2022.05.27 俄罗斯占领下的生活

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Collaborators, demonstrators, soldiers, spies: life under Russian occupation
In Kherson, Ukrainians find it hard to judge the acceptable limits of resistance and co-operation

May 27th 2022

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By Wendell Steavenson with Marta Rodionova

In the early days of the war, before the Russians arrived, a number of Ukrainian soldiers, intelligence officers and police officers disappeared from Kherson, a city of just under 300,000 people on the estuary of the Dnieper river in southern Ukraine. No one knows why they left. Uncertain about what might happen, people formed queues for cash, food and petrol. Soon everything had run out and shops closed. The mayor called for volunteers to distribute donations of food to families in need, prevent looting and respond to calls for assistance. One of those who signed up was Serhiy Pavliuk (pictured), a big bear of a man with a wave of chestnut hair and a long beard that makes him look like a biker. He is a theatre director with more than 140 productions under his belt and the father of five children – “prolific in both areas”, he told us, laughing.

The city was split into five districts and Pavliuk found himself working with Danylo Sanitar, a 25-year-old opera singer who had recently performed in one of his productions. Sanitar assumed informal command of several-dozen volunteers who patrolled the central district. On the second day of the war, a missile hit a water-pumping station near Pavliuk’s dacha and he helped to put out the fire. A few days later, Pavliuk, who doesn’t drive, asked his wife, Tatiana, to take him to a closed supermarket where the owner had given him permission to distribute stock to the needy. They were stopped at a Russian checkpoint. Pavliuk raised his hands in the air as Tatiana sat shaking beside him. The Russians searched the boot of the car, then let them go. “That was the first time I met them,” he said.


Russian forces occupied Kherson on March 2nd. They took the strategic Antonovskiy bridge over the Dnieper river after several days of fighting, and tanks and troops poured into the city. It’s still unclear why Kherson fell so easily. “There are lots of versions,” said Pavliuk, shaking his head sadly. (In early April, Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukraine’s president, sacked the head of intelligence in the Kherson region, saying, “I don’t have time to deal with all traitors, but gradually all of them will be punished.”) Russian troops moved east towards Mariupol and west towards Odessa. The Ukrainian army managed to halt the westwards advance outside of Mykolaiv, 45km to the north-west. Kherson, though relatively untouched by fighting, became trapped behind the front line.

Pavliuk is an avowed Ukrainian nationalist who, as a student in Kyiv in 2004, had taken part in the Orange revolution, an uprising against a rigged presidential election. In 2014 he rallied demonstrators in Kherson to support the Maidan protests in the capital, which overthrew Ukraine’s Russian-leaning president. Yet Kherson has always been a mixed city politically. In 2020 the pro-Maidan mayor of the city was voted out and replaced by a local businessman whom residents assumed was mildly pro-Russian, despite talking about political neutrality. More than anything, Pavliuk said, the politics of Kherson are intimate: it is a small city and everyone knows each other’s business.

One small girl pointed at a Russian tank and asked her mother, “Why is the big elephant trying to kill us?”

In those first confused days of the invasion, Pavliuk watched a Ukrainian tv journalist declare that Kherson was a pro-Russian city. On Facebook people said that Kherson had surrendered because of its Russian sympathies. “Imagine how bad I felt. It felt so unfair,” he told me.

Two days after the Russians occupied the city, Pavliuk spotted a torn Ukrainian flag lying in a puddle. He picked it up and tried to run it back up the flagpole. He felt a “kind of childish heroism”, he later recalled. As he was working out the mechanism, a Russian officer appeared and yelled, “Clear off!” Pavliuk pretended not to understand and answered, “What?” in Ukrainian. “Clear off!” the Russian repeated, sliding back his rifle bolt. “Take your flag and go away!” Pavliuk left before he got into any more trouble.


Pavliuk sensed that something was going to happen that day. He put on his running shoes and ran to the main square. He remembered feeling “very angry. You can’t control yourself. You are tired of being frightened.” He found about 15 people there, protesting and waving Ukrainian flags as Russian journalists filmed their soldiers handing out humanitarian aid. He uploaded a video onto his Facebook page of himself yelling “Leave!” at the Russians. By the time he got home the video had gone viral.

The next day the protesters in the square numbered 2,000. Pavliuk was conscious that he had encouraged people to come out onto the streets. Having experienced violence from provocateurs during the Maidan uprising, Pavliuk worried about their safety. He went into a building near the square, which formerly housed the Ukrainian secret services and was now occupied by Russian troops. He explained to the Russian soldiers there that the demonstration was peaceful.

The Russians seemed bemused by Pavliuk. He was wearing a leather jacket and black boots, and had plaited his beard into the shape of a trident, the national emblem of Ukraine. The soldiers took his mobile phone and passport, and passed him up the ranks. A senior officer tried to insist that “there are no demonstrations”, as though denial might will the crowd away. Finally the Russians became exasperated and thrust Pavliuk, stumbling, back into the square.


Pavliuk was heartened by the turnout but worried as soldiers began to shoot in the air to disperse the crowd. In the mêlée, one elderly woman tried to denounce Pavliuk to the Russian authorities for filming her. Pavliuk could see Sanitar holding a yellow radio and attempting to marshal people. Eventually Pavliuk, Sanitar and other volunteers managed to convince the crowd that they had made their point and should walk in a show of unity towards the war memorial.

Over the following days, city residents repeatedly came out to demonstrate. Pavliuk’s family and friends encouraged him to reduce his involvement, arguing that he should be more careful now he was known to the Russians. Pavliuk was in two minds: he believed that the protests were necessary to show the rest of Ukraine that Kherson was not a pro-Russian city. But he also knew that there was no hope of ousting the occupiers with peaceful demonstrations, and that further clashes would lead only to arrests and violence. After three or four days he promised his wife he’d stop going.

