“He dreams of writing a book. And I dream of hugging him.” The story of Serhiy Tsygipa, a journalist and volunteer from Kherson, who was sentenced to 13 years in Russia
Source: Signal to Resist
Authors: Ivan Antypenko, Viktoria Novikova
On March 12, 2022, in the temporarily occupied city of Nova Kakhovka in the Kherson region, Russian security forces abducted Serhiy Tsygipa—a Ukrainian writer, journalist, volunteer, and former soldier.
More than three years have passed since then, and this story remains shrouded in a shadow of torture, intimidation, and systematic lawlessness.
Victoria Novikova and Ivan Antypenko spoke with Serhiy Tsygipa’s wife and tried to uncover the circumstances surrounding yet another Russian war crime.
After a pro-Ukrainian rally held in Nova Kakhovka in the early days of the occupation, acquaintances warned Serhiy Tsygipa that Russian special services had begun monitoring local activists.
He went into hiding for several days, spending the nights at friends’ homes. And on the morning of March 12, he told his wife, Olena, that he was going to visit a friend in Tavriysk and walk the dog.
“I asked him not to go that way,” Olena recalls. “I saw a car there that seemed to be watching him. But my husband didn’t listen. It wasn’t until later that I realized they were probably already following him. He didn’t come back. And that’s when the countdown began—a time when every day feels like an eternity.”
A Man of Words
Before the full-scale invasion, Serhiy Tsygipa was well known in Nova Kakhovka: a writer, freelance journalist, veteran of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and reserve major. His wife, Olena, worked as an assistant principal at a school and taught art.
“Serhiy always held a pro-Ukrainian stance. Since 2014, he openly mocked the regimes of Yanukovych, Putin, and Lukashenko,” says Olena. “He considered Russians to be enemies—and never hid that fact.” After the city was occupied, he stated clearly: ‘This is a hybrid war. Information is also a weapon. I will fight with words.”
From the very first days of the Russian occupation, Serhiy actively volunteered: he delivered medicine and food, bought yeast for local bakeries, and helped people who couldn’t leave their homes. Together with his wife, he created makeshift badges with Ukrainian symbols so that people would know they were dealing with our volunteers.
Then the journalist began reporting on the actions of the occupying army and the self-proclaimed administration: he launched a Telegram channel and collected photos and videos from eyewitnesses.
The Day of the Abduction
Olena Tsygipa says that early in the morning on March 12, when her husband left the house, she began to worry, but didn’t want to alarm her relatives. She thought maybe he’d been detained, intimidated, and would be released—after all, that had happened before with other activists.
However, the next day, the wife of journalist Oleg Baturin wrote that after meeting with Serhiy, he, too, had disappeared. That’s when Olena realized—this wasn’t just a detention.
As Baturin himself later recounted, the occupying security services lured him out under the pretext of a supposed message from Tsygipa about a meeting, in order to detain him as well. The Russians interrogated him in Nova Kakhovka and in Kherson, using physical force, but released him shortly thereafter. Serhiy Tsygipa was less fortunate.
Olena began searching for potential witnesses to her husband’s detention along the route he was supposed to take. She found out that people at the checkpoints had seen Serhiy being stopped and having his belongings and documents checked. His wife rushed out to look for him. She retraced his entire route, went to police stations, and appealed to city hall, where collaborators were already in control.
“Leontyev wrote down my phone number and address,” Olena recalls. “He said, ‘Don’t worry, your husband will be back soon.’ But I knew something was wrong.”
“Special Operations Forces Officer”
The first news about Serhiy came on May 17, 2022—the day of the funeral for Olena’s mother, who died two months after her son-in-law was abducted. One of the captives from Kherson returned home and said he had heard the surname Tsygip during roll call at Pretrial Detention Center No. 1 in Simferopol.
A short time later, acquaintances showed Olena a video that had been published on Russian propaganda channels. In it, Serhiy was forced to say that Ukraine was staging provocations against its own citizens in the Donetsk region—specifically, the alleged deliberate shelling of Kramatorsk. It also claimed that the atrocities committed by the Russian army during the occupation of Bucha and other settlements in the Kyiv region had been staged.
