About 1,500 Ukrainians held in Russia and occupied Ukraine are facing criminal prosecution even though the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC) has never confirmed them as prisoners, Petro Yatsenko, representative of Ukraine's Coordination Headquarters for the Treatment of Prisoners of War, said on 19 October at an event on missing persons at UN headquarters in New York. The event was organized by the permanent missions of Ukraine and Poland to the UN.
Without ICRC confirmation, there is no official record that a person is alive or held, which leaves captives without proper protection, the headquarters said. Amnesty International calls this enforced disappearance, a practice that puts people outside the protection of the law. The ICRC itself has been shut out. Under the Geneva Conventions it is supposed to visit prisoners of war, but on 18 September it told Reuters that Russia has given it no access to Ukrainian POWs since 2024. UN investigators have gathered evidence of systematic torture in the detention centers where they are held. Russia denies torturing or mistreating POWs.
Kateryna Nazarii, who coordinates families of the 24th Mechanized Brigade, is the wife of a Ukrainian serviceman held by Russia. The ICRC has not been able to confirm his status as a prisoner of war. Russia does not let the ICRC or other humanitarian organizations into the prisons where Ukrainians are held, and does not hand over complete lists of prisoners, Nazarii said at the event. When families do find out where a relative is held, she said, that person is moved to another prison, and contact is lost again.
Many of those whose captivity Russia has not confirmed are civilians. Among them, Yatsenko said, are about 200 young people born after 2000 and nearly 400 people over 60. None of them has been confirmed through the ICRC, according to the headquarters.
Most Ukrainian POWs are cut off from the outside world. In a March 2025 report, Amnesty International found that 24 of the 43 families of confirmed POWs it interviewed had received no word at all from their relative. Counting prisoners allowed only one brief call or text at the start of captivity, 72% of those 43 were held incommunicado. The UN monitoring mission found that only 21 of 174 former POWs it interviewed had been able to correspond with their families, Amnesty noted.
Silence is what makes the abuse possible, Amnesty argues. The UN monitoring mission found that 97% of former POWs it interviewed had been tortured or ill-treated, the report notes, and methods include beatings, electric shocks, burns, and sexual violence. A UN commission of inquiry concluded in 2024 that the torture amounted to a "coordinated state policy," the report adds.
When the Red Cross did get in, it saw what Russia chose to show. An OSCE expert mission reported in September 2025 that, according to former prisoners, Russian staff presented only prisoners in relatively good physical condition during ICRC visits and kept the sick and tortured out of sight. The experts also found that Russia blocked visits to some facilities and gave incomplete prisoner lists.
The unconfirmed are not a small group. A quarter of the 3,767 POWs who returned to Ukraine by November 2024 had never been confirmed by Russia as captives, the Coordination Headquarters said, as cited by Amnesty. Hundreds or possibly thousands more may still be held without Russia notifying the ICRC, Amnesty concluded.
Those who come back describe the conditions. Anatolii Zemlianyi, a soldier of the 2nd Assault Brigade released in the May 2025 exchange, told Frontliner that he spent eight months in a hospital in occupied Donetsk with a grenade wound in his leg and got no proper treatment. In captivity, he said, prisoners drank water from puddles.
Nobody knows how many Ukrainian civilians Russia holds. "It is not known," the UN human rights office said in a September 2025 report, which cites Ukraine's Prosecutor General's Office as having identified 15,250 civilians detained by Russia between February 2022 and August 2025. Exchanges bring very few of them back: of 5,941 people released from Russian captivity between February 2022 and 14 August 2025, 352 were civilians, Ukraine's human rights commissioner Dmytro Lubinets told The Week.
Under the Fourth Geneva Convention, an occupying power may intern civilians only for imperative reasons of security, and only under a regular procedure with periodic review, the same UN report notes. Russia instead treats detained civilians as criminals, Oleksandr Kononenko, a representative of Ukraine's human rights commissioner, told relatives of civilian hostages in 2023.
