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SOURCE: https://news.vice.com/article/textbooks-and-assault-rifles-the-student-soldiers-in-rebel-held-ukraine
Textbooks and Assault Rifles: The Student Soldiers in Rebel-Held Ukraine
After
joining the pro-Russia rebels in Ukraine last year, 19-year-old
student Ruslan Protsyenko was schooled in a deadly new syllabus: how
to assemble, fire and reload assault rifles; how to survive a barrage of
shells; how to perfect the trajectory of an outgoing mortar.
Twelve
months on, during a flying visit to his college in Donetsk, Protsyenko's
education briefly resumed a more familiar tone. Clad in full military camo
alongside his civilian classmates, the trainee welder sat at his desk,
sketching architectural blueprints.
The
boyish-looking Protsyenko is one of hundreds of students in the
separatist stronghold who now balance fighting at the frontline with a
part-time, increasingly fragmented education.
Shellfire,
fear and the physical demands of a war that has cost the lives of more
than 6,700 people are hardly conducive to studying and exam
success. But Protsyenko is determined to make the best of it.
"I use my holiday time to leave the front when I can and
continue my college education — catching up on lectures, doing course work,
sitting exams. That kind of thing,"
he told VICE News. "I take some books to my base but they're mainly sci-fi
and fantasy. Not school textbooks.
"My
superiors can be sympathetic. They let me come back to study sometimes and take
exams. But it depends who the commander is."
'The front is no life for these young people'
Of
the 1,200 students previously enrolled at the Donetsk Industrial-Pedagogical
College, around 350 have left since the outbreak of the war last summer. One
senior teacher said it was impossible to keep track of how many had become
soldiers — but it was certainly "more than we would like". She added:
"We'd prefer they returned to us and continued
their education. The front is no life for these young people."
The
campus — on the road to the front in the town of Marinka which erupted with
fresh violence in June — is scarred by months of urban shelling. Classroom
windows remain blown-out, taped over with flimsy sacking.
Scorch
marks remain on nearby roads, and entire apartment blocks, devastated by
indiscriminate bombing, have been abandoned. In a back room adjoining the
sports hall, the sports master keeps a macabre collection of shell fragments
salvaged from the college grounds.
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A student shows off his medals, having
removed his nametag to avoid being identified. Photo by Jack Losh
|
Another
student, 20-year-old Sergey Filonich, was halfway through his welding course
when his neighborhood was pounded by heavy artillery; he joined the rebels soon
afterwards. His impromptu military career has since plunged him into some of
the conflict's fiercest battles, including the rebels' month-long victorious
offensive on the strategic town of Debaltseve last winter.
"There was a Ukrainian checkpoint at a nearby village. We were
ordered to take it. This was the most terrible experience I've had in the war
so far.
"The assault lasted around two weeks and we lost three of our
soldiers. They were my friends. It was painful but I'm used to the fighting now
— you learn to switch off."
'I will rebuild the city'
Sergey
said he is paid 15,000 rubles a month — around $263. The cost to his education
is harder to calculate. "For wartime, the salary's
not so bad," he admitted. "But it's
not so good either. My education comes second to my life as a soldier. When I
have free time, I come to college. But I don't study at the front — I leave my
school books behind. There, I don't read anything."
When
the war finishes, he wants to resume civilian life as a welder. "I will rebuild the city," he said, quietly.
"Houses, factories, coal mines — wherever welding
is required. There'll definitely be work for me."
His
classmate, Ruslan, has other plans. "I want to
join the Russian army," he said. "Fighting
here has confirmed my love for it. Welding's just a job for peacetime.
"When I enlisted, I was deployed at Donetsk's airport. There
were 30 men in the unit at the start — by the end, there were just four people
left alive. I've suffered some injuries along the way too — seven holes in my
back from a grenade."
He
tries not to think about the horrors he has encountered. "I don't want it to affect me. Sometimes I have thoughts
but if I'm not alone and stay away from alcohol, it can be okay."
