Occupied LDead Season. On Zaliznyi Port and Askania-Nova, the Fate of Collaborators, and Life on the Occupied Left Bank of Kherson Regioneft Bank
The left bank — the occupied part of Kherson Oblast.
The border between the two worlds is the Dnipro River. On one bank — Kherson, on the other — Russian troops, occupied towns and villages. Almost every Kherson resident has something left on that side — a summer cottage, a mother’s house, a seaside guesthouse, or relatives still living there.
Death flies across the river to Kherson every day — locals have learned to distinguish the deadly explosions by their sound.
Shells are sent into territory that, following a sham referendum, Russia «annexed» and enshrined in its constitution, considering it «its own». And yet, they mercilessly shell it.
Every day in Kherson — at least one person is killed, and up to ten wounded.
To get from the left bank to the city, one has to travel thousands of kilometers and cross several countries. Or just 800 meters across the Dnipro by water. But the Antonivskyi Bridge has been blown up, and crossing the river is impossible because of drones and snipers.
Sometimes, a miracle happens — last year, a woman appeared on the bridge and begged to be taken to the right bank. She must have been in utter despair. The occupiers didn’t kill her — they allowed her to be ferried across by boat to Ukrainian-controlled territory.
What’s happening on the other side of the Dnipro, in the occupied towns and villages, can only be learned through phone calls with relatives and friends. But they won’t say much — «alive, well, goodbye»...
There are also Telegram channels run by Kherson collaborators who fled with the Russian army in November 2022. They now live in Skadovsk, Henichesk, and resort villages along the coast, dreaming of returning to «russian» Kherson.
Those who escaped occupation speak of women encouraged to give birth to soldiers for the Russian army. Collaborators’ Telegram channels write about children’s camps where hatred for Ukraine is instilled and kids are taught to kill. People whisper over the phone to loved ones about Zaliznyi Port, Askania-Nova, the home they lost on the other side of the Dnipro.
From these fragments, journalist Kseniia Keleberda — who can see the left bank from her apartment window («there’s always fire and black smoke there, that’s where my mined and flooded summer house is») — has tried to piece together a broader picture of life on the left bank of the Kherson region, to trace the patterns and understand how Russia is «developing» the occupied territories.
Zaliznyi Port: Dead Season for Years to Come
War tore families apart. Sometimes it was brutal, sometimes it just faded — like dried leaves falling off a branch.
Alina* and Volodymyr* owned a small guesthouse in the seaside resort town of Zaliznyi Port, on the shores of the Black Sea. They had poured years of effort and money into the business. Over the course of ten years, they built it up — every room was booked, with vacationers coming from Russia and Belarus.
Before the full-scale war, Zaliznyi Port was developing rapidly. In the summer season, the town came to life: nightclubs, an amusement park, a water park — even the luxury hotels were fully booked. It was a place for fun, comfort, and expensive holidays.
Every March, Alina would head to the town to prepare the place for the season. But the war drastically changed her life. She hasn't seen the sea in three years — and she lost her husband.
At the end of February 2022, Alina went to visit her parents in Khmelnytskyi region for a few days. Volodymyr stayed in Kherson.
Alina only returned home in 2024. From the very beginning of the invasion, she joined the Ukrainian Armed Forces. She served two years — fought in Bakhmut and Lyman, and earned commendations. She was discharged due to health reasons.
He, meanwhile, quietly stayed in occupied Kherson and left with the Russians to the left bank. Now he lives in their old guesthouse, guarding the property.
They got divorced remotely but remain on decent terms. Volodymyr occasionally calls his ex-wife to tell her how he’s doing.
Now, Zaliznyi Port is nearly empty. Most locals — around 500 people who had businesses there — stayed behind. For two years, they’ve been banned from going to the seashore. So the idea of a summer season is off the table.
The town hasn’t suffered much damage — hotels and cafes are closed, but still standing. The occupiers posted papers reading «nationalized» on buildings left behind by their owners.
Locals were joined by people from Hola Prystan, Kakhovka, and other villages that were flooded after the destruction of the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Power Plant. They were settled into budget guesthouses and recreation bases. The luxury hotels, meanwhile, are home to Russian civilians — Volodymyr believes they’re families of Russian soldiers who followed them to live by the sea.