In the first month, the Russians only partially occupied Kherson. Faced with demonstrations, they seemed unsure whether to behave like conquerors or saviours. On the one hand, they garrisoned soldiers throughout the region, set up checkpoints, imposed a curfew and went house to house with lists, arresting government officials, intelligence officers, mayors and police officers, along with members of the volunteer territorial-defence units and veterans of the war in the Donbas. Some of these people were released after a day or so, others after several weeks. A number are still missing. There have been persistent rumours in Kherson of underground prisons holding hundreds of detainees.


Yet at the same time, the Ukrainian flag still flew above the city-council building and the mayor went to work each day in his office. He surprised almost everyone with his defiance, insisting that Kherson was a Ukrainian city that remained under Ukrainian civic authority.

At first Russian forces tried to co-opt the volunteer patrols, but the Ukrainians insisted on operating independently. Pavliuk continued to help out whenever he could, never knowing if he’d get hassled by the Russians. Pavliuk told me that soldiers at checkpoints sometimes stole money and mobile phones from him. Several times he found himself face down on the asphalt.

Pavliuk’s patrol created a group on Viber, a messaging app, to share information about the location of checkpoints, tanks and other Russian military positions. Pavliuk passed these reports to another online group with links to Ukrainian intelligence. “We were playing in this dangerous zone,” Pavliuk admitted.

“Ukrainians will probably hate me for saying this, but the Russians are really just ordinary people. If you need something, you can go and ask them”

On March 10th, Pavliuk was driving with Sanitar to pick up humanitarian aid when they saw several Russian military vehicles and a phalanx of infantry heading in the direction of Pavliuk’s dacha on the outskirts of the city, where he and his family had taken refuge since the war had begun two weeks earlier. Pavliuk raced back, rushed his family into the car, half-dressed and without packing, and took them to a friend’s house. Less than a week later, the neighbours near his apartment in the city centre called to tell him that Russians were breaking down his door.

The Pavliuk family decided to move to another address where they could lie low: a hotel housing families displaced from villages on the front line. Inconveniently, this was near the main square. On his first day in hiding Pavliuk went for a walk, pulling his hood down and wrapping a scarf around his beard to mask his features. He was chagrined to be recognised almost immediately. A man from the garage around the corner raised his hand and saluted him with the greeting “Slava Ukraini!” (“Glory to Ukraine!”).

In the hotel, Pavliuk’s 16-year-old daughter lifted everyone’s spirits by composing songs on her ukulele and organising a kindergarten for the kids. Soon more than 30 children were under her care and she found a child psychologist to help her. She remembered one small girl who pointed at a Russian tank and asked her mother, “Why is the big elephant trying to kill us?”

Despite the risks, Pavliuk continued to stream videos from the city and raise money online for humanitarian aid. He began his dispatches, “Greetings from Ukrainian Kherson!” and urged his fellow citizens to have “warm hearts but cold minds” – to take care of each other, but to do so carefully. He found it hard to keep away from the protests, even as the numbers dwindled. He would often loiter around the edges, as if he just happened to be taking a walk in the vicinity. “Until 3pm the city would look normal,” he said, “There were cars in the streets, people queuing at shops, children playing in the parks. After 3pm everyone disappeared. By 4pm the city was dead, no one would risk going out. People were scared to encounter Russians.”

One day in mid-March, Sanitar rushed into the hotel in distress. He told Pavliuk he was sorry, that he’d only been trying to help. Pavliuk didn’t know what he was talking about. Sanitar said that he had gone to the Russians and tried to explain that his friend Pavliuk was just a humanitarian volunteer and they should stop looking for him. The tactic had backfired: they had both been invited for questioning.


Pavliuk was both frightened and furious with Sanitar for putting him at risk. When we talked several weeks later in Kyiv, he was still trying to make sense of Sanitar’s actions. He described his friend as naive yet self-aggrandising, the kind of person who always put himself forward. Pavliuk’s daughters thought that Sanitar was ambitious, energetic and intense to the point of becoming overbearing. He liked to be the centre of attention and had a way of speaking that came across as insincere self-deprecation. “He’s the kind of person”, said Pavliuk’s eldest daughter, Angelina, “who needs people to like them.” When Pavliuk confronted Sanitar about the nature of his relations with the Russians, Sanitar just said, “We’re here to help people. We have to be neutral and not take a side.”

The pair debated what to do. Pavliuk decided to co-operate as he had nothing to hide. Sanitar said Russian officers had assured him that Pavliuk wouldn’t be mistreated. When they presented themselves for questioning, they were searched and hooded in dirty balaclavas. The precautions seemed ridiculous to Pavliuk, since they’d been led only ten metres down a corridor. “I was not frightened,” he said. “I was curious as to what would happen.”


Pavliuk found himself being questioned by three Russians: “One kind, one aggressive and one serious”. They wore civilian clothes, two had balaclavas over their heads and they insisted that he speak in Russian. The aggressive one shouted, the kind one told him not to worry, the serious one probed him for information about dates and demonstrations.

In answer to their questions, Pavliuk denied organising the protests and told them how he’d tried to inform their superiors about the peaceable intent of the first one. When they noted that his Facebook page had a profile picture of a cartoon hedgehog throwing a Molotov cocktail at a Russian tank, Pavliuk promised to change it. They asked him where the director of the theatre was hiding. Pavliuk lied and said he didn’t know. Having assured his interrogators that he was not working for Ukrainian intelligence, he was allowed to go.

He was taken at gunpoint, questioned all day and dumped that evening on a roadside far from home

Over the following weeks, Pavliuk was called in twice more for questioning. He remained indignant yet calm. The Russians interrogating him were, by turns, menacing and gently reproachful. Some tried to tell him they had come to save Ukraine, some insulted him; one lectured him about the Masons’ control of the world, another treated him to a long-winded tirade about how Ukrainians had poisoned Russia with coronavirus. They continued to prod him about any connections to Ukrainian intelligence and whether the protesters were foreign agitators. One officer just wanted to discuss theatre and ended the interrogation by saying, “It was a pleasure to talk to you.”

Each time, Pavliuk was released after several hours. Now he laughs at himself as he remembers “trying to play the hero”. And he laughs at the Russian officers who “thought people would be frightened of them”.