"This convention clearly states that civilian hostages should not be detained. They should be released. What is Russia doing? It 'makes all these people criminals' and accuses them of terrorism, opposition to a special military operation, and assistance to the Ukrainian Armed Forces, which is completely absurd from the point of view of an independent state and those people who are patriots of their state," Kononenko said.
Kyiv believes Russia detains civilians partly to trade them. Regular civilian swaps risk signaling to Russia that by detaining more Ukrainians it could get more Russians released, so it may seize more people to replenish its "exchange fund," Lubinets said. Ukraine therefore demands that civilians be released unconditionally. Amnesty sees a second motive. It concluded that Russia has long used arbitrary arrest, torture, and enforced disappearance to intimidate civilians in areas it controls.
RT | October 17, 2026
The UN should resist pressure from Kiev’s Western backers and finally address the issue of widespread abuse of captured Russian servicemen in Ukrainian secret prisons, Russian Ambassador-at-Large Rodion Miroshnik has said.
During a conversation with the chairman of the UN Committee Against Torture Claude Heller on Thursday, Miroshnik said that Moscow is aware of a whole network of such detention facilities, operating in Ukraine’s Kharkov, Dnepropetrovsk, and Sumy Regions as well as in the country’s capital, Kiev.
The Russian servicemen are “going through hell” in so-called “transit prisons,” which are set up at deployment points of Ukrainian military units and nationalist battalions, he said.
“The thugs, who hide their faces behind masks… and address each other only by their call signs, subject the captured Russian troops to inhuman abuse. Waterboarding, electrocuting, baiting with dogs and amputations performed without anesthesia are just a few examples of the techniques systematically employed by the Ukrainian tormentors,” the envoy, who is charged with documenting Kiev’s war crimes, stressed.
According to Miroshnik, captured troops are usually sent to those facilities in the early stages of their imprisonment, where they are held in cages, pits, and stone dungeons.
The Kiev government does not allow ombudsmen and human rights activists into those “torture chambers,” but the Russian authorities have gathered hundreds of accounts of survivors detailing what has been happening there, he said.
“This information had been passed on to the UN Secretariat on more than one occasion,” but no action followed, Miroshnik added.
By ignoring the existence of the secret prisons and systematic torture of Russian troops, the global body “encourages the spread of such criminal practices and disregard for the relevant UN Convention,” he added.
“Many experts are aware of this disgraceful phenomenon, yet there is a lack of political will to overcome the pressure from the foreign accomplices to the conflict, who shield the Kiev regime from accountability and prevent a thorough investigation of its conduct,” the envoy said.
While turning a blind eye to the torture of Russian troops, the UN published several reports accusing Russia of mistreating Ukrainian prisoners, based on accounts by POWs returned by Moscow to Kiev. Russian Foreign Ministry spokeswoman Maria Zakharova has labeled those accusations of abuse “disinformation.”
Last month, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov said that the UN Secretariat was unable to properly perform its duties as most key positions are occupied by representatives of NATO countries.
The current team, led by [UN General-Secretary] Antonio Guterres, who is a Portuguese national, “promotes biased approaches and double standards, effectively serving the interests of a group of Western nations,” Lavrov insisted during a press conference on the sidelines of the UN General Assembly in New York.
When Dana Joudeh, 35, went into labor in mid-September, she was six months pregnant and being held at Israel’s Damon Prison. Her daughter, Lia, was born premature, and her family says she gave birth shackled to a bed, with a rifle pointed at her.
Joudeh spent almost her entire pregnancy in Damon prison, held under a six-month administrative detention order. There she endured the conditions Palestinian prisoners have described since October 2023: medical neglect, inadequate healthcare, food deprivation, and sharp cuts to hygiene supplies.
A day after giving birth, Dana and Lia were released from Damon Prison. Their time in detention exposed blatant Israeli violations, not only against women but even against infants.
BreakThrough News spoke to Maram Joudeh, Dana’s sister, to learn more about the circumstances of her sister’s arrest, conditions of detention, and how she gave birth amid it all.
Dana’s ordeal began when Israeli forces raided her family’s home in Iraq al-Tayeh village, east of the northern West Bank governorate of Nablus and arrested her during Ramadan 2026 (between February and March). Dana was still living with her family at the time before getting married a couple of weeks later.
