travel alone and to photograph number-
plates of cars.
Tymur is the son of Ukraine’s leading
war correspondent, Andriy Tsaplienko,
who is in hospital in Kyiv after being
wounded covering the shelling of a vil-
lage near Chernihiv. He is worried about
his father, who took him and his mother
to Poland on the first day of war before
heading back, but wanted to help other
refugees. “I went to the station and saw
the chaos, people in stressful situations
and very vulnerable and I’d seen what my
dad did setting up networks to free traf-
ficked Ukrainian women from Liberia a
few years ago, so was aware of the risks.”
It is easy to see how it happens. War-
saw is the centre of the refugee crisis. Not
only has it taken in 300,000 refugees (a
huge stretch on resources in a city of just
1.7 million) but millions more have
passed through.
At Warsaw Central, every few hours
another train arrives from Kyiv or Lviv or
eastern Poland and disgorges dazed-
looking people, almost all women clutch-
ing wheelie bags and children, some with
cats or dogs, one little girl with a white rat
peeking out from inside her pink hood.
It’s grey and cold, snow falling thinly.
Their numbers are fewer than at the
beginning of the war but these people are
more desperate than those in the initial
rush. “More are coming who have no idea
where to go, what to do next and don’t
have any connections or resources — and
of course that makes them much more
vulnerable,” says Joanna Nahorska from
Norwegian Refugee Council.
Some head straight to the ticket office
to move onto Berlin, Vienna or Prague —
Poland is offering free train travel to all
Ukrainians. Others look in despair at the
Poland desk which warns that most cities
are full and suggests heading to towns.
Among them is Viktoria Zinchuk, 28,
an English teacher from central Ukraine
with two children of five and three run-
ning round and a two-month-old baby in
a pushchair. “I don’t know anyone here,”
she says. “But there were explosions
every day. I left to save the lives of my chil-
dren — I had no other choice.”
They took a series of trains and lifts
and arrived exhausted. She was lucky to
find a family to stay with for a month
through a Facebook link she was given on
arrival. “After that I don’t know,” she
shrugs. “I don’t have anywhere to go.
Maybe I can come to London?”
She was waiting for her mother who
had refused to leave until a missile hit her
neighbour’s house a few days ago. She
was supposed to be on a train from Kra-
kow but was not answering her phone.
Her children come running back with
big smiles and a bag of chocolate and toys
someone has given them.
Nearby is Leda Shevchenko, 31, on her
own, pale and wan. She came from Kyiv
in the first week after a missile hit her
neighbour’s home. “Everyone was run-
ning,” she says, “we had nothing but the
clothes on our backs and didn’t know
where we were going.”
Less than half the people know where
they are going, says British volunteer
Edward Pinkney, 35. Last week one
approached him with a letter from an
uncle in the UK. When he looked at it, it
was from the 1990s — they did not know if
he was still alive. “I felt a chill that people
could be so desperate they would pull out
a letter from someone they haven’t had
contact with for 25 years,” he says. “I goo-
gled him but nothing popped up.”
He and others help those wanting to
apply to the UK scheme with forms
mostly still in English and “so convo-
luted”, he says, “like a jigsaw puzzle with
no picture”. “We are still waiting to hear
nine days on from submitting them and
people are very vulnerable while they
wait.” No one from the British embassy or
Home Office has been seen.
The scheme has also come in for criti-
cism for being left up to individuals to
match with Ukrainians, prompting some
to dub it “Tinder for sex traffickers”.
Back at Warsaw Central, Viktoria gets a
call. A man has found her mother Gud-
wina, 57. There is a tearful reunion with
her grandchildren. She opens her bag
where instead of clothes there are sweets
and toys for the children. “Oh Mum,”
despairs Viktoria. Her mother tells her
she has signed up to go on a bus to Switz-
erland. “I don’t know anything about it,”
she says. “But I can do cleaning, what-
ever. We Ukrainians are hard workers.”
@ChristinaLamb
CHRISTINA
LAMB
Warsaw
Shady
people
hang
around
A Ukrainian photojournalist and
documentary-maker missing for
more than two weeks has been found
dead near Kyiv. The body of Maks
Levin, 40, a father of four who
worked with Ukrainian and
international media, was found on
Friday. A local prosecutor’s office
said he was killed by two shots fired
by Russian forces, the AFP news
agency reported. Three Ukrainian
journalists and three foreign
journalists have now been killed
since the war began on February 24,
Reporters sans Frontières said.
“Targeting journalists is a war crime,”
the organisation tweeted, adding
that Levin had been unarmed and
wearing a press jacket.