The protests in Kherson were met with increasing violence and Russian troops fired tear gas to disperse them. Collaborators and provocateurs seemed to be everywhere. One man approached Pavliuk on the square and asked him if he wanted to join the effort to “overthrow” the occupiers.

Russian forces have continued to tighten control over the region. The mayor was removed from office on April 26th for “not co-operating”. He was replaced by Oleksandr Kobets, a retired intelligence officer who served in the kgb during the Soviet era and had lived in Kyiv for the past decade. At the beginning of May, a Russian politician who is a close ally of Vladimir Putin visited Kherson: “Russia is here for ever. There should be no doubt about that.” On May 1st there was an announcement that the rouble would be introduced as legal currency in the region. Residents have also been told that they’ll be eligible to apply for Russian passports. There has been a constant drum beat of rumour that the Russian authorities will hold a referendum over whether Kherson should become an autonomous republic, as happened in Donetsk and Luhansk in 2014.

Many of these announcements seem to have originated with a man called Kirill Stremousov, a pro-Russian Ukrainian with a chequered history of violent provocation, whom the Russians appointed as head of the Committee for the Salvation of Peace and Order, the Russian-backed civilian administration, as well as deputy head of the Kherson region military authority. The Ukrainian government has accused Stremousov of treason and opened criminal proceedings against him. In mid-May, when Stremousov announced that the regional government was going to petition for annexation by Russia, leaflets appeared calling for his head.

Posturing over annexation seems hollow as the Russian hold on the city remains uncertain. Battles continue to rage along the front line 40km away, though it’s hard to work out which side has the upper hand. So far, Russian forces have shown little enthusiasm for taking over the payment of regional-government salaries and pensions; the Ukrainian hryvnia remains legal tender in Kherson. Internet and mobile-phone services are intermittent but the Ukrainian banking system, which relies on these networks, still functions.


The Russian side has not, it seems, found willing collaborators. Mayors who have agreed to serve under the occupation are widely derided as Gauleiters, a title given to Nazi governors. Others have refused to co-operate. At the end of April, Russian troops arrested a former mayor of Kherson and subjected him to an “interview” on tv. In the footage he was grey faced and clearly speaking under duress. He still refused to concede that he was a fascist sympathiser.

On May 9th, celebrated in Russia as Victory Day to commemorate the defeat of the Nazis, Russians in Kherson organised a rally of a couple of thousand people. They waved red Soviet flags against a bright blue sky. But the event took place at 8.30am and was over before most residents had properly begun their day.

Kherson is outwardly calm but remains tense. Those residents who talked to us over Zoom or by telephone sounded strained and awkward. Conversations were terse and coded. The internet is now connected via Crimea and people assume that the Russian authorities can listen in. Several teachers in Kherson told us that they had ended the school year early, partly to avoid pressure to teach in Russian from Russian textbooks. Some teachers have been told that they’d be sent to Crimea to be re-educated, though no one is aware of anyone actually going.

Kherson has been cut off from the rest of Ukraine for three months. Russia stopped transmitting Ukrainian tv in the first days of occupation. People with satellite dishes can still watch foreign and Ukrainian news, but many older people now watch only Russian propaganda. One woman told us that her mother had already begun to repeat the Russian narrative that Ukraine is run by Nazis and Russian-speaking peoples are being oppressed.

Many professionals have left. Businesses remain closed, lots of people are unemployed and increasingly running out of money. Some travel to nearby Crimea, which was illegitimately annexed by Russia in 2014, to buy goods to bring back and sell. They may be derided as black-marketers but at the moment it’s the only way to get most goods – particularly cigarettes and petrol – into Kherson.

It is unclear how many people have fled Kherson. Estimates from those on the ground suggest that a third may have done so. There are only two routes out. One is to the south, through Crimea, then onto Russia and across the Caucasus mountains to Georgia. The other requires crossing the front line to reach Mykolaiv, which is often blocked for days due to continual fighting and closed checkpoints.

Sanitar established contact with Russian soldiers through his service with the volunteer patrols. “The first time I went to the Russians it was so that Serhiy would not be touched,” he said. “Then I began to establish communication with them. They repeatedly proved to me that they want order in the city.” Pavliuk thought that the recognition might have gone to Sanitar’s head. He started saying things such as “I am the law”.

In late April, Russian forces abolished the volunteer patrols and replaced them with military police. Sanitar asked the Russians to create a green corridor to Mykolaiv, across the front line, to allow him to bring in medical supplies. They refused and said he could get what he needed in Crimea. Sanitar told us that he had been to Crimea three times to buy medicine. There were long queues in both directions at the border crossing. As a humanitarian volunteer, he had a special pass and didn’t have to wait. “Ukrainians will probably hate me for saying this,” he said, “but the Russians are really just ordinary people. If you need something, you can go and ask them. They won’t do anything against you.”

“Don’t call us traitors if we are forced to work here for roubles...We will need to live somehow”

On April 6th, Pavliuk went for one of his “walks” around the main square during a small demonstration. While out, he received a call from Sanitar who asked him urgently, “Where are you?” One of Sanitar’s Russian contacts had called to say that Pavliuk should leave the square immediately or he’d be arrested. “It was clear that I was being monitored,” said Pavliuk, “and the hope that I had been forgotten was gone.”

Russian repression mounted during April. A friend of Pavliuk’s, who was the director of the theatre and a deputy in the Kherson regional parliament, was taken at gunpoint from his apartment one morning, questioned all day and dumped that evening on a roadside far from his home. One of Pavliuk’s colleagues in the municipal patrol was arrested for trying to buy drones. He was held for a month before being released. Another member of the patrol spent three days in detention and was subjected to a mock execution before being freed.


We talked to Sanitar in Kherson over Zoom. He insisted that we use his real name if we wrote about him. “I don’t have anything to hide from the sbu [Ukrainian intelligence], the fsb [Russian intelligence], the fbi, the cia or the Somali pirates. I am a very honest person and I always do the right thing,” he said. He had stopped looking at the news online because he found it hard to know what to believe. Instead, he calls friends in different cities around Ukraine to understand what is going on. “The Russians in Kherson have their position,” he said. “Ukrainians have our positions. In this situation you don’t know if you’ll wake up tomorrow under Russian occupation or to a completely burnt-out piece of land or Ukrainian control.”