According to her sister, Dana was detained and interrogated for one day. She was released after losing consciousness due to complications from a medical procedure she had undergone shortly before her arrest.
Around mid-April, an Israeli commander contacted Dana, asking her to head to the Huwara Detention Center for another interrogation session.
Although Dana had never been involved in any political activity, she felt intimidated by the phone call and did not go, especially as the Israeli commander, who was speaking to her, asked her about her recent marriage.
A few days later she received a couple of other phone calls. During one of the calls, the commander informed her that he knows that the wedding of one of her sisters would be held within days, so Dana avoided attending the wedding fearing that the Israeli forces would storm the ballroom and arrest her from there.
In another phone call, she was threatened that if she did not come to the interrogation, her father would be arrested. Therefore, Dana’s father decided to go to the Huwara Detention Center instead of her, but the Israeli commander insisted that she should come personally.
As a result, Dana went to the interrogation on April 19, hoping that she would spend hours there then be released, but she was transferred from there to Hasharon prison, where she spent one night that she described as a “nightmare”.
“The toilet had a stall door that did not provide any privacy. It was very dirty. I lost consciousness there, so they transferred me to a hospital, blindfolded, and shackled. They conducted a pregnancy test for me, and sent me to Damon Prison from there,” Dana told her lawyer, who managed to visit her in Damon Prison in early May.
It was then that Dana’s lawyer found out about her pregnancy, and the inhumane detention conditions she had endured since being imprisoned.
For six months, Dana was detained with five other female prisoners in a small cell, which should be allocated for two individuals only.
“There are only two metal bunks. The toilet has no door, and there is a lot of humidity as they do not open the vision panel.” Dana told the lawyer, describing the cell.
Dana also informed her lawyer that, despite her pregnancy, she was provided with a minimal amount of food, and that she lost weight and suffered from dehydration.
She added that only she and Amina Taweel, another pregnant prisoner, were sleeping on the bunks; the remaining four female prisoners were sleeping on the floor.
“Lina Naser and Tasneem Odeh used to give us their food, because they were expecting to be released soon,” Dana noted about other inmates, who shared the cell with her.
Dana said that the food was “inedible”, as they were sometimes given boiled eggs several hours after being cooked. Canned chickpeas soaked in water and lentils were among the limited options provided to them on almost a daily basis.
Dana also mentioned that their cell was violently stormed multiple times, with sound grenades being thrown. She said that sometimes they stormed the cell at midnight, when she and the other detainees were sleeping.
Whenever Dana fainted during those raids, prison security personnel dealt with the situation by asking other inmates to raise her legs and make her drink water, which she described as “undrinkable”.
During her detention, Dana also developed pimples between her fingers without knowing the diagnosis. Moreover, she wore the pajamas of Lina Naser after the latter’s release, as no other suitable clothing was available.
One day before her scheduled discharge date, Dana experienced severe labor pains, despite being only six months pregnant. This occurred after she had bled for approximately 10 days in Damon Prison before the Israel Prison Service (also known as Shabas) finally approved her transfer to Rambam Hospital.
Already facing a high-risk health condition for herself and her fetus, Dana had her hands and ankles shackled to the bars of a metal bed. She was surrounded by several female Israeli soldiers, who pointed their rifles at her and shouted: “Push harder, you saboteur!”
As the delivery got obstructed, Dana underwent a caesarean section, but even during the surgery the soldiers continued to shackle her hands and legs, surrounding her and threatening her with firearms.
When Dana finally gave birth to Lia, the soldiers shouted: “Another saboteur has just been born!'”
When Dana breastfed Lia before discharge, one of her hands would remain cuffed.
One of the nurses taking care of Dana dressed Lia with pink babywear. Dana said that the nurse was Palestinian.
Nevertheless, the Shabas insisted on treating the premature baby as a prisoner. On the next day, Dana was escorted by Israeli soldiers to a bus, blindfolded and shackled, but Lia was taken away from her for hours.
