Hello. My name is Iryna Dovhan. I live in a small town near Donetsk. Before the war events broke out in my region, I was the owner of a private beauty salon, where I worked as a self-employed esthetician.
When propaganda started to occur actively in my region in the summer and spring of 2014, I spoke out. I took an active stance and started campaigning among the people in the surrounding area for the unity of the state and I talked about the possible risks if a neighbouring state should intervene.
However, the events were developing very quickly, precipitately, and it was becoming impossible and dangerous to express one’s opinion. In my own town, armed people wearing military fatigues started to show up, who spoke with a distinct Russian accent. Donetsk was completely filled up with military men. Artillery positions were beginning to be set up, there were more and more arms showing up in the region.
I drove out to the free territory, up to the first checkpoint of the Ukrainian army; I introduced myself to the Ukrainian military men, and talked to them. These people were wearing faded and torn clothing, they were starving, and they had no personal care supplies. There were all these horrific things, and this was my Ukrainian army.
On my return home, I became decisively involved in collecting funds for the Ukrainian soldiers. Other women joined me; because of the nature of my business, I was acquainted with a great many of them. We started collecting blankets, clothing, and bedsheets. We cooked meals and virtually daily we took risks to bring the food to the Ukrainian army.
With every passing day it was becoming more and more difficult. For our last trip, we managed to obtain some camouflage uniforms through volunteers in Kiev. We took them to the new deployment site of the brigade that we were helping. Having returned home, I was caught in a serious shelling attack. A shell landed in my backyard. My house was damaged. For several days I hid in the cellar, and my neighbours also hid in my cellar.
To avoid risks, I sent to the free territories all the notes that I took when people were giving me money to help the Ukrainian army. The person who was carrying these records was detained by the terrorists, beaten badly, and to save his own life he said that he was carrying things given to him by a “Ukropian”, gave them my address, and told them that I was…that I had been actively campaigning for Ukraine and that I had a Ukrainian flag in my car.
Armed men came in two vehicles to get me. There were local people as well as military men who spoke with a Russian accent. They broke into my house and beat me up badly. I told them the code for my safe right away. They searched through the entire house, turning it upside down and taking everything of value right away—computers, TVs, and jewellery. They found two pairs of my husband’s binoculars, which gave them the grounds to accuse me of being the sighter and spotter for the Ukrainian artillery, and they handcuffed and blindfolded me and took me to Donetsk to the Vostok battalion.
There I was subjected to rough interrogations; they wanted me to give them the names and addresses of the people who took part, together with me, in helping the Ukrainian army. I resisted as much as I could because I understood what this would mean for those people, so they sent me to be interrogated by the Ossetian unit, which was a part of this Vostok battalion. These were very cruel and heartless people. They beat me, stripped me, fired a pistol close to my ear, and threatened me with rape, and I said many of the things that I had not intended to say. I gave them the last names of people whom I knew to have already left town.
After I had told them everything, they took me to a square in Donetsk, put me next to a post, and wrote up a sign saying “murderess of children” and “agent of the punitive forces”, and people passing by were beating me. Vehicles with signs saying “allahu akbar” drove up and those people also beat me and tried to shoot me through the kneecap. This lasted for about five hours.
In the meantime, I saw a man wearing a white shirt take a picture of me. He was a foreign journalist, and that photograph, which was published in The New York Times, saved my life.
Back there in the square, while I stood next to the post for about five hours, another faction tried to grab me, but those who brought me there fought them off and took me back to the Vostok battalion. Again I was subjected to cruel torture. They kicked me in the chest and sprayed gas from a cartridge in my face. I saw…I was in a narrow cell, in a room with about 10 military men. I saw other people brought there, being badly beaten and taken to some other cells for further interrogation.
I cannot tell you about all the horror that I lived through during those five days. I had nothing to eat or drink. I was not given any water. I am still unable to find the strength to talk about some details of what happened to me over there.
Thank you.