Sanitar did not say anything that led us to think he was pro-Russian. But the even-handedness of his remarks might be construed as such by Ukrainian partisans. Sanitar worried that, if the Ukrainians mounted a counter-offensive, Kherson could become another Mariupol. “People here just want to live and find a diplomatic solution to the problem,” he said. Then he conceded, “Maybe this is just my personal wish.”

In a Facebook post in late May, Sanitar railed at the Ukrainian government for corruption, abandoning Kherson and extending martial law. He lamented the death of a friend who had been killed by the Ukrainian army. He was tired of waiting to be liberated. “Don’t call us traitors if we are forced to work here for roubles...We will need to live somehow.” He recognised that he had become a divisive figure: some thanked him for his efforts to distribute aid, others denounced him as a collaborator. “Those here understand what I’m doing. I help. I can solve any issue. They can count on me. Those who are not here do not understand me and start to hate me.”

When we first talked to Sanitar in early May he thought a referendum about joining Russia was unlikely: the administrative infrastructure was inadequate and most residents would boycott it. More recently he said that people in Kherson might come to accept the reality of the occupation and acquiesce. He had been pleasantly surprised by his visit to Crimea. “I was fed with information for eight years that everything is bad in the Crimea. But everything is ok there. They took part in the referendum themselves, because they wanted to join Russia, because God is their judge. It will be the same with Kherson.”

In mid-April, Pavliuk and his family talked about leaving. But the road to Mykolaiv was dangerous. At checkpoints Russian troops were looking for people with Ukrainian nationalist tattoos and scrolling through phones searching for incriminating messages. They often turned people back for no reason. On occasion they also let some people flee, believing, perhaps, that it was better to be rid of pro-Ukrainian activists.

The family decided to go on April 18th. It was cold and raining when they set off at 5am. Pavliuk’s wife, Tatiana, drove and Pavliuk sat in the passenger seat of their small Nissan with his two-year-old daughter on his lap. His three other daughters and son sat in the back seat. Dmytro, the fiancé of the Pavliuk’s eldest, Angelina, was in the car ahead. The route took them through wrecked villages on dirt roads, past burnt-out cars and obliterated houses. Tatiana, wary of minefields, was careful to drive in the grooves created by other cars. The journey, which normally takes 40 minutes, lasted six hours.

“After you have got used to continual explosions, it’s the quiet that kills you”

The Russian troops at the checkpoints looked dirty and tired. Some were very young, and had no armour or helmets. The soldiers kept their eyes fixed to the ground. Pavliuk was on a list of activists and Dmytro was carrying a usb stick full of photographs of Russian military vehicles he had taken in the first days of the war. The bad weather worked to their advantage. It seemed to make the Russians so miserable that they just waved the cars through.

The family marvelled at the contrast when they reached the Ukrainian lines. “How beautiful the Ukrainian soldiers looked!” said Angelina. “You could see such a big difference between the two armies. The Ukrainians were well equipped and wore clean uniforms and looked us right in the eye. They told us, ‘Everything is going to be ok.’”

Two weeks after Pavliuk left Kherson, I met him and his family in a house they were borrowing on the outskirts of Kyiv. It was a warm spring day and we sat on the terrace. The Pavliuks were still trying to make sense of their experiences under occupation and the strangeness of the relative peace in Kyiv. “After you have got used to continual explosions,” said Angelina, “it’s the quiet that kills you.” Her sister missed the refugee children she had taken care of in Kherson: “I was so busy and useful. Now we are stuck doing nothing.”

Pavliuk had kept in touch with Sanitar, but found him increasingly difficult to talk to. “I think he got adrenaline during the war,” he said. “He was an important person in the patrol, a decision-maker, and when the patrols ended he lost this feeling.” Pavliuk believed that Sanitar’s continued dealings with the Russians satisfied his need to be in the spotlight.

As we talked, Vlada, Pavliuk’s six-year-old daughter who has dip-dyed red hair and green eyes, skipped around the garden. She held the ragged flag that Pavliuk had found in a puddle at the start of the occupation and fluttered it like a cape. Then she laid it over a pile of cushions to make a bed and fell asleep.

“This flag”, Pavliuk told me, almost disbelieving, “was always with me, through every demonstration.”■

Wendell Steavenson has reported on post-Soviet Georgia, the Iraq war and the Egyptian revolution. You can read her previous dispatches from Ukraine for 1843 magazine, and the rest of our coverage, here. Marta Rodionova has worked as a television journalist and creative producer

photographs: moises saman / magnum



合作者、示威者、士兵、间谍：俄罗斯占领下的生活
在赫尔松，乌克兰人发现很难判断抵抗和合作的可接受限度

2022年5月27日


温德尔-斯特文森与玛尔塔-罗迪奥诺娃报道

在战争初期，在俄罗斯人到来之前，一些乌克兰士兵、情报人员和警察从赫尔松消失了，这座城市位于乌克兰南部第聂伯河河口，人口不到30万。没有人知道他们为什么离开。由于不确定会发生什么，人们排队购买现金、食物和汽油。很快，所有东西都用完了，商店也关闭了。市长呼吁志愿者向有需要的家庭分发捐赠的食物，防止抢劫并响应援助呼吁。谢尔盖-帕夫留克（Serhiy Pavliuk）（如图）是报名者之一，他是个大熊，一头栗色的头发，长长的胡须让他看起来像个摩托车手。他是一位戏剧导演，有140多部作品，也是五个孩子的父亲--"在这两个方面都很丰富"，他笑着告诉我们。

