For nearly two years in Russian captivity, Leniye Umerova clung to a single hope: that one day, she would return home — to Crimea.
“I thought about Crimea all the time,” Umerova told the Kyiv Independent. “I dreamed of going there without the permission of the occupying forces, without going through filtration, without hiding, simply — going home.”
A Ukrainian of Crimean Tatar descent, Umerova, 26, was captured by Russian forces in 2022 while trying to reach occupied Crimea to visit her then-sick father, who had cancer.
She spent almost two years in Russian prisons on trumped-up charges of espionage before being released in September as part of a prisoner exchange with Ukraine.
Though finally being back in Kyiv was a big relief, grim news about the future of Umerova’s home soon followed.
On April 23, Axios reported, citing its sources, that the U.S. President Donald Trump administration's final proposal for ending the Russia-Ukraine war included U.S. de jure recognition of Russia's control over Crimea. The move would make it increasingly difficult for Ukraine to ever reclaim the Crimean Peninsula and likely only through military means.
Russia invaded and unlawfully annexed Crimea in 2014, cracking down violently on any opposition to its regime. Over 11 years of occupation, Crimean Tatars, the peninsula's indigenous population, have faced the brunt of Russia's harsh repressions.
For 26-year-old Umerova, who was imprisoned for simply being Ukrainian and spent most of her captivity in solitary confinement, the news stirred a sense of “outrage and pain.”
“Some see Crimea as just a piece of land. I see people — people who risk their lives every day by simply remaining Ukrainian. Thousands of political prisoners held for their dissent,” she says. “Dozens of activists tortured to death who will never come back. They believed in justice. We have no moral right to betray them.”
“(Recognizing Russia’s control of Crimea) would be a devaluation of international law, of human rights, of the very idea of justice. It would legitimize a crime. It would mean that justice doesn’t depend on what’s right, but on who has more power.”
Fear and rage
Born in Crimea, Umerova left the peninsula a year after Russia occupied it to finish high school in Kyiv, where she and her older brother Aziz found a new home. Their parents, however, stayed in their hometown, living under occupation.
After learning that her father had cancer, Umerova decided to travel to Crimea, despite realizing the danger the trip would involve.
As the only passenger with a Ukrainian passport, she was pulled off the bus at the Russian-Georgian border in December 2022.
She was then held in detention facilities in the remote cities of Vladikavkaz and Beslan before being transferred to Moscow, where Russia brought trumped-up espionage charges against her, facing up to 20 years behind bars.
Over 14,000 Ukrainian civilians were held in Russian captivity as of 2024, according to Ukraine's Ombudsman, Dmytro Lubinets. The return of civilians is very difficult because Ukraine has no Russian civilians to exchange them for, says Lubinets. Captive soldiers can only be exchanged for soldiers.
Umerova says that the tactics Russia used to detain and illegally keep her under custody showed the "absurdity" of the Russian judicial system.
Court hearings at 3 a.m., kidnappings, threats, and interrogations are just part of the horrors Umerova endured in Vladikavkaz and Beslan, as Russia exploited any possible excuse to extend her detention while fabricating a criminal case against her.
"I personally witnessed how just a few hours before the trial, a person comes in, speaks with them (the judge), then leaves, and the verdict is already decided. That's all you need to know about the current judicial system in Russia," Umerova says.
In early May 2023, Umerova was transferred to the Lefortovo pre-trial detention center in Moscow, often described as Russia's most "severe" prison. Handcuffed and guarded by armed Russian officers, she was transported there on a regular civilian charter flight.
"It felt so weird," Umerova says. "When you're in handcuffs and two men are holding you on either side and the flight attendant just smiles at you."
She was the first one taken to the plane and the last to leave, ensuring no passengers could see her. While being escorted from the plane, one of the Russian officers tried to intimidate her psychologically and make her feel ashamed.
"He talked loudly to attract attention, telling me I should be ashamed of what I had done. It wasn't just directed at me. The whole spectacle was staged for the audience to watch, to somehow justify their actions in the eyes of their society."
"I looked at him and thought: 'What do you want from me? What should I be ashamed of? For you attacking my country?'"
The same month, Umerova learned that the Lefortovo district court was pressing espionage charges against her, meaning she could end up spending up to 20 years in Russian imprisonment.
"As I was reading my charges, I couldn't string the words together into sentences. They just scattered in my mind because it was all so absurd — that I'm a spy."
Russia filed espionage charges against Umerova after she had already been in captivity for five months, which was a clear indication that the case was fabricated, Olha Skrypnyk, the head of the Crimean Human Rights Group, told the Kyiv Independent last October.
"It was not just a feeling of fear and rage, but an understanding of the insanity of the situation. A complete sense of helplessness in the moment because you have no connection (to the outside world), and you can't do anything about it," Umerova said.
‘A non-negotiable’
Locked in an eight-meter prison cell, she was threatened and interrogated, and rarely had a chance to speak to other prisoners. Once, the prison guards accidentally brought her to a neighboring cell, where she saw a male prisoner.
"It was the first time I saw someone not in uniform," Umerova recalls, adding that from the wall of her cell, she decided to tap out the rhythm from the Ukrainian folk song "Oh, the Red Viburnum in the Meadow" to see if he was Ukrainian.
"So I started tapping out a verse, and there was silence for a minute or two. But then, after a couple of minutes, he starts tapping back," she says. "I had tears in my eyes when I heard it."
The man later turned out to be a Ukrainian POW. Umerova believes he was severely beaten during interrogations — a common practice in Russia's treatment of Ukrainian POWs.
Umerova says the occasional letters from her loved ones and strangers who had heard her story helped to keep her sane.
"There were difficult times, but I never truly lost hope, even when I realized I might not get out until I was over 40."
However, letters of support – many of which came from the U.S., Georgia, and Armenia – gave her energy to be strong.
“Knowing that people know your story and understand that it's unfair helps you realize that you haven't lost your mind because of the surrealism happening around," she said.
A couple of months after arriving at Lefortovo, Umerova received a letter from a stranger abroad who shared that he had endured a similar experience. He wrote: "Don't let them break you and make you like them, keep that fire of life inside you."
"Those were the right words at that time, helping me to distract myself from all of that."
Although she held onto the hope of being exchanged one day, Umerova tried not to get her hopes up too much. In captivity, prisoners are often moved from one prison to another with little explanation from the Russian guards.
So when, on Sept. 11, she was asked to pack her belongings and prepare to leave, Umerova expected nothing more than being transferred to another prison cell. Instead, two days later, she crossed into Ukraine after spending a total of 21 months in captivity.
During her long-awaited journey to freedom, Umerova lost all the letters she had received during captivity.
Although devastated by the recent news about Crimea’s potential recognition as Russian territory, Umerova stays positive.
“If a person can be brought back from that side (Russia), then anything is possible," she says.
She has no intention of giving up on her dream to one day return home to free Crimea.
“Political positions may shift, but for me and many Ukrainians, Crimea remains a part of Ukraine. That is non-negotiable,” Umerova says.
Note from the author:
Hi! Daria Shulzhenko here. I wrote this piece for you. Since the first day of Russia's all-out war, I have been working almost non-stop to tell the stories of those affected by Russia’s brutal aggression. By telling all those painful stories, we are helping to keep the world informed about the reality of Russia’s war against Ukraine. By becoming the Kyiv Independent's member, you can help us continue telling the world the truth about this war.
Chris York
