Latest news with #captivity
The Independent
2 days ago
- Health
- The Independent
She beat stage 4 cancer. Now this Ukrainian woman is fighting to free her captive husband
"You have no moral right to die." This stark command, uttered by Olha Kurtmalaieva to herself as she lay in intensive care, became her lifeline. Her body was shutting down after emergency chemotherapy, her cancer having progressed to an incurable Stage 4. Doctors were unsure if she would survive the night, yet the thought of her husband, a Ukrainian marine held captive by Russian forces, spurred her on. Alone in the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv, Ms Kurtmalaieva faced death with a singular, powerful motivation: "If I die now, who will bring him back? He has no one else in Ukraine." Against all odds, she achieved remission in 2024, a testament to her fierce will to live. However, her personal victory was not the end of her ordeal. Despite multiple prisoner exchanges, including one that saw over 1,000 people freed, her husband remains in captivity. Ms Kurtmalaieva's fight continues, unwavering. She is a constant presence at nearly every exchange, one of hundreds of Ukrainian women desperately striving to bring their husbands, sons, and brothers home. Her husband's presence permeates her life, a constant reminder of her mission. "He's everywhere in my life," she explains. "His (photo) is on my phone screen, in my wallet, on the kitchen wall, in every room." Day and night, her mind circles back to the same questions, driving her forward: "What can I do to speed this up? What did I do today to bring him home?" Life before Russia's full-scale invasion Ms Kurtmalaieva was just 21 when she learned she had cancer. It was Hodgkin's lymphoma, Stage 2. The tumors were growing but were still treatable. 'At that age, you're thinking: cancer? Why me? How? What did I do?' she recalled. Her husband, Ruslan Kurtmalaiev, promised to stay by her side through every round of chemotherapy. When they met, in 2015, he was 21 and she was just 15. 'It wasn't love at first sight,' she said with a wide smile, eyes sparkling. Their attraction blossomed gradually that summer in Berdiansk, in what is now the Russian-occupied zone in the southern Zaporizhzhia region. Three years later, as soon as she turned 18, they wed. When they first met, it was not long after Russia illegally seized Crimea, Ruslan's homeland, in 2014, and also invaded eastern Ukraine. Ruslan, a professional soldier, had already served on the front line. From the beginning, Ms Kurtmalaieva understood that life as a military wife meant constant sacrifice — long separations, missed milestones, and the uncertainty of war. But she never imagined that one day she would be waiting for her husband to return from captivity. When she describes Ruslan, tears well up in her eyes. 'He's kind, he has a heightened sense of justice,' she said. 'For him, it was a matter of principle to return home and bring our Crimea home,' she said, a loss she fully comprehended only after Russia's full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. 'Only when I lost my home did I fully understand him." Facing cancer and hair loss Ms Kurtmalaieva managed to complete only two sessions of chemo before the full-scale invasion. When her long hair began to fall out, she shaved her head. When she sent Ruslan a photo, he didn't hesitate: 'God, you're so beautiful,' he told her. Later, he made a confession. 'He told me, 'Yeah, I saw your hair falling out in the mornings. I gathered it all from your pillow before you woke up — so you wouldn't get upset.'' At the time, she believed that losing her hair was the worst thing that could happen to her. But soon after, she discovered what real tragedy meant. War and captivity Ms Kurtmalaieva never made it to her third round of chemo. She stayed in Berdiansk, which was seized by Russian forces in the early days of the war. Cut off from medical care and waiting for news of Ruslan, she quietly began helping the Ukrainian military from inside occupied territory. 'There was no oncology department in Berdiansk. There was simply nowhere to get treated,' she said. 'But honestly, I didn't even care that much at the time.' In early April, she discovered that Russians had captured Ruslan and others from his marine forces' unit. 'I started to cry, but then I stopped myself. I thought, 'Wait. Is this something to cry about? He's alive. That's what matters.'' At the time, she said, their idea of Russian captivity was naive. Only later did it become synonymous with torture, starvation and medical neglect. Ms Kurtmalaieva left Berdiansk in June of 2022. 'Walking through your own city, but feeling like it's someone else's — that's horrifying,' she said. 'There were Russian flags everywhere. I kept Ukrainian music in my headphones. I was scared my Bluetooth might disconnect, and they'd kill me. But it was worth it.' She spent several months moving between cities, helping to organise peaceful rallies to raise awareness about Ukrainian POWs. Eventually, she settled in Kyiv. Throughout that time, she paid little attention to her cancer diagnosis, even as her health steadily declined. Then her condition worsened sharply. Her temperature spiked to 40C. 'When the doctor looked at my test results, she said, 'How are you even walking?'' she recalled. Her lymphoma, left untreated during occupation, had progressed to Stage 4. Emergency chemotherapy began — and it hit her hard. 'My second round of chemo was disastrous,' she said. She developed an intestinal blockage, couldn't digest food, and was rushed to intensive care. 