这个城市被分成五个区，帕夫留克发现自己与达尼洛-萨尼塔尔合作，这个25岁的歌剧歌手最近曾在他的一部作品中演出。萨尼塔非正式地指挥了几十名在中心区巡逻的志愿者。在战争的第二天，一枚导弹击中了帕夫留克家附近的一个抽水站，他帮助灭火。几天后，不会开车的帕夫留克要求他的妻子塔蒂亚娜带他去一家关闭的超市，那里的老板允许他向有需要的人分发库存。他们在一个俄罗斯检查站被拦下。帕夫柳克举起双手，塔蒂亚娜坐在他身边发抖。俄罗斯人搜查了汽车的后备箱，然后让他们离开。"他说："那是我第一次见到他们。


俄罗斯军队于3月2日占领赫尔松。经过几天的战斗，他们占领了第聂伯河上具有战略意义的安东诺夫斯基桥，坦克和军队涌入该市。目前还不清楚赫尔松为何如此轻易地沦陷。"有很多版本，"帕夫柳克说，他无奈地摇摇头。4月初，乌克兰总统沃洛基米尔-泽伦斯基(Volodymyr Zelensky)解雇了赫尔松地区的情报部门负责人，他说："我没有时间处理所有的叛徒，但逐渐地他们都会受到惩罚。" 俄罗斯军队向东移动到马里乌波尔，向西移动到敖德萨。乌克兰军队在西北45公里处的米科拉夫（Mykolaiv）外设法阻止了西进的步伐。赫尔松虽然相对来说没有受到战斗的影响，但却被困在了前线后面。

帕夫柳克是一名公开的乌克兰民族主义者，2004年在基辅读书时，他参加了反对操纵总统选举的橙色革命。2014年，他在赫尔松召集示威者支持首都的Maidan抗议活动，该活动推翻了乌克兰的俄罗斯倾向的总统。然而，赫尔松在政治上一直是一个混合的城市。2020年，该市亲迈丹的市长被投票淘汰，取而代之的是一位当地商人，尽管他口口声声说政治中立，但居民们认为他是温和的亲俄派。帕夫柳克说，赫尔松的政治比什么都重要：这是一个小城市，每个人都知道彼此的事情。

一个小女孩指着一辆俄罗斯坦克问她母亲："为什么这头大象要杀我们？"

在入侵的最初那些混乱的日子里，帕夫柳克看着一个乌克兰电视记者宣布赫尔松是一个亲俄的城市。在Facebook上，人们说赫尔松因为同情俄罗斯而投降了。"想象一下我的感觉有多糟。这感觉太不公平了。"他告诉我。

俄国人占领该市两天后，帕夫柳克发现一个水坑里躺着一面破损的乌克兰国旗。他把它捡起来，试图把它放回旗杆上。他后来回忆说，他感到一种 "孩子般的英雄主义"。当他正在解决这个问题时，一名俄罗斯军官出现并大喊："离开！" 帕夫柳克假装听不懂，用乌克兰语回答："什么？"。"离开！"俄国人重复道，把他的枪栓往后拉。"拿着你的旗子走吧！" 帕夫留克在陷入任何更多麻烦之前就离开了。


帕夫留克感觉到那天会有事情发生。他穿上跑鞋，跑向主广场。他记得自己感到 "非常生气。你无法控制自己。你厌倦了被吓唬"。他发现那里有大约15人，在俄罗斯记者拍摄他们的士兵发放人道主义援助时，他们在抗议并挥舞乌克兰国旗。他在自己的Facebook页面上上传了一段视频，视频中他对俄罗斯人大喊 "离开！"。当他回到家时，这段视频已经成为病毒。

第二天，广场上的抗议者人数达到2000人。帕夫留克意识到，他鼓励人们上街游行。在迈丹起义期间，帕夫留克经历了挑衅者的暴力，他担心他们的安全。他走进了广场附近的一栋建筑，这栋建筑以前是乌克兰特工部门的所在地，现在被俄罗斯军队占领。他向那里的俄罗斯士兵解释，示威是和平的。

俄罗斯人似乎对帕夫柳克感到困惑。他穿着一件皮夹克和黑色靴子，把胡子编成三叉戟的形状，这是乌克兰的国徽。士兵们拿走了他的手机和护照，并把他传到了队伍中。一名高级军官试图坚持说 "没有示威"，仿佛否认会让人群离开。最后，俄国人被激怒了，把帕夫柳克跌跌撞撞地推回了广场。


帕夫留克对民众的参与感到振奋，但又担心士兵们开始向空中开枪驱散人群。在混战中，一位老年妇女试图向俄罗斯当局告发帕夫留克拍摄她的行为。帕夫留克可以看到萨尼塔拿着一个黄色的收音机，试图召集人们。最后，帕夫留克、萨尼塔和其他志愿者设法说服了人群，他们已经表明了自己的观点，应该向战争纪念碑走去，以示团结。

在接下来的几天里，城市居民多次出来示威。帕夫留克的家人和朋友鼓励他减少参与，认为他现在被俄国人认识了，应该更加小心。帕夫留克有两种想法：他认为抗议活动是必要的，可以向乌克兰其他地区表明赫尔松不是一个亲俄的城市。但他也知道，通过和平示威赶走占领者是没有希望的，进一步的冲突只会导致逮捕和暴力。三四天后，他答应妻子不再去了。

在第一个月里，俄国人只是部分地占领了赫尔松。面对示威活动，他们似乎不确定是要表现得像征服者还是救世主。一方面，他们在整个地区驻扎士兵，设立检查站，实行宵禁，拿着名单挨家挨户逮捕政府官员、情报人员、市长和警察，以及志愿领土防卫部队成员和顿巴斯战争的老兵。其中一些人在一天左右后被释放，另一些人在几周后被释放。一些人仍然下落不明。在赫尔松一直有关于地下监狱关押着数百名被拘留者的传言。


然而与此同时，乌克兰国旗仍然飘扬在市议会大楼上方，市长每天都在办公室里上班。他的反抗几乎让所有人都感到惊讶，他坚持认为赫尔松是一个乌克兰城市，仍然处于乌克兰公民的权力之下。