BODY OF MISSING
JOURNALIST FOUND
FELIPE DANA/AP; MACIEK JAZWIECKI FOR THE SUNDAY TIMES
Predators exploit lack of checks to drag
women and children into a new hell
Traffickers pretending to be doctors and Good Samaritans are taking advantage of border chaos to deceive evacuees
15 The Sunday Times April 3, 2022
WAR IN UKRAINE
The Sunday Times April 3, 2022 15
Ukrainian soldiers have been able
to fortify their defensive positions
It is difficult to form an objective view of
the war. Ministry of Defence and
Pentagon briefings are presumably
based on their vast intelligence
apparatus, but both nations are
understandably tight-lipped in their
assessment of Ukraine’s forces and
tactics.
Nevertheless, it is possible for military
experts to sift out a general sense of how
the war’s character is changing.
CHANGING DYNAMICS
Ukrainian forces have put up an
unexpectedly effective defence and still
hold the northern city of Kharkiv and
the capital, Kyiv. Russian advances have
been hampered by poor tactics,
leadership and logistics, with forward
units running out of ammunition, fuel,
food and water. Russia has not achieved
air superiority — key for success. And the
Ukrainian military’s ability to command
and control its forces appears intact.
At this stage both sides are seeking to
convert military success into leverage in
the peace talks.
The statement by Moscow’s general
staff that efforts would focus on securing
those parts of Donetsk and Luhansk not
controlled by pro-Moscow rebels was
evidence that Russia has adjusted its
campaign. We can expect it to devote
ammunition and fuel on forces attacking
the Ukrainian brigades defending
Donbas. It is likely that strikes will
intensify in this region.
Over the past five years in Donbas, the
Ukrainian army has fortified its
defensive positions. Successfully
attacking this zone will require heavy
firepower led by competent tactical
commanders.
Russian forces have had their greatest
successes in the south. This may reflect
better logistics, drawing on a fuel and
ammunition stockpile in Crimea, or use
of more competent military formations.
The terrain is far less wooded, making it
more suitable for armoured forces.
These Russian southern forces may
attack northwards to threaten Ukrainian
forces in Donbas with encirclement.
Should the siege of Mariupol succeed,
the besieging forces could be reassigned
northwards. Russian troops are also
attacking towards Donbas from the
north. Should these threats materialise,
they could force a hard choice on the
Ukrainian general staff: to stand and
fight, at the risk of being encircled, or to
attempt to withdraw to the west, which
would be difficult.
Russia also said it would reduce the
intensity of its attacks around Kyiv,
Chernihiv and Kharkiv. But the Russian
army will probably still mount attacks
there, using the guns and rocket-
launchers it retains to weaken
counterattacks. Such strikes may make it
more difficult for Ukraine to redeploy
forces to Donbas.
We can expect that in areas where the
Russian offensive has run out of steam,
the Ukrainian army will continue to
mount counterattacks. These are likely
to be limited, as Ukraine needs to
husband its resources for Donbas.
THE OTHER WARS
There is an international campaign to
prevent a Russian victory: diplomacy,
information, intelligence, sanctions and
supply of military material.
The supply of weaponry depends on
transfer, presumably on the western
border. Reports also point to Ukrainian
aircraft collecting supplies throughout
Europe. Russia is attempting to disrupt
this, probably using signals intelligence,
reconnaissance satellites, long-range
drones, special forces, agents and
informers.
There is evidence of the Russian air
force increasing the number of its radar
surveillance aircraft deployed. Should
the Ukrainian air force be overwhelmed,
Russian fighters, bombers and attack
helicopters would be able to operate
much more freely. Some would be
directed to support the effort over
Donbas. But Russia would also be able to
deploy more surveillance,
reconnaissance and strike aircraft in the
west. This would increase its ability to
identify how supplies enter Ukraine and
flow to the front line and then attack
supply convoys and storage areas.
ASSET AND VULNERABILITY
Kyiv’s military strategy is of defence —
including using diplomacy and a
modern information campaign. In this,
President Zelensky is the greatest asset.
Russia is unlikely to attempt to shut all
the video links out of Kyiv: it needs at
least one channel to conduct peace
negotiations. But no one should think
that Russia would pass over an
opportunity to kill Zelensky.
So far Ukraine has frustrated all
Russia’s strategic aims but
commentators who predict a Ukrainian
victory may be over-optimistic. The
vulnerable supply lines are essential to
Ukraine’s ability to prevail on land.