“I knew they’d done something to him, that they’d forced him to say those things,” Olena explains. “I looked at how he looked: thin, gaunt, with a short haircut—he had never been like that before.”
In the video’s captions, the captive was identified as a “special operations officer.” Perhaps the Russians’ main grievance against him was his service in the Ukrainian Armed Forces from 2015 to 2017.
Later, Oleksandr—who had been held in the pretrial detention center with Serhiy at the time and managed to be released—told Olena that all the detainees there were tortured with electric shocks. Serhiy was told that if he didn’t appear in the video, all his relatives would be detained and tortured.
Authors: Ivan Antypenko, Viktoria Novikova
On March 12, 2022, in the temporarily occupied city of Nova Kakhovka in the Kherson region, Russian security forces abducted Serhiy Tsygipa—a Ukrainian writer, journalist, volunteer, and former soldier.
More than three years have passed since then, and this story remains shrouded in a shadow of torture, intimidation, and systematic lawlessness.
Victoria Novikova and Ivan Antypenko spoke with Serhiy Tsygipa’s wife and tried to uncover the circumstances surrounding yet another Russian war crime.
After a pro-Ukrainian rally held in Nova Kakhovka in the early days of the occupation, acquaintances warned Serhiy Tsygipa that Russian special services had begun monitoring local activists.
He went into hiding for several days, spending the nights at friends’ homes. And on the morning of March 12, he told his wife, Olena, that he was going to visit a friend in Tavriysk and walk the dog.
“I asked him not to go that way,” Olena recalls. “I saw a car there that seemed to be watching him. But my husband didn’t listen. It wasn’t until later that I realized they were probably already following him. He didn’t come back. And that’s when the countdown began—a time when every day feels like an eternity.”
A Man of Words
Before the full-scale invasion, Serhiy Tsygipa was well known in Nova Kakhovka: a writer, freelance journalist, veteran of the Armed Forces of Ukraine, and reserve major. His wife, Olena, worked as an assistant principal at a school and taught art.
“Serhiy always held a pro-Ukrainian stance. Since 2014, he openly mocked the regimes of Yanukovych, Putin, and Lukashenko,” says Olena. “He considered Russians to be enemies—and never hid that fact.” After the city was occupied, he stated clearly: ‘This is a hybrid war. Information is also a weapon. I will fight with words.”
From the very first days of the Russian occupation, Serhiy actively volunteered: he delivered medicine and food, bought yeast for local bakeries, and helped people who couldn’t leave their homes. Together with his wife, he created makeshift badges with Ukrainian symbols so that people would know they were dealing with our volunteers.
Then the journalist began reporting on the actions of the occupying army and the self-proclaimed administration: he launched a Telegram channel and collected photos and videos from eyewitnesses.
The Day of the Abduction
Olena Tsygipa says that early in the morning on March 12, when her husband left the house, she began to worry, but didn’t want to alarm her relatives. She thought maybe he’d been detained, intimidated, and would be released—after all, that had happened before with other activists.
However, the next day, the wife of journalist Oleg Baturin wrote that after meeting with Serhiy, he, too, had disappeared. That’s when Olena realized—this wasn’t just a detention.
As Baturin himself later recounted, the occupying security services lured him out under the pretext of a supposed message from Tsygipa about a meeting, in order to detain him as well. The Russians interrogated him in Nova Kakhovka and in Kherson, using physical force, but released him shortly thereafter. Serhiy Tsygipa was less fortunate.
Olena began searching for potential witnesses to her husband’s detention along the route he was supposed to take. She found out that people at the checkpoints had seen Serhiy being stopped and having his belongings and documents checked. His wife rushed out to look for him. She retraced his entire route, went to police stations, and appealed to city hall, where collaborators were already in control.
“Leontyev wrote down my phone number and address,” Olena recalls. “He said, ‘Don’t worry, your husband will be back soon.’ But I knew something was wrong.”
“Special Operations Forces Officer”
The first news about Serhiy came on May 17, 2022—the day of the funeral for Olena’s mother, who died two months after her son-in-law was abducted. One of the captives from Kherson returned home and said he had heard the surname Tsygip during roll call at Pretrial Detention Center No. 1 in Simferopol.