There’s a feldsher-obstetric station in Zaliznyi Port, but people usually travel to Skadovsk for medical care, where there are actual doctors. Most of the town’s residents stay home and tend their gardens. Two small shops are open — the food comes from Crimea, but it’s pricey and not very tasty. So people get by thanks to their gardens and small-scale livestock: goats, rabbits, chickens — and the vegetables they grow.
The local school still operates. Volodymyr, who has a degree in engineering, was offered a job teaching physics or math for 25,000 rubles. But he declined — he knows he’d immediately be branded a «collaborator». He wanted to run a table tennis club, but the vacancy was saved for «one of their own».
Gardening, housework, and chats with his neighbor Tolik — who manages the town’s utilities — that’s what Volodymyr’s life has looked like for the past two years. Even traveling to the next village is impossible — anyone without the right permit gets turned back at the checkpoints.
Since July 8, 2024, the occupiers have enforced a special movement regime in the frontline zone. Within 15 kilometers of the front, civilians are allowed to move around only if they have a permit — and getting one is far from easy. Constant checks by military patrols and the daily struggle to survive have left people drained. There’s hardly any hope left that the guesthouse will reopen or that the business will come back to life.
Not long ago, Volodymyr replaced the Ukrainian plates on his car with Russian ones and received a Russian foreign passport. He dreams of seeing his daughter, who lives in Ukraine, somewhere on «neutral ground».
Alina now lives in Kherson. She’s studying psychology and working:
«What I miss most in this world is my sea. Not the guesthouse. Not the husband who ran away and found a way to live among those devils… I just want to go back there someday, sit on the shore, watch the waves. And forget — even for a few minutes — everything we’ve been living through right now».
Life in a Russian Military Camp
Apartment owners who fled are losing their homes. Since April 24, 2024, lists have been published naming residential properties the occupiers are seizing if owners fail to provide documents proving ownership. These apartments are handed over to soldiers, visiting officials from occupied Crimea and Russia, and Russians looking to relocate to southern Ukraine.
A redistribution of businesses is also underway. Hotels and seaside resorts, cafés and restaurants, industrial enterprises, and agricultural complexes are being re-registered under Russian law — often with a change in ownership along the way.
Collaborators who initially took up posts in the local occupation «government» are gradually being replaced by arrivals from Crimea and Russia. Former Kherson officials, who over the years had mastered the art of pretending to work while quietly siphoning off public funds, didn’t realize one simple thing: under occupation, only Russians get access to the local budget.
As a result, several of the most brazenly corrupt collaborators have been removed from their positions and are now facing criminal charges.
Ihor Semenchev, the former head of the Antonivka settlement council, who had already been accused of embezzling funds back when he was a Ukrainian official, was dismissed from his post as deputy head of the occupation’s military-civil administration and brought to justice by the new regime.
Elvira Vitrenko, who before the full-scale invasion had worked as director of the Kherson Young Naturalists' Station, saw a meteoric rise in the occupation hierarchy and became «Minister of Sports and Youth» in the occupied territories. But the occupying authorities accused her of abuse of office after coming up 11 million rubles short in the budget. She lost her post, spent time under house arrest, and has since disappeared from the media altogether.
Village heads and ministers on the occupied left bank of Kherson region are shuffled endlessly — like a deck of cards. Local collaborators are gradually being pushed out and replaced by appointees from Crimea and Russia.
As the self-proclaimed head of occupied Crimea, Sergey Aksyonov, put it: "The Crimean system of personnel management, strengthened over the years of integration with Russia, has become an important resource for the reunited regions».
About women and children
It’s no secret that the occupiers actively encourage relationships with Ukrainian women. They view women and children as a strategic resource. Some are recruited for intelligence gathering; others take jobs in the occupation administration for the sake of a «beloved» partner.
There are many young pregnant women in the occupied territories. Some have married Russian soldiers. These marriages are formalized quickly, under Russian law. All children born under occupation are issued Russian birth certificates and receive substantial financial support. The amount of maternity capital is 639,400 rubles for a first child and 883,000 rubles for a second. Residents of the «new regions» are eligible for this payment regardless of when or how they acquired Russian citizenship.
However, after seizing these territories, Russia has failed to establish a functioning healthcare system. Most doctors have fled, and medical equipment has been looted. Young women are forced to travel either to Crimea or Russia to give birth. There have even been cases of home births, as not everyone can afford a costly journey over broken roads, often alongside tanks, just to reach a hospital.