起初，俄罗斯军队试图收编志愿巡逻队，但乌克兰人坚持独立运作。帕夫留克继续尽可能地提供帮助，从不知道他是否会被俄罗斯人骚扰。帕夫柳克告诉我，检查站的士兵有时会从他那里偷走钱和手机。有几次他发现自己脸朝下躺在沥青上。

帕夫柳克的巡逻队在Viber（一款信息应用）上创建了一个小组，以分享有关检查站、坦克和其他俄罗斯军事阵地的信息。帕夫柳克将这些报告传递给另一个与乌克兰情报部门有联系的在线小组。"我们在这个危险的区域玩耍，"Pavliuk承认。

"乌克兰人可能会恨我这么说，但俄罗斯人真的只是普通人。如果你需要什么，你可以去问他们"

3月10日，帕夫留克与萨尼塔一起开车去取人道主义援助物资，这时他们看到几辆俄罗斯军车和一队步兵朝帕夫留克在城郊的别墅方向驶去，自从两周前战争开始以来，他和他的家人一直在那里避难。帕夫留克飞快地跑回来，把他的家人赶进车里，只穿了一半的衣服，也没带行李，就把他们带到一个朋友家。不到一周后，他在市中心的公寓附近的邻居打电话告诉他，俄罗斯人正在砸他的门。

帕夫留克一家决定搬到另一个他们可以藏身的地方：一个收容来自前线村庄的流离失所家庭的旅馆。令人不快的是，这里离主广场很近。在躲藏的第一天，帕夫留克去散步，把头巾拉下来，用围巾包住胡子，掩盖自己的特征。他很懊恼，因为他几乎马上就被认出来了。一个来自街角车库的人举起手向他敬礼，问候道："Slava Ukraini! ("荣耀属于乌克兰！")。

在酒店里，帕夫柳克16岁的女儿用她的四弦琴谱写歌曲，并为孩子们组织了一个幼儿园，从而提高了大家的精神面貌。很快就有30多个孩子在她的照顾下，她找到了一位儿童心理学家来帮助她。她记得有一个小女孩指着一辆俄罗斯坦克问她妈妈："为什么大象要杀我们？"

尽管有风险，帕夫留克继续在城市里播放视频，并在网上为人道主义援助筹集资金。他以 "来自乌克兰赫尔松的问候 "为开头，并敦促他的同胞们要有 "温暖的心，冷酷的头脑"--要互相照顾，但要小心行事。他发现自己很难远离抗议活动，即使人数减少了也是如此。他经常会在边缘徘徊，仿佛他只是碰巧在附近散步。他说："在下午3点之前，城市看起来很正常，""街道上有汽车，人们在商店里排队，孩子们在公园里玩。下午3点后，所有人都消失了。到了下午4点，城市已经死气沉沉，没有人愿意冒险出门。人们害怕遇到俄罗斯人。"

3月中旬的一天，萨尼塔心烦意乱地冲进旅馆。他告诉帕夫柳克他很抱歉，他只是想帮忙而已。帕夫柳克不知道他在说什么。萨尼塔说他已经去找俄国人，试图解释他的朋友帕夫柳克只是一个人道主义志愿者，他们应该停止寻找他。这一策略适得其反：他们都被邀请接受审问。


帕夫留克既害怕又对萨尼塔将他置于危险之中而感到愤怒。几周后我们在基辅交谈时，他仍在试图理解萨尼塔的行为。他形容他的朋友是天真而又自负的人，是那种总是把自己放在前面的人。帕夫柳克的女儿们认为萨尼塔雄心勃勃，精力充沛，紧张到了不可一世的地步。他喜欢成为注意力的中心，说话的方式让人觉得是不真诚的自我贬低。"帕夫留克的长女安吉丽娜说："他是那种需要别人喜欢他的人"。当帕夫柳克就他与俄罗斯人关系的性质向萨尼塔提出质疑时，萨尼塔只是说："我们是来帮助人们的。我们必须保持中立，不偏袒任何一方"。

两人争论着该怎么做。帕夫柳克决定合作，因为他没有什么可隐藏的。萨尼塔说，俄罗斯官员向他保证，帕夫柳克不会受到虐待。当他们接受审问时，他们被搜身并被戴上肮脏的头巾。这些预防措施对帕夫柳克来说似乎很可笑，因为他们被带着走了十米长的走廊。"我并不害怕，"他说。"我很好奇会发生什么。"


帕夫柳克发现自己被三个俄国人审问。"一个善良，一个好斗，一个严肃"。他们穿着便衣，两个人头上戴着头巾，他们坚持要他用俄语说话。好斗的那个大喊大叫，善良的那个告诉他不要担心，严肃的那个向他打听日期和示威活动的信息。

在回答他们的问题时，帕夫柳克否认组织了抗议活动，并告诉他们他是如何试图向他们的上级报告第一次抗议活动的和平意图的。当他们注意到他的Facebook页面上有一张卡通刺猬向俄罗斯坦克投掷燃烧弹的个人照片时，帕夫柳克承诺会改变它。他们问他剧院的导演藏在哪里。帕夫留克撒谎说他不知道。在向审讯他的人保证他没有为乌克兰情报部门工作后，他被允许离开。

他在枪口下被带走，被审问了一整天，当天晚上被扔在离家很远的一个路边。

在接下来的几周里，Pavliuk又被叫去审问了两次。他仍然愤愤不平，但很平静。审问他的俄罗斯人一会儿气势汹汹，一会儿又温和地责备他。有些人试图告诉他他们是来拯救乌克兰的，有些人则侮辱他；一个人对他说共济会控制了世界，另一个人对他进行了冗长的谩骂，说乌克兰人是如何用冠状病毒毒害俄罗斯的。他们继续追问他与乌克兰情报部门的任何联系以及抗议者是否是外国煽动者。一名官员只想讨论戏剧，并以 "很高兴与你交谈 "来结束审讯。

每一次，帕夫柳克都在几个小时后被释放。现在，当他回忆起 "试图扮演英雄 "时，他自嘲道。他还嘲笑那些 "以为人们会害怕他们 "的俄罗斯军官。

赫尔松的抗议活动遇到了越来越多的暴力，俄罗斯军队发射催泪瓦斯驱散了他们。合作者和挑衅者似乎无处不在。一名男子在广场上走近帕夫柳克，问他是否想加入 "推翻 "占领者的努力。