A short time later, acquaintances showed Olena a video that had been published on Russian propaganda channels. In it, Serhiy was forced to say that Ukraine was staging provocations against its own citizens in the Donetsk region—specifically, the alleged deliberate shelling of Kramatorsk. It also claimed that the atrocities committed by the Russian army during the occupation of Bucha and other settlements in the Kyiv region had been staged.
“I knew they’d done something to him, that they’d forced him to say those things,” Olena explains. “I looked at how he looked: thin, gaunt, with a short haircut—he had never been like that before.”
In the video’s captions, the captive was identified as a “special operations officer.” Perhaps the Russians’ main grievance against him was his service in the Ukrainian Armed Forces from 2015 to 2017.
Later, Oleksandr—who had been held in the pretrial detention center with Serhiy at the time and managed to be released—told Olena that all the detainees there were tortured with electric shocks. Serhiy was told that if he didn’t appear in the video, all his relatives would be detained and tortured.
Unidentified individuals—presumably representatives of Russian law enforcement agencies—contacted Olena several times in an attempt to obtain her husband’s documents: his military ID and foreign passport.
“I told them I wouldn’t hand anything over until I saw Serhiy via video call,” she says. “And the handover never took place.”
Unlawful Criminal Prosecution
In October 2022, human rights activists helped Olena find a lawyer. Although it was known exactly which detention center Tsygipa was being held in, the defense attorney sent dozens of requests to all agencies in occupied Crimea: in Alushta, Sevastopol, and Yevpatoria.
In the end, Olena and her lawyer received a single response confirming that such a person had indeed been detained.
“It was a very cunning response,” Olena recalls. “They wrote that they were investigating the extent to which his actions had harmed the ‘SVO’.”
By December of that same year, the lawyer reported that Serhiy had been officially charged with espionage. This is standard practice by the occupiers against Ukrainian activists. Article 276, “Espionage,” of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation provides for a maximum sentence of 20 years’ imprisonment.
Olena says that the Russians did not allow Serhiy to use the services of a private defense attorney. Each time, they forced him to sign a document waiving his right to such services—as a result, the lawyer was unable to attend any of Serhiy’s interrogations.
However, after the Russians filed formal charges, the couple was occasionally allowed to correspond via the ZONATELEKOM system.
Olena received some of her husband’s letters uncensored. Their content reflects her husband’s resilience in the face of captivity and torture.
“Sentence”: 13 Years
On October 6, 2023, Serhiy was handed an unlawful sentence—13 years of imprisonment. The Crimean court’s “sentence” states that Serhiy “collected and transmitted information, on behalf of foreign intelligence services, for use against the security of the Russian Federation.”
Olena, together with her attorney, continues to fight for her husband and has filed an appeal. The Russian Federation’s Court of Appeals upheld the sentence, so his wife filed a petition for cassation review.
“I didn’t expect the appeal to reduce the sentence, because the sentence for ‘espionage’ ranges from 10 to 20 years [in prison],” Olena explains. “But I still realized that the Russian authorities needed to understand: he hasn’t been forgotten, his family is fighting for Serhiy and will continue to do so.”
Serhiy Tsygipa is currently being held at Maximum-Security Colony No. 3 in the city of Skopin, in the Ryazan Region of the Russian Federation. According to Olena, “political” prisoners are held there:
“Serhiy refuses to work and refuses to take Russian citizenship. He says, ‘I am a retiree and a citizen of another country. This is slave labor.’”
Hope
Olena Tsygipa is one of the activists of the civil society organization “Civilians in Captivity,” which unites more than 400 families of civilians illegally imprisoned as hostages by the Kremlin. She travels to international forums, meets with politicians, and speaks at conferences where she addresses Russian war crimes.
“People often ask me, ‘Where do you find the strength?’ And I say, ‘It’s a way to survive,’” she explains. “If I don’t keep moving, I’ll simply lose my mind. It’s exhausting. But it also gives me strength.”