At the height of the Battle of Waterloo,
the Duke of Wellington reportedly said:
“Hard pounding this, gentlemen, but we
will see who can pound the longest.”
Brigadier Ben Barry (retired) is senior
fellow for land warfare at the
International Institute for Strategic
Studies. He is the author of Blood, Metal
and Dust: How Victory Turned into Defeat
in Afghanistan and Iraq
Ukraine
continues
to frustrate
Russia, but
Putin will
keep on
pounding
Zelensky
needs to
husband his
resources
for Donbas
H
e described himself as a Danish
doctor so moved by the stories
he had heard from his Ukrain-
ian cleaner that he had jumped
in his Tesla and driven 1,
miles from Copenhagen to the
Polish-Ukrainian border to res-
cue people fleeing from war.
They happened to be two attractive
young women with young children who
were scared and exhausted, knew no one
and were delighted to find a free ride.
The women soon realised it was a ride
with strings attached, and by the time the
man had stopped at the Blue Diamond
spa hotel in the Polish town of Rzeszow to
recharge his car, they were terrified.
When he disappeared to get a coffee,
they begged the manager for help. “I
could see there was something wrong,”
says Tomasz Filipek. “The man looked
more like a gangster than a doctor and
the girls were scared.”
When he told him, “Those girls are not
going anywhere with you”, the man
became aggressive and Filipek called the
police. The man fled.
Those women had a lucky escape.
Filipek and the owner took them into
their own families and arranged for them
to go to Germany, where they are now.
Five weeks into the war, it is becoming
clear that among the outpouring of gen-
erosity that has received international
acclaim — all those holding placards at
borders and stations offering free rides
and rooms — are some trying to take
advantage
More and more stories have been
emerging of indecent proposals like the
“Danish doctor”, the men at Berlin sta-
tion offering money to go with them, or
the minibus to France which stopped in
the middle of nowhere and demanded
refugees pay $1,000 to continue. One vol-
unteer at the border told how he received
a phone call ordering “a female Ukrain-
ian and a 12-year-old boy”. Others have
been asking for babies to adopt.
“The way I see it, this is a war on
women and children,” says Tatiana
Kotlyarenko, an adviser on anti-traffick-
ing, “and we may be sending them from
one hell to another.”
Unprecedented numbers of refugees
pouring into Europe — more than four
million in five weeks — means unprece-
dented risks, particularly as almost all are
women and children and from a country
which already had one of the highest traf-
ficking flows in Europe. There is no catch-
all registering process for the new arriv-
als and no means of keeping track. Nor is
there a record of who is picking them up.
Many observers fear that having
escaped war, these refugees face being
trafficked and forced into sexual
exploitation, prostitution or labour
exploitation. For a global trafficking
industry estimated to rack up $
billion per year, rarely has there been
such an opportunity.
Within days of the war starting,
there was such a surge in online
searches for “Ukrainian women and
sex” that it alerted security agencies.
“The vast majority of those leaving
Ukraine are women and girls and the vast
majority of those trafficked are women
and girls so you can see the math is not
good,” warns Val Richey, a special repre-
sentative for combating human traffick-
ing at the Organisation for Security and
Co-operation in Europe. “It’s a toxic
cocktail of risk.”
His office will hold an international
conference in Vienna this week which
will call for urgent measures on traffick-
ing. The US Senate committee on foreign
relations will hear testimony on the issue
from Kotlyarenko this week and Interpol
has sent a mission to Moldova.
“The whole NGO world is very con-
cerned,” says Aagje Leven, secretary gen-
eral at Missing Children Europe. “This
level of chaos and mass of people is a
huge opportunity for traffickers to get in
touch far faster than governments will
take measures.”
She is particularly concerned about
children and large numbers arriving
unaccompanied and points out that at
least 10,000 children disappeared in
Europe’s last refugee crisis in 2015. This
time round the refugee numbers are
much higher and checks are fewer — in
trying to facilitate Ukrainians by offer-
ing visa-free movement through the
EU, it is harder to monitor.
Some young Ukrainians are taking
matters into their own hands. Every
day after online lessons, Tymur Tsapli-
enko and his best friend Dasha Griban,
both 16, head to Warsaw Central sta-
tion where they don hi-vis jackets and
hand out blue and yellow leaflets to
arriving refugees, warning them not to
ck-
om
ees
our
ce-
are
try
af-
ch-
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up.
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She
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Women and children wait for
help after fleeing besieged
Mariupol; Tymur Tsaplienko,
below left, and Dasha Griban
are warning refugees at Warsaw
Central station about trafficking
ANALYSIS
BEN
BARRY