'It was morphine all night from the pain. I couldn't stand. I couldn't sit. They moved me like a dead body.' In the hospital, she overheard doctors say her condition was inoperable. Then a nurse came to her bedside and spoke plainly. ''We're going to try to restart your system manually,' she told me. 'But if it doesn't work, you may not wake up tomorrow. You must help us however you can.'' It was the thought of Ruslan, still in captivity, that helped Ms Kurtmalaieva survive. Unanswered letters In April 2024, Ms Kurtmalaieva was told she was in remission. Now she juggles civic activism with running an online cosmetics store. She co-founded the Marine Corps Strength Association, representing over 1,000 Ukrainian POWs still in captivity. In close contact with former prisoners, Ms Kurtmalaieva gathers fragments of information about Ruslan — she has had only one phone call with him in the past three years. She sent several letters but never received a reply. Like an investigator, she pieces together every detail. That's how she discovered that her husband had broken ribs and a crushed arm during regular beatings, according to the testimony of one of the POWs. As part of the psychological torture, he is made to listen to the Russian national anthem repeatedly. A Crimean Tatar and a Muslim, he is given only Christian religious texts to read — not the worst form of pressure, Ms Kurtmalaieva acknowledges, but still a clear violation of his faith. One day, a Russian guard struck him eight times on the head with a hammer. 'The other prisoners said they had never seen bruises like that in their lives,' she said. Ruslan spent months in solitary confinement. And yet, somehow, he remains emotionally strong. 'He tells the others about me,' Ms Kurtmalaieva said, her voice softening. 'One of the guys who came back said (Ruslan) told him: 'She's your age, but she's got a business, she's strong, she's fighting for us. She'll get us out.'' That story stayed with her. 'I can't afford to be weak. How can a marine's wife be weak?' Ms Kurtmalaieva said. 'What matters is that he knows I'll keep fighting for him — until the very end."
National Post
3 days ago
- Politics
- National Post
Former Hamas hostage condemns anti-Israel protest blocking Canadian speaking event
A Hamas captivity survivor on a speaking tour in Canada this month said she won't 'let terror sympathizers control the narrative' after anti-Israel demonstrators allegedly blocked the exit of her venue last week. Article content Noa Argamani, 27, was in Windsor, Ont., as part of a Jewish National Fund (JNF) fundraising event at the University of Windsor, which reportedly attracted members of the school's Palestinian Solidarity Group. Article content On Saturday, Argamani shared an X post from FactsMatter describing the activists surrounding the building, 'blocking the only entrance and shouting at the Jewish attendees. In a brief video clip attached, a voice is heard shouting, 'Hamas is coming.' Article content Article content Hamas came. Hamas kidnapped me. Hamas murdered my friends. But I won; I survived. Now, I speak for those who can't. I'll keep exposing Hamas' crimes and fighting for the hostages' release—including my partner, Avinatan. I refuse to let terror sympathizers control the narrative. — Noa Argamani (@ArgamaniNoa) June 28, 2025 Article content The logo and username in the clip indicate it was a live broadcast from an account operated by the PSG. National Post is attempting to independently verify the source. Article content 'Hamas came. Hamas kidnapped me. Hamas murdered my friends. But I won; I survived,' wrote Argamani, who spent 245 days in captivity after being abducted from the Nova music festival during the terrorist organization's Oct. 7, 2023, insurgency. Article content The university student's abduction and that of her partner, Or Avinatan, were captured on video and released by Hamas on social media. Argamani was also seen in subsequent propaganda videos. Article content Article content She was rescued in June 2024, but Avinatan remains in captivity. He is listed in a medical report detailing the condition of living hostages released by the Hostages and Missing Families Forum in June, per The Times of Israel, and described as suffering from weight loss and mental struggles. Article content 'I'll keep exposing Hamas' crimes and fighting for the hostages' release—including my partner, Avinatan,' wrote Argamani, who's been a prominent advocate for her fellow captives since finding freedom. Article content Article content Argamani was speaking at a Negev Event, named for the large desert region in southern Israel, where the goal was to raise money for the Ashdod Rehabilitation & Therapy Centre, 'a vital project that will serve trauma victims, children with disabilities, and pediatric cancer patients in southern Israel,' according to JNF. Article content Article content 'When Canadian campuses become no-go zones for Jews, when terror victims can't share their stories without facing mob intimidation, you're witnessing the normalisation of antisemitism,' she wrote. Article content The outlet also confirmed via the Windsor Police Service, who 'monitored the situation and ensured public safety,' that it was treated as a protest and no arrests were made. Article content
SBS Australia
24-06-2025
- SBS Australia
"I have loved football since I was six years old"
Sulaiman Zandinan and his family endured captivity under ISIS for 19 months, experiencing significant hardship during that time. They resided in a refugee camp located near Zakho, in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq, while they awaited their resettlement to Australia.