Olena dreams that after he returns, her husband will recover quickly—and that they’ll write a book together:
“I just know his nature, his energy. Maybe someday they’ll make a movie about our story. About him—in the prison camp. About me—here. It’s a story about love, about strength, about war. And about hope. I know he dreams of writing a book about it. And all I want is to just hold him in my arms.”
Russian authorities have been holding Serhiy Tsygipa as a civilian hostage for over a thousand days. His family is demanding his release and calling on the world not to remain silent.
This text was prepared in collaboration with The Reckoning Project—a global team of journalists and lawyers dedicated to reporting on and gathering evidence for the investigation of war crimes—specifically for Signal to Resist.
“I told them I wouldn’t hand anything over until I saw Serhiy via video call,” she says. “And the handover never took place.”
Unlawful Criminal Prosecution
In October 2022, human rights activists helped Olena find a lawyer. Although it was known exactly which detention center Tsygipa was being held in, the defense attorney sent dozens of requests to all agencies in occupied Crimea: in Alushta, Sevastopol, and Yevpatoria.
In the end, Olena and her lawyer received a single response confirming that such a person had indeed been detained.
“It was a very cunning response,” Olena recalls. “They wrote that they were investigating the extent to which his actions had harmed the ‘SVO’.”
By December of that same year, the lawyer reported that Serhiy had been officially charged with espionage. This is standard practice by the occupiers against Ukrainian activists. Article 276, “Espionage,” of the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation provides for a maximum sentence of 20 years’ imprisonment.
Olena says that the Russians did not allow Serhiy to use the services of a private defense attorney. Each time, they forced him to sign a document waiving his right to such services—as a result, the lawyer was unable to attend any of Serhiy’s interrogations.
However, after the Russians filed formal charges, the couple was occasionally allowed to correspond via the ZONATELEKOM system.
Olena received some of her husband’s letters uncensored. Their content reflects her husband’s resilience in the face of captivity and torture.
“Sentence”: 13 Years
On October 6, 2023, Serhiy was handed an unlawful sentence—13 years of imprisonment. The Crimean court’s “sentence” states that Serhiy “collected and transmitted information, on behalf of foreign intelligence services, for use against the security of the Russian Federation.”
Olena, together with her attorney, continues to fight for her husband and has filed an appeal. The Russian Federation’s Court of Appeals upheld the sentence, so his wife filed a petition for cassation review.
“I didn’t expect the appeal to reduce the sentence, because the sentence for ‘espionage’ ranges from 10 to 20 years [in prison],” Olena explains. “But I still realized that the Russian authorities needed to understand: he hasn’t been forgotten, his family is fighting for Serhiy and will continue to do so.”
Serhiy Tsygipa is currently being held at Maximum-Security Colony No. 3 in the city of Skopin, in the Ryazan Region of the Russian Federation. According to Olena, “political” prisoners are held there:
“Serhiy refuses to work and refuses to take Russian citizenship. He says, ‘I am a retiree and a citizen of another country. This is slave labor.’”
Hope
Olena Tsygipa is one of the activists of the civil society organization “Civilians in Captivity,” which unites more than 400 families of civilians illegally imprisoned as hostages by the Kremlin. She travels to international forums, meets with politicians, and speaks at conferences where she addresses Russian war crimes.
“People often ask me, ‘Where do you find the strength?’ And I say, ‘It’s a way to survive,’” she explains. “If I don’t keep moving, I’ll simply lose my mind. It’s exhausting. But it also gives me strength.”
Olena dreams that after he returns, her husband will recover quickly—and that they’ll write a book together:
“I just know his nature, his energy. Maybe someday they’ll make a movie about our story. About him—in the prison camp. About me—here. It’s a story about love, about strength, about war. And about hope. I know he dreams of writing a book about it. And all I want is to just hold him in my arms.”
Russian authorities have been holding Serhiy Tsygipa as a civilian hostage for over a thousand days. His family is demanding his release and calling on the world not to remain silent.
This text was prepared in collaboration with The Reckoning Project—a global team of journalists and lawyers dedicated to reporting on and gathering evidence for the investigation of war crimes—specifically for Signal to Resist.
This is an automatic translation generated by DeepL.