Prison guards led Vitalii Kryschenko to an inhospitable, cramped cell. Inside, the prisoners were curious. They watched with great interest as Kryschenko found his allotted place. A small, gentle man with a nervous expression, he wasn’t a typical criminal but a Jehovah’s Witness. Kryschenko was jailed by Ukrainian authorities for refusing to go to war; taking up arms is forbidden by his religion. He was now going to share his days with the very worst of Ukrainian society. This would include thieves, those guilty of assault or worse.
‘I was living with murderers, people jailed for life,’ he said. ‘It was terrifying. On my first night, I asked myself how I would survive in these conditions. All the same, I continued my daily prayers and read the Bible.’
In January last year, Kryschenko became the first Jehovah’s Witness to be imprisoned in Ukraine for conscientious objection since the full-scale invasion began. Though released earlier this year, he is still classified as a convict. Knowing he will soon again be called up for military service, Kryschenko prepares for further jail time. ‘Life hasn’t changed,’ he said:
Ukraine’s need for manpower will only increase
Since I follow the rules, I will present myself when summoned by the military court, but the story will start again.
Fifteen more Jehovah’s Witnesses have faced jail since Kryschenko’s imprisonment, according to Jarrod Lopes, a New York-based spokesperson for the World Headquarters of Jehovah’s Witnesses. According to Lopes, 3,000 Jehovah’s Witnesses have been arbitrarily detained and 2,231 forcibly sent to military units.
Prior to Ukraine’s implementation of martial law in 2022, conscientious objection was permitted. After that, it became a serious crime. The lack of non-military alternative service in Ukraine’s conscription frenzy has given followers of pacifist religions a difficult choice: betray their faith or their country’s law. This pains a religious community with a deep historical connection to Ukraine, where the community totals more than 125,000, according to the European Country of Origin Information Network.
For Jehovah’s Witness Filipp Sobotyak, the dilemma of violating his belief or breaking the law is particularly challenging. As a patriot and community-minded man, he faced possible death when evacuating civilians near his now-destroyed hometown of Mariupol. It is a region that has seen some of the most brutal fighting of the war thus far. Despite the dangers, Sobotyak ran humanitarian missions through the grey zone, where anyone could be shot on sight.
On his most recent mission to save a friend’s parents in occupied territory, Sobotyak and a friend were detained by Russian special forces, GRU, and held hostage in torturous conditions for ten days. ‘They tied our hands with duct tape and covered our heads,’ he said:
We were beaten and given electric shocks by the Russians. We had nothing to lie on; nine people in a tiny room, crouching back-to-back.
But Sobotyak laments the fact that his religious community is not given non-military alternatives under conscription. As his friends and family are facing prosecution, he lives in constant fear of recruitment officers. Sobotyak watches his military service app, whose use is obligatory by all military-age men, with great anxiety. ‘Jehovah’s Witnesses want to obey the law, as the Bible teaches us, but we cannot disobey our God,’ he said. ‘We are willing to die, but not to kill.’
This sentiment was echoed by married couple Vitalii and Natalia Petrov. Both Jehovah’s Witnesses, they also ran perilous missions across the grey zone, evacuating people, carrying vital supplies and assisting Ukraine’s soldiers.
The Petrovs often acted with total disregard for their safety, compelled to help others by their Christian belief. Passing through Russian roadblocks became routine, but it was always tense. At one Russian military checkpoint, a soldier asked Vitalii and Natalia to give up the medical supplies they were transporting. When they refused, the soldier pressed his gun to Vitalii’s head.
‘I was ready to offer my life, but I will not take anyone else’s,’ Vitalii said. ‘Mercifully, a superior officer came at the last minute. He told the soldier to stand down.’
Yet despite his services to Ukraine, Vitalii has been charged with failure to respond to a draft notice. He is wanted by the authorities. In response, Vitalii has chosen not to leave his house.
The Petrovs have written to the authorities, describing their humanitarian work. But this has not helped. All the same, Vitalii is keen to state that he wants to contribute to the war effort – just without violating his faith. That this goes ignored makes Vitalii question his place in wartime society.
This issue is beginning to draw attention in Kyiv. Public figure, academic and politician Viktor Yelensky has argued that alternative service should be made available. As head of Ukraine’s religious freedom watchdog, he intends to introduce a bill in Ukraine’s parliament that would do just that.
‘Is enough being done to protect [freedom of conscience]?’ he asked, during an event that marked the anniversary of Jehovah’s Witnesses’ forced displacement under the USSR. ‘I think not.’
At the same time, Yelensky argued that the 1991 civilian law that permitted conscientious objection, swept away when martial law was instated, would not be fit for purpose. ‘This law is not suited to wartime… drafting a law on alternative non-military service for the present time and for such a war is extremely difficult,’ he argued.
But as Russia’s full-scale invasion of the country enters its fifth year, Ukraine’s need for manpower will only increase. The appetite for Kyiv’s military establishment to pay close attention to the needs of religious minorities is likely to wane. For pacifist Ukrainians like Vitalii Petrov, a deeper question of belonging will remain. ‘Ukraine is a space of freedom for us, but why am I on a military list?’
Comments