The Guardian
11-06-2025
- The Guardian
Ukrainian held by Russia describes torture, sinister threats and Kafkaesque court process
The first moments in Russian captivity for Maksym Butkevych saw humiliations that would pale in comparison with what would soon follow. Taken prisoner in the early months of the war in Ukraine in 2022, Butkevych and his fellow soldiers – who had been lured into a trap on the eastern frontline – at first were punched and robbed. 'There were a few kicks and punches,' recalls Butkevych, who had been a human rights defender and journalist before Russia's invasion compelled him to volunteer as a soldier. 'They took watches and other stuff. When a soldier picked up my earphones and asked whose they were, he said: 'Will you give them to me as a present?' Even though I was kneeling with the barrel of a gun against my head, I told him no.' However, the treatment would become much darker amid a pattern of harsh beatings, torture, the threat of execution and sexual violence aimed at a coerced 'confession' for an imaginary crime. Butkevych's testimony adds granular detail to a body of evidence – including in reporting by the Viktoriia Project – of Russia's mistreatment of captured Ukrainians, including show trials, field executions and torture. What happened to Butkevych took place despite a high-profile international campaign to seek his proper treatment and safe release when it was clear he had been captured and was being smeared in the Russian media and threatened with a show trial. Hands and legs tied, the next stage in Butkevych's journey was to an unfinished building outside Luhansk where he and the other soldiers would be confronted by the cruelty that would become commonplace in their captivity. 'There was an officer who behaved in a far more nasty way, trying to provoke us. He wanted to show off he was smarter than the average soldier. 'He asked who was married and we're kneeling in front of him. He asked where the soldiers' wives were. One answered 'in Poland' and another said 'in Germany'. He started to talk about what their wives were doing sexually in sick detail. I thought: 'This officer has severe problems.'' The following morning Butkevych and his fellow soldiers were shown to a visiting group of commanders and propagandists and were told they would be filmed to show that they had been captured and were being treated well. 'They seemed intrigued by me as the only officer,' Butkevych remembers. Warned by the Russian soldiers there would be 'consequences' if they checked online and found he had lied about his background, he volunteered that he was a journalist and human rights activist. A conversation followed in which the Russian soldiers insisted that the invasion should be characterised as a 'war' and Butkevych countered he was only interested in the human cost of what Russia was doing. 'They were surprised I was holding my ground, although I wasn't arguing.' More sinister is what came next: the first explicit threat that they could kill their prisoners. 'They said: 'You probably think you are a PoW. You're not until you're registered. For now you're missing on the battlefield. If you don't behave, we can walk to the back yard to see where we executed prisoners who misbehaved'.' The first serious beating occurred a few hours later. 'The propagandists left and a few hours later the Russian troops returned with a special forces soldier. They told me I should say that I wanted the special forces guy to hunt and kill my fellow soldiers in Ukraine. I said: 'Nothing personal, but I can't say that.' 'Then we were told that we were going to learn Ukrainian history.' As the 'nasty' officer recited what appeared to be an address by Putin, the soldiers were told to repeat the words. 'If they misspoke or made a slip, I was beaten with a wooden stick. 'I started to faint and my hand was swollen. I said 'You're going to break my shoulder,' and the officer replied, 'No, I know what I'm doing.' At some point he paused reciting the word salad he was mumbling and I could see he was physically enjoying the process. 'Then others came and kicked and punched me and someone took out a phone and ordered us to say: 'Glory to Russia,' and we were asked again to speak about Russians hunting down our fellow troops. After that we were ordered onto a truck and then I finally fainted.' Finally arriving at a prison in Luhansk, the soldiers were given old mattresses and towels and told they were in a pre-trial detention centre. 'There was a single tap in the cell to drink and wash, with pretty bad water. Although we were fed three times a day the food was appalling. Really small portions. Very soon we started feeling hunger overtaking us.' It is a familiar experience for prisoners of Russia, and 8-10,000 Ukrainians are still believed to be held. Those returning in agreed swaps having noticeably lost weight. In Luhansk, the interrogations began in earnest. 'They interrogated each of us,' Butkevych said. 