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On a river between Ukraine and the EU, border guards search for draft evaders
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VELYKYI BYCHKIV, Ukraine — A few months ago, Vitalii Barelin was in eastern Ukraine, using drones to hunt Russian troops invading his homeland. Now the 25-year-old soldier is on a river in the west, chasing his own countrymen: Ukrainians trying to escape conscription.
“They think they are smarter than you,” he says, “because you fought in the war, and they’re running away.”
With Russia’s war on Ukraine now in its third year, the Ukrainian military is managing troop shortages through the mass conscription of men ages 25-60. Though draft-age men are banned from leaving the country, tens of thousands have fled since the beginning of the war in February 2022, according to the border authorities of neighboring countries.
At least 15,000 have escaped through Romania, according to the Romanian border patrol police. One escape route is the Tisza River, which separates Romania from Ukraine for 39 miles.
Barelin and another border guard, 30-year-old Artem Shakhovalov, walk along a portion of the river that is less than 300 feet across. On the other side — Romania — a man in bright-red shorts is clearly visible, riding his bicycle.
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This route is popular; an app developer even created a game about swimming across the river, though he emphasized to NPR that “it is not designed for practical instructions and cannot help” in actually crossing the river.
Indeed, Shakhovalov says, crossing the river in real life is no game.
“It’s treacherous,” he says.
A whirlpool with rocks
The danger, he says, begins on the rocky riverbank. Those wading in often slip on the mossy rocks and hit their heads. Some are knocked unconscious. Those who don’t slip wade into the river — a narrow brown ribbon of rapids — believing it’s easy to cross, Shakhovalov says.
“Look, the river looks like it’s waist-deep but it has really strong undercurrents, so those trying to swim would feel like they’re spinning,” he says, like being in a whirlpool with rocks.
Dozens have drowned. Others are badly injured, like a man Shakhovalov apprehended recently.
“He was my age, about 30,” Shakhovalov says, “and he wanted to reunite with his wife and child in the European Union.”
Most men try to cross the river at night, says Lesya Fedorova, spokesperson for the Mukachevo division of the border guard, which monitors the Tisza River.
“They think we can’t see them then, but we have thermal vision equipment,” she says, adding that the border guards also use drones and cameras to monitor the river.
Fedorova scrolls through photos on her phone of captured men. Some look disoriented. Others have strapped children’s inflatable pool floaties to their arms and chest.
“They never say anything,” she says. “They are ashamed. Because it’s wrong to run away when your country needs you the most.”
Optics and propaganda
Andriy Demchenko, lead spokesperson for Ukraine’s border guard service, told NPR that the agency contacts the military after apprehending men trying to cross the border illegally. The military recruitment centers can then decide if they want to mobilize the men. Courts also impose fines.
Those who manage to cross to Romania request some form of protection, says Iulia Stan, spokesperson of the Sighetu Marmatiei Border Police, which is in charge of most of the border with Ukraine along northern Romania.
Stopping draft evaders from fleeing Ukraine is not just about replenishing troops. It’s about optics: Ukraine’s government wants to show Western partners that the country remains united in defending the country.
There are also concerns that stories about Ukrainian men running away from military service also “play into Russian propaganda” that says Ukraine is losing the war, says Serhii Kuzan, who leads the Ukrainian Security and Cooperation Center in Kyiv, an independent think tank focusing on defense issues.
“In reality,” he argues, “thanks to mobilization, we were able to release combat-ready units and carry out a successful offensive in [Russia’s] Kursk region this month.”
Whoever can, runs away
Those fleeing conscription have found sympathy in the border village of Velykyi Bychkiv, which is near the Tisza River.
Villagers interviewed by NPR say the mass conscription drive has turned their town into a zone of fear. Police and border guards are among the few draft-age men walking past the town’s vegetable stands and a small inn called Twin Peaks.
Villagers like Yulian, 26, say most draft-age men who haven’t enlisted are too afraid to leave their homes.
“I know people who won’t even go to the store,” he says.
Like other draft-age men interviewed here, Yulian declines to give his last name to avoid being targeted by police. He meets NPR at the pizza and sushi restaurant he runs.
“All my friends are either on the front line or have left Ukraine,” he says, pointing toward the river. “I stay because I’ve got my business.”
As required by law, he has registered with the military and always has his documents with him. He says he constantly worries about being picked up when he’s out making deliveries.
He brings up a couple of male acquaintances in their 20s who were detained after standing near the river.
“They were just talking,” Yulian says. “The border guards came up to them and asked, ‘What are you doing here?’ Border guards think everyone wants to cross the river. They forced the men into a car and took them away.”
At a small cafe down the street, another draft-age man, Vasyl, says he slips out of hiding to work shifts here. He needs the money to support his ailing grandmother, whom he says he cares for with his sister.
Before the war, Vasyl had a job at a meat-packing plant in the Czech Republic that paid him three times what could make for the same job in Ukraine.
“If I had the opportunity, of course I would go again,” he says.
He says he’s afraid to cross the river by himself and can’t afford to pay a smuggler $5,000 to help him get out.
“Whoever can,” he says, “runs away.”
Another path
Vasyl stops talking when a couple of men in camouflage green walk in.
They are soldiers who just finished a long tour of duty but have already received new mobilization orders. They’re in their mid-20s and say their names are Serhiy and Oleksii. They decline to give their surnames because of military protocol.
Both say they have no plans to leave the country but understand why some men do. This war seems to go on forever, Oleksii says, and “everyone wants to live.”
Back on the banks of the Tisza River, border guard Vitalii Barelin points to the 7-foot reeds where men escaping try to hide. Then he brings up the front line.
He says he tells himself: “You were there, you didn’t see your family for a long time and risked your life for your country. And these men chose another path.”
Barelin says those who escape should never be allowed to return to Ukraine.
“They are not worthy of living here,” he says.
They are as dead to him as the bodies found in the Tisza River.
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