Watch the VICE News documentary, Child Warriors of Donetsk here:
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The
intensifying blockade of the self-proclaimed Donetsk People's Republic is
forcing some students to rely solely to the internet to finish their studies.
Rusakov Nikolaivich, who runs Abakumov College in a southwestern suburb of
Donetsk, told VICE News: "The war has really affected life at the school.
Our pupils are joining the fight and they are being killed.
"Many of the students who live in the territory under the
control of the Ukrainian authorities cannot come here to receive a proper
education. So we have set up a special network so they can take their exams
over the internet. It keeps things going."
'We have what we have. What can you do?'
The
conflict has impacted on the further education of older students too. One
27-year-old, who only gave his first name as Sasha due to security concerns,
worked for several years in one of the area's many coal mines — the economic
bedrock of the Donbass region — before taking a specialist electrical
course to boost his career. VICE News first encountered him as he
presented his end-of-year project to a panel of five lecturers, three medals
adorning his khaki jacket.
In
an adjoining classroom afterwards, the father-of-two described the difficulty
of balancing studies with fighting. "It's tough
but there's no choice — I have to fight now," he said. "I bring
my books to the front but rarely get to look at them. Sometime when the
shooting subsides, I can read in my barracks, but not often."
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Sasha, one of the students back from the
frontline, leaves his beret on a desk while he presents his end-of-year
project. Photo by Jack Losh
|
The
intensity of hatred on both sides of the divide continues to escalate in a war
that is leaving former neighbors and fellow countrymen increasingly polarized.
Amid the bitterness, many opposing soldiers share a common emotional weight
borne from conflict and exile. Sasha, whose home village lies in
government-controlled Ukraine, is one of them. "I
know so many rebels who are from across the border but we don't support Kiev. I
can't go home — I'm a wanted man. It would be suicide."
A
thick-set man and undemonstrative, even somewhat brutish in the wrong light,
Sasha softened and looked to the floor as he talked about his family. "I'm married and have two kids," he said. "I
can only see them through Skype now. I'm used to it but it doesn't make life
easier."
One
battle stands out for the former miner. "I had one
of my worst days in Gorlavka last summer. We were attacked and our side lost
many men. After that, everything changed for me."
He
exhaled deeply. "Life goes on. We have what we
have. What can you do?"
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Sasha says going home across the border to
visit his family "would be suicide". Photo by Jack Losh
|
His 26-year-old classmate and fellow rebel soldier,
Vitalia, seemed colder, more inured, and repeated the same dogma heard every
day here. He was compelled to shelve his studies by a desire "to protect
his homeland from the junta" in Kiev, brought to power by "dark
American forces".
Unemotional, he said: "The
Ukrainian army came to us, we didn't come to them. The enemy are fascists and
Nazis. That's not just what I believe — there's no other way to consider
it."
How does he think it will end? "The war will
stop because we will win," he declared.
Sasha is less convinced. "I don't know, I have
no words," he said ruefully. "Who observes the talks in Minsk?
Nobody. I still hope for a political solution. If it's left to the military,
everything will be destroyed.
'Students should not be killing each other'
My final meeting was with another college director,
who asked to remain anonymous in order to speak freely. For him, the conflict
cannot end too soon. He has seen his students leave for the front, only to
return in body-bags. "Sometimes I question why I still come back to this
office," he said. "I have a civic duty, I suppose. Even in war, we
must serve what remains of our society."
He insisted that his students should be in the
classroom, not on the battlefield. For him, it is the powers-that-be in this
unstable, breakaway statelet that are to blame.
"The authorities here should ensure our young
people continue their studies," he told me, wearily. "They must stop
them from fighting.
"Students should not be killing each other.
They should be learning about the world, expanding their knowledge and
nurturing their education. That lasts longer than war — that lasts for
life." He paused, wincing. "At least for those who are still
alive."
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