'In the first few weeks the focus was on military information but we wouldn't give them that. Then it became about trying to undermine morale.' He said the prisoners were taken to what they believed to be the ministry of state security for the [Russian-backed breakaway] Luhansk People's Republic, where some soldiers were tortured with electric shocks from wires running to the dynamo of a field telephone system. 'It's called tapik. They used it on other soldiers but just threatened me, putting [the dynamo] in front of me,' he said. Over time, Butkevych said he became aware that those questioning him were more interested in his human rights background and a three-year period in the UK. 'Then – I remember because it was my birthday – I was interrogated by two guys. I'd met them before,' he said. 'They were doing the good cop, bad cop thing.' He was pressured to give an interview to a 'responsible international media organisation' [what organisation was not made clear] to talk about Ukraine 'being a Nazi country' and questioned over Soros Foundation funding he had received for his NGO. Chillingly, the two also warned him they could convict him as a 'war criminal'. Butkevych said a more focused regime of torture and threats then started, beginning with periods of being placed in stress positions and beatings with a rubber baton. He was once again told he could be killed and threatened with oral and anal rape using an electric shock baton. His torturers offered him three choices: to sign a confession admitting to war crimes and be 'very quickly exchanged'; taken to the scene of his alleged 'crime' where he would be shot trying to escape; or put in a cell with inmates who would make his life a 'living hell'. He signed the confession. 'I didn't even know what I was confessing to for several days until I was taken to a psychiatric expert who asked if I understand what I was accused of,' he said, later learning he had confessed to targeting two civilian women in a village he had never visited. 'Then I was sentenced to 13 years in a strict regime penal colony,' he said. He described a Kafkaesque process filled with 'absurdities' from the crude fiction of the charges to the 'peculiarity' that all legal paperwork had to be signed, including by a lawyer who falsely attested he had been present during the interrogation. 'I realised what happened in my case was that Russian troops had shelled a village heavily. When they finally took it over they found civilians injured by their own fire and put blame on Ukrainian PoWs. 'It's a win-win for the Russians. They deflect responsibility and have Ukrainian 'war criminals' to parade.' At the penal colony in occupied Luhansk, he was forced to work or be beaten while a sham legal process ground on in the background. 'I was taken to Luhansk for the court of appeal and the court of cassation,' Butkevych said. 'That's when I discovered I apparently had a lawyer in Moscow. A real human rights lawyer! I said I was forced to confess under torture. The lawyer said he had evidence on the day of the alleged crime that I was in Kyiv. The court didn't care.' On 17 October last year – after more than two years in captivity – he was told at the morning roll call to collect his things. He did not know where has going and dared not to hope he would be released. Taken to a nearby airfield where other PoWs had been gathered, they were exchanged for Russian prisoners held by Ukraine. 'I don't think I appreciate before my captivity just how much the Russian penal system reflects the values and methods of the Russian world,' he said of his ordeal. 'It's not an exception. It reflects the fundamental view of humans as disposable material. If you 'behave', you might be treated OK, but you must obey. There is no agency. Even the guards said the same about their civilian lives. 'That's a pretty good idea of what Russia wants to bring to Ukraine.'
New York Times
10-06-2025
- New York Times
Finding God, and Nietzsche, in the Hamas Tunnels of Gaza
Each morning, Shelly Shem Tov would enter her son's empty bedroom and recite Chapter 20 from the biblical Book of Psalms, an ancient plea for deliverance. All the while she was unaware that her son, Omer Shem Tov, happened to be uttering the very same verses of Psalm 20 — 'May the Lord answer you on a day of distress.' He had adopted the same daily ritual about 130 feet underground, alone, in a Hamas tunnel in Gaza. Mr. Shem Tov was 20 when gunmen seized him during the Oct. 7, 2023, attack on southern Israel. He had grown up in a largely secular home, and was living a relatively carefree existence after completing his compulsory military service — waiting tables in a steakhouse to earn money for a post-army trip to South America, a popular rite of passage for many Israelis of his age. He was captured while fleeing the Nova music festival, a rave party attended by thousands near the Gaza border. A few days into his captivity, he said, he began to speak to God. He made vows. He began to bless whatever food he was given. And he had requests — some of which he believes were answered. Want all of The Times? Subscribe.