She described those as the most terrifying hours, fearing what destiny lay ahead for her premature baby. To her surprise, she was then sent back to Damon prison.
Dana then realized she had been brought there because the soldiers had taken Lia to dress her in the same gray pajamas that the Israeli Prison Service (Shabas) has forced all Palestinian prisoners to wear upon release since October 7, 2023. They made customized pajamas for the 1.5 kg premature baby and took photos of her before she and her mother were released from prison, according to Maram, Dana’s sister.
Even upon her release at the checkpoint, Israeli soldiers kept their rifles pointed at Dana as she struggled to walk, carrying Lia in one arm and her belongings in the other.
“Keep walking, don’t stop. Otherwise you will be shot,” the soldiers warned her.
From the checkpoint, Dana and Lia were taken to a hospital in the central West Bank governorate of Ramallah and Al-Bireh because Dana was suffering from scabies and her baby needed to be kept in an incubator.
Dana’s scabies had gotten out of control as she was denied necessary medication while in prison. Her sister told BreakThrough News that the prison authorities only gave Dana cornstarch to apply to her skin to ease the symptoms.
When Dana left detention, she left behind two other pregnant Palestinian women in Israeli detention.
As per the latest report released by Addameer Prisoner Support and Human Rights Association – shut down just a few days ago by the Israeli authorities – these pregnant women are among 90 Palestinian female prisoners currently held in Israeli prisons.
Hungary stopped a Ukrainian Oschadbank armored convoy in 2026, held its couriers, and kept $82 million in cash and gold. The European Court of Human Rights has registered six applications from the bank's couriers, who say Hungarian police unlawfully detained and tortured them.
In March, Hungarian forces stopped two bank vehicles carrying cash and bank metals from Austria to Ukraine, with seven employees transporting $40 million, 35 million euros, and nine kilograms of gold. It happened just before Hungary’s parliamentary elections, in which then-prime minister Viktor Orban had built his campaign around a sweeping anti-Ukraine message, and lost.
Six of the employees filed with the court on 5 July 2026, and the court’s secretariat has now confirmed their registration and assigned each an official number, according to the bank. It expects a seventh courier’s application, alleging the same violations, to be registered too.
“The fact that the ECHR has accepted the complaint and opened proceedings indicates that there are reasonable legal grounds for the case, that it has legal merit, and that the court intends to examine it on its merits,” Oschadbank says.
The complaints rest on two articles of the European Convention on Human Rights. Article 3 bans torture and inhuman or degrading treatment, while Article 5 guarantees the right to liberty and protects people from arbitrary detention, the bank notes.
During the detention, one courier, a diabetic former Security Service officer, was forcibly injected with an unknown substance, which his Hungarian lawyer confirmed he received despite his objections. He then suffered a hypertensive crisis, lost consciousness and was hospitalized, and Oschadbank confirmed that medical care came only after he passed out, The Guardian reported.
Oschadbank calls the registration an important step in defending its staff. Board chairman Yury Katsion said the bank will continue to protect the couriers’ interests and its own reputation, expects a legal assessment of the Hungarian forces’ actions and is grateful to partners for their support.
The cases are only at an early stage. Registration does not mean the court has found a violation or ruled the complaints admissible, as it must separately weigh the procedural conditions and the circumstances the applicants describe, Oschadbank stresses.
The incident itself, however, is documented: Hungary returned the seven couriers the next day but held the cash and gold for months, releasing the vehicles on 12 March and the money and gold by May.
By Junaid S. Ahmad | MEMO | October 7, 2026
There are careers that end in triumph, careers that end in scandal, and careers that achieve the rarer distinction of staging their own final indictment. António Guterres has found his in Islamabad.
After nearly a decade as Secretary-General of the United Nations, he arrives in Pakistan in the twilight of his tenure and performs the ritual that has come to define him: smile warmly, praise generously, deplore abstractly, and avoid saying anything that might seriously inconvenience the powerful men standing beside him. His record is littered with eloquent concern, grave warnings and solemn appeals. What it has lacked, again and again, is the one quality that gives moral language meaning: courage when courage carries a cost.