俄罗斯军队继续加强对该地区的控制。4月26日，市长因 "不合作 "被免职。他被Oleksandr Kobets取代，后者是一名退休的情报人员，在苏联时期曾在kgb服役，过去十年一直住在基辅。5月初，一位与弗拉基米尔-普京关系密切的俄罗斯政治家访问赫尔松。"俄罗斯在这里是永远的。这一点应该是毫无疑问的"。5月1日，有消息称卢布将被引入该地区作为法定货币。居民们还被告知，他们将有资格申请俄罗斯护照。不断有传言说，俄罗斯当局将就赫尔松是否应该成为自治共和国举行公投，就像2014年在顿涅茨克和卢甘斯克发生的那样。

其中许多消息似乎源于一个叫基里尔-斯特雷穆索夫（Kirill Stremousov）的人，他是一个亲俄罗斯的乌克兰人，有着不光彩的暴力挑衅历史，俄罗斯人任命他为拯救和平与秩序委员会（俄罗斯支持的民政部门）的负责人，同时也是赫尔松州军事当局的副首脑。乌克兰政府指控斯特雷穆索夫犯有叛国罪，并对他提起了刑事诉讼。5月中旬，当斯特雷穆索夫宣布该地区政府将申请被俄罗斯吞并时，出现了要求砍掉他脑袋的传单。

由于俄罗斯对该城市的控制仍然不确定，关于吞并的姿态似乎很空洞。沿着40公里外的前线，战斗仍在继续，但很难搞清楚哪一方占了上风。到目前为止，俄罗斯军队对接管地区政府工资和养老金的支付没有表现出热情；乌克兰格里夫纳在赫尔松仍然是法定货币。互联网和移动电话服务时断时续，但依赖这些网络的乌克兰银行系统仍在运作。


俄罗斯方面似乎还没有找到愿意合作的人。同意在占领区服务的市长们被广泛嘲笑为 "高利特"（Gauleiters），这是给予纳粹州长的称号。其他人则拒绝合作。4月底，俄罗斯军队逮捕了赫尔松市的一位前市长，并让他在电视上接受了 "采访"。在录像中，他面色灰白，显然是在胁迫下说话。他仍然拒绝承认自己是法西斯主义的同情者。

5月9日是俄罗斯的胜利日，以纪念纳粹的失败，赫尔松的俄罗斯人组织了一次几千人的集会。他们在明亮的蓝天下挥舞着红色的苏维埃旗帜。但活动是在上午8点30分举行的，在大多数居民还没有正式开始一天的工作时就结束了。

赫尔松表面上平静，但仍然很紧张。那些通过Zoom或电话与我们交谈的居民听起来很紧张和尴尬。对话很简练，也很有密码。现在互联网是通过克里米亚连接的，人们认为俄罗斯当局可以监听。赫尔松的几位教师告诉我们，他们已经提前结束了学年，部分原因是为了避免用俄罗斯教科书进行俄语教学的压力。一些教师被告知，他们将被送往克里米亚接受再教育，尽管没有人知道有谁真的去了。

赫尔松与乌克兰其他地区的联系已被切断了三个月。俄罗斯在占领的头几天就停止了对乌克兰电视的传输。有卫星天线的人仍然可以观看外国和乌克兰新闻，但许多老年人现在只看俄罗斯的宣传。一位妇女告诉我们，她的母亲已经开始重复俄罗斯的说法，即乌克兰是由纳粹统治的，讲俄语的人正在被压迫。

许多专业人士已经离开。企业仍然关闭，很多人失业，越来越没有钱。一些人前往附近的克里米亚，那里在2014年被俄罗斯非法吞并，购买货物带回去卖。他们可能会被嘲笑为黑市商人，但目前这是将大多数货物--尤其是香烟和汽油--运入赫尔松的唯一途径。

目前还不清楚有多少人已经逃离赫尔松。据当地人估计，可能有三分之一的人已经逃离了。只有两条路可以出去。一条是往南走，穿过克里米亚，然后进入俄罗斯，穿过高加索山脉，到达格鲁吉亚。另一条需要穿越前线到达米科拉夫，由于持续的战斗和关闭的检查站，这条路经常被封锁数日。

萨尼塔通过在志愿巡逻队的服务与俄罗斯士兵建立了联系。他说："我第一次去找俄罗斯人，是为了不让谢尔盖被触及，"他说。"然后我开始与他们建立沟通。他们反复向我证明，他们希望城市有秩序。" 帕夫柳克认为，这种认可可能已经到了萨尼塔的头上。他开始说 "我就是法律 "之类的话。

4月下旬，俄罗斯军队取消了志愿巡逻队，用军事警察取代他们。萨尼塔尔要求俄罗斯人在前线对面开辟一条通往米科拉夫的绿色通道，以允许他带入医疗用品。他们拒绝了，说他可以在克里米亚获得他所需要的东西。萨尼塔告诉我们，他曾三次去克里米亚买药。在边境口岸，两个方向都排起了长队。作为一名人道主义志愿者，他有一张特殊的通行证，不必等待。"他说："乌克兰人可能会讨厌我这么说，但俄罗斯人真的只是普通人。如果你需要什么，你可以去问他们。他们不会做任何对你不利的事情。"

"如果我们被迫在这里为卢布工作，不要说我们是叛徒......我们将需要以某种方式生活"

4月6日，帕夫柳克在一次小规模的示威活动中去大广场周围 "散步"。在外出时，他接到了萨尼塔的电话，他急切地问他："你在哪里？" 萨尼塔的一个俄罗斯联系人打电话说，帕夫柳克应该立即离开广场，否则他将被逮捕。帕夫留克说："很明显，我被监视了，""我被遗忘的希望已经消失了。"

