at risk? According to Dober, certain groups are especially vulnerable to the dangers of SkinnyTok. These include: – Adolescents (especially those aged 12–25) with a median age of 18 – Women during key transition periods (e.g. finishing school) 5 'SkinnyTok content is incredibly problematic and harmful, and when this becomes trendy, it becomes dangerous, especially for those who don't have the knowledge and understanding of how damaging it is,' experts said. LIGHTFIELD STUDIOS – – Women with Polycystic Ovary Syndrome or diabetes – Athletes and those in appearance-focused activities like dancing – People with a family history of eating disorders – Anyone seeking help for weight loss or who has engaged in dieting or disordered eating The role of TikTok's culture Qualified nutritionist Yaz Jackson sees SkinnyTok as part of a broader trend of 'normalizing' harmful behaviors on TikTok. She notes that TikTok's culture is different from Instagram's: 'You can 'get away' with more. It's more of a diary, people feel like they can say whatever, and it's lighthearted, and nobody judges. I've seen creators say things like 'I could never share this on Insta, they'd judge me, but I can tell you guys,'' Jackson believes there's a trend of radical honesty emerging on TikTok, where creators are praised for sharing 'the tea' – the secrets behind their appearance, whether it's the use of medication, diets, or cosmetic surgery. Their content is being favoured, as people applaud them for being 'real' and 'not fake' – i.e., unlike the countless models and celebrities who pretend they eat pizza and burgers when the reality is much different. 'This trend then gains traction because when enough people make something okay to talk about again, they feel safer,' she said. 'Things that were once stigmatized are now being accepted – but only if you are super honest and transparent about it. People love that.' The dangers of unqualified advice Dr. Zac, a GP, urges people to exercise caution when seeking health advice online, especially when it comes from unqualified creators. 'Health advice should come from qualified professionals – doctors, registered dietitians, clinical psychologists – people with actual credentials, not just abs and a ring light. If someone's offering drastic weight loss 'hacks' or pushing extreme transformations, especially if they're profiting from it, be wary,' he says. Things to look out for include: 'Are they citing evidence-based sources? Do they promote balance over extremes? Are they championing sustainable health, or quick fixes and aesthetic perfection?' How to safeguard your mental health Dober and Zac recommend several strategies for protecting yourself online: Curate your feed: Block or mute content and creators that promote unhealthy behaviors 5 SkinnyTok refers to a corner of the internet where creators openly document their weight loss journeys, post 'what I eat in a day' videos featuring alarmingly low calorie counts, and share 'body checks.' Floral Deco – Use platform tools: Filter out triggering keywords where possible Limit screen time: Reduce endless scrolling to avoid algorithm rabbit holes Follow positive accounts: Such as ones that promote body neutrality, mental health, and self-compassion Seek support: If you're struggling, reach out to a psychologist or trusted professional. And as Zac puts it: 'Healing starts when we stop punishing ourselves and start listening to what our body and mind actually need.'