The occupiers have set up social institutions in the occupied areas that keep women and children under tight supervision. They are offered education, entertainment, and humanitarian aid — while being gradually conditioned to believe that the new state is looking after them. Youth organizations have been introduced in schools, actively recruiting students into Yunarmiya.
Children from Kherson region are being sent to summer camps in occupied Crimea, Krasnodar Krai, and Volgograd Oblast. On the Telegram channel VTV — run by Kherson collaborator Tetiana Kamenska (the Security Service of Ukraine has officially charged her with collaboration) — a report was published about Kherson children in Russian camps:
«The third session of the «Time of Young Heroes’ has officially opened at the Avangard defense-sports camp in Volgograd Oblast! Among the participants are 59 teenagers from Kherson region.
In addition to training sessions, the children will enjoy a packed entertainment program, including meetings with public figures, politicians, war correspondents, and performers. [...]
The children arrived just a few days ago, but have already settled in, explored the camp, received uniforms, been assigned to platoons and companies, chosen their commanders, completed a team-building course, attended a concert by the Volgograd Youth Theater, and much more!
Participants will gain practical skills and theoretical knowledge in the following areas: firearms training; tactical medicine; drone piloting; basics of Russian national security; communications setup; tactical training; engineering training; and introductory parachute instruction».
In the summer of 2024, nearly three thousand children from Kherson region attended such camps and acquired these «useful skills».
The occupiers continue their work with Ukrainian children in non-stop mode. And this strategy — already tested in Donetsk and Luhansk regions — is, unfortunately, proving effective.
I don’t have a home…
Tetiana Ivanova grew up in the steppes of Tavria, near the world-renowned Askania-Nova nature reserve.
Before the full-scale war, she ran a small business — growing raspberries and vegetables. She loved her land, her home. But in April 2022, she left with her son for western Ukraine. She thought it would be temporary.
In someone else’s house, Tetiana often thought about her own — the home she had built and lovingly decorated over the years:
«Curtains... That was my thing. I chose each one with my soul, for every room. I hemmed them myself. On the shelves were my favorite mugs — one with the Cossack from the cartoon, one with Marilyn Monroe by Hapchynska... Onyx flower vases I brought from Egypt — so heavy I used to joke that if bandits ever broke in, I could kill them with one.
They stole it all. Took the curtains, the curtain rods, ripped out the air conditioner, even took the spoons and forks, the power outlets, the chandeliers, the rugs, the cups, the crystal, the tablecloths.
A swarm from hell destroyed everything closest to our hearts. My home was my life. Now I have neither. My sister and brother-in-law told me it was my own fault — that I shouldn’t have left, that I should have just surrendered».
It wasn’t only Tetiana’s house that was looted. Many villagers’ homes were stripped bare after they fled the war. Even Askania-Nova didn’t escape. Now under occupation, this is the oldest steppe biosphere reserve in the world — the largest remaining area of undisturbed steppe in Europe. It used to be home to many unique species. Used to be...
Askania-Nova was spared major destruction in the initial occupation, but the war still brought death. Russian troops are now stationed on the reserve’s territory. Their military vehicles frighten the steppe’s inhabitants. Some animals died over the winter from cold and neglect under the care of the reserve’s new «owners». Rare animals are being transferred to Russian wildlife reserves and facilities in Crimea.
Tetiana shares stories of her beautiful past life on her Facebook page — photos of animals from the reserve, memories of home. But her home now exists only in dreams and memories. And whether she will ever see it again, Tetiana doesn’t know.
«Why is no one talking about the people? Only about the territory? Where are people supposed to go — those who fled the occupation and have been wandering like homeless ghosts for three years?
Returning to occupied territory is nearly impossible. At [Moscow’s] Sheremetyevo Airport, 95% of people are slapped with a 20-year deportation. And if you have relatives in the Ukrainian Armed Forces, don’t even try — you can end up in prison. They don’t even do filtration anymore. They don’t check phones. They just gave an order — no Russian passport, no entry.
Where are millions of homeless people supposed to go?»
Who can answer this question?
Millions of refugees — three years into this full-scale war — still haven’t taken root in new towns or countries. Many are still dreaming of returning to the riverbank or seashore they once called home. And they’re still waiting for someone to answer.
*Names have been changed