俄罗斯的镇压在4月间不断升级。帕夫留克的一个朋友是剧院院长，也是赫尔松州议会的议员，一天早上在枪口下从他的公寓里被带走，被审问了一整天，当天晚上被扔在离家很远的路边。帕夫留克在市政巡逻队的一名同事因试图购买无人机而被捕。他被关押了一个月才被释放。巡逻队的另一名成员被拘留了三天，并在获释前接受了一次模拟处决。


我们在赫尔松与萨尼塔通过Zoom交谈。他坚持说，如果我们写他的事，就用他的真名。"我没有什么可隐瞒的，对乌克兰情报局、俄罗斯情报局、联邦调查局、中央情报局或索马里海盗。我是一个非常诚实的人，我总是做正确的事情，"他说。他已经不再看网上的新闻，因为他发现很难知道该相信什么。相反，他给乌克兰各地不同城市的朋友打电话，了解发生了什么。"赫尔松的俄罗斯人有他们的立场，"他说。"乌克兰人有我们的立场。在这种情况下，你不知道明天醒来是在俄罗斯的占领下，还是在一片完全被烧毁的土地上，还是在乌克兰的控制下。"


萨尼塔没有说任何让我们认为他亲俄的话。但他的言论的公平性可能会被乌克兰的游击队理解为如此。萨尼塔担心，如果乌克兰人发动反攻，赫尔松可能成为另一个马里乌波尔。"他说："这里的人只想活下去，并找到解决问题的外交办法。然后他承认，"也许这只是我个人的愿望"。

在5月底的一篇Facebook帖子中，萨尼塔抨击了乌克兰政府的腐败、放弃赫尔松并延长戒严令。他对一位被乌克兰军队杀害的朋友的死亡表示哀叹。他厌倦了等待解放的日子。"如果我们被迫在这里为卢布工作，不要说我们是叛徒......我们将需要以某种方式生活。" 他认识到自己已经成为一个分裂的人物：有些人感谢他为分发援助而做出的努力，有些人则谴责他是一个合作者。"这里的人明白我在做什么。我提供帮助。我可以解决任何问题。他们可以依靠我。那些不在这里的人不理解我，开始恨我。"

当我们在5月初第一次与萨尼塔交谈时，他认为关于加入俄罗斯的公投不太可能：行政基础设施不完善，大多数居民会抵制它。最近他说，赫尔松的人们可能会接受占领的现实并默许。他对克里米亚的访问给他带来了惊喜。"我被灌输了八年的信息，说克里米亚的一切都很糟糕。但那里一切都很好。他们自己参加了公投，因为他们想加入俄罗斯，因为上帝是他们的法官。赫尔松也将如此。"

4月中旬，帕夫柳克和他的家人谈到了离开。但通往米科拉夫的路很危险。在检查站，俄罗斯军队正在寻找有乌克兰民族主义纹身的人，并翻阅手机，寻找有罪的信息。他们经常无缘无故地让人们返回。偶尔他们也会让一些人逃走，也许他们认为摆脱亲乌克兰的活动分子更好。

这家人决定在4月18日前往。他们早上5点出发的时候，天气很冷，还下着雨。帕夫留克的妻子塔蒂亚娜开车，帕夫留克坐在他们的小尼桑车的副驾驶座上，两岁的女儿坐在他的腿上。他的另外三个女儿和儿子坐在后座上。帕夫留克的大女儿安吉丽娜的未婚夫德米特罗坐在前面的车上。这条路线带他们穿过土路上残破的村庄，经过烧毁的汽车和被毁坏的房屋。塔蒂亚娜对雷区保持警惕，小心翼翼地在其他汽车开出的凹槽里行驶。这段通常需要40分钟的旅程持续了六个小时。

"在你习惯了持续的爆炸之后，安静才是你的致命伤"

检查站的俄罗斯军队看起来又脏又累。有些人非常年轻，没有盔甲或头盔。士兵们的眼睛一直盯着地面。帕夫柳克在一份积极分子名单上，德米特罗带着一个U盘，里面装满了他在战争初期拍摄的俄罗斯军车照片。恶劣的天气对他们有利。这似乎让俄罗斯人非常痛苦，他们只是挥手让汽车通过。

当他们到达乌克兰防线时，一家人对这种对比感到惊叹。安吉丽娜说："乌克兰士兵看起来多么漂亮！"。"你可以看到两支军队之间有如此大的差别。乌克兰人装备精良，穿着干净的军装，直视着我们的眼睛。他们告诉我们，'一切都会好起来的'"。

帕夫留克离开赫尔松两周后，我在基辅郊区他们借住的房子里见到了他和他的家人。那是一个温暖的春日，我们坐在阳台上。帕夫柳克夫妇仍在努力理解他们在占领下的经历和基辅相对和平的奇怪之处。"安吉丽娜说："在你习惯了持续的爆炸之后，安静才是最重要的。" 她的姐姐想念她在赫尔松照顾的难民儿童。"我是如此忙碌和有用。现在我们被困在这里，什么都不做。

帕夫柳克一直与萨尼塔保持联系，但发现他越来越难以交谈。"他说："我想他在战争中得到了肾上腺素。"他是巡逻队中的一个重要人物，是一个决策者，当巡逻队结束后，他就失去了这种感觉。" 帕夫柳克认为，萨尼塔继续与俄罗斯人打交道，满足了他在聚光灯下的需求。

在我们交谈时，帕夫柳克六岁的女儿弗拉达（Vlada）在花园里跳来跳去，她有一头浸染过的红发和绿色的眼睛。她拿着帕夫留克在占领之初在水坑里找到的破旧的旗子，像披风一样飘扬。然后她把它铺在一堆垫子上，做了一张床，睡着了。

帕夫柳克几乎不敢相信地告诉我，"这面旗子"，"一直和我在一起，经历了每一次示威"。

温德尔-斯特文森曾报道过后苏联时期的格鲁吉亚、伊拉克战争和埃及革命。你可以在这里阅读她之前为《1843》杂志从乌克兰发回的报道，以及我们其他的报道。玛尔塔-罗迪奥诺娃曾担任电视记者和创意制作人。

照片：Moises Saman/Magnum