In Islamabad, the performance is almost indecent. Guterres praises Pakistan as a source of “solidarity and solutions,” commends the “resilience” of its people, and assures them that the United Nations stands with them. Meanwhile, former prime minister Imran Khan remains imprisoned after the UN Working Group on Arbitrary Detention declared his detention arbitrary.
UN experts have raised concerns about his treatment, prolonged isolation and conditions of confinement; the UN Committee Against Torture has separately highlighted broader allegations of politically motivated detention, torture, intimidation and repression.
Guterres does not need opposition politicians or troublesome journalists to brief him. He could simply read his own institution’s reports. But that would ruin the choreography.
So the Secretary-General moves through meetings with Pakistan’s political and security establishment while one of the country’s most popular and persecuted political leaders sits behind bars. Outside the diplomatic bubble, Khan’s supporters confront barricades, arrests and the familiar machinery of coercion. The Pakistani state, chronically incompetent at governing, once again discovers astonishing administrative efficiency when citizens decide to protest.
And Guterres praises their resilience. The euphemism is almost grotesque. A population is subjected to repression, institutional decay and coercive politics, and the world’s senior international diplomat congratulates it for enduring the experience. It is the diplomatic equivalent of praising a prisoner’s fortitude while refusing to ask who locked the cell.
But Islamabad is not a lapse in the Guterres record. It is the culmination of it.
The same moral evasion has defined his response to Gaza. For years, Guterres has described the catastrophe in increasingly apocalyptic terms: mass death, starvation, displacement, destroyed hospitals, shattered families, collective punishment and violations of international law. He has rarely lacked adjectives for horror.
What he lacked was willingness to name its most consequential possibility. Genocide.
When confronted directly, Guterres retreated into procedure, insisting that such a determination belonged to the courts. It was bureaucratic cowardice dressed as juridical sobriety. Apparently, a Secretary-General may describe the destruction of a people in exhaustive detail, denounce their starvation, mourn their children and warn of their dehumanization — but the moment the facts threaten to crystallize into the politically dangerous word, he develops an almost priestly devotion to institutional restraint.
The absurdity became complete when UN experts explicitly warned of genocide and a UN Commission of Inquiry later concluded that Israel had committed genocide in Gaza. The institution Guterres leads could say what Guterres himself repeatedly would not. This was not neutrality. It was evasion refined into method.
That is the essence of the Guterres tenure: moral vocabulary without moral escalation. He has perfected the art of sounding anguished while remaining politically non-threatening. His speeches travel bravely to the edge of the necessary conclusion, stare into the abyss, invoke international law, then retreat into another carefully worded appeal to governments that have already demonstrated their contempt for it.
Gaza became a theatre of catastrophic adjectives without commensurate political naming. Pakistan now becomes a festival of diplomatic compliments beside a prison cell.
The parallel is devastating. In Gaza, the UN system could document devastation while its Secretary-General recoiled from the word that carried the greatest political charge. In Pakistan, UN mechanisms can document arbitrary detention, abuse and repression while their chief shakes hands with the authorities presiding over the system they have condemned.
That is not merely institutional contradiction. It is leadership failure.
No serious person expects a UN Secretary-General to command armies, free prisoners by decree or compel governments into decency. But the office possesses one form of power that cannot be dismissed so easily: moral authority. Guterres has spent much of his tenure conserving it so carefully that, when history demanded its expenditure, there was often nothing to show for it.
He has confused caution with wisdom and diplomatic acceptability with statesmanship. But statesmanship is not the art of saying only what power can comfortably tolerate. Its purpose, at decisive moments, is precisely the opposite.
And so Islamabad is a fitting final tableau: Guterres praising resilience while surrounded by evidence of why resilience is necessary; representing institutions whose own findings he seems unwilling to embody; smiling through repression in Pakistan after years of speaking around genocide in Gaza.
History will not care how many statements he issued, how solemnly he frowned, or how often he invoked international law.
It will ask what he said when speaking plainly became dangerous. Too often, António Guterres chose not to. He saw almost everything. He described almost everything. And when history demanded courage rather than description, he chose cowardice.
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