One Son Brought Home, Hundreds Missing

She did not have his documents, nor did she seek or wait for permission from the institution's administration. Instead, she simply walked into the Psychoneurological Residential Institution in Kairy village, wrote a short handwritten note, and took her son, Andrii*, home to occupied Kherson. Nearly three hundred other men remained behind. They had been deported by Russia and later went missing.

By Viktoriia Novikova, Ivan Antypenko, The Reckoning Project

Olena's son is a young man. He cannot walk or speak. He has a neurological disorder and cerebral palsy. But he understands, responds, communicates, and is acutely sensitive to changes around him. Before the war, Andrii lived with hundreds of other young men in Kairy, a large residential institution in the village of Kherson region. For many men with disabilities, it was not a temporary institution, but their home.

When Russia launched its full-scale invasion in February 2022 and occupied Kairy OIena thought it would still be safer for her son to stay there, than bringing him to Kherson. The institution had staff, routine, and care. Olena says he wanted to stay there with his friends in familiar surroundings.

She visited her son once a month, but the institution, once regarded as one of the best, soon became isolated. Although it continued operating, supplies from the Ukraine-controlled territory effectively stopped. Staff recall food becoming increasingly scarce. Local farmers brought grain, flour, cereals, and vegetables - whatever they could. Meals were reduced to porridge, soup, and one dish per serving. Residents lost weight. Medicines, cleaning supplies, and linens were also in short supply.

Olena began delivering humanitarian aid herself. Together with her husband, she raised money and bought food and hygiene products. The journey from Kherson to Kairy meant passing dozens of checkpoints.

At one checkpoint, armed Russian soldiers asked why she was bringing so much for "one son." She replied that it was for the many residents left with almost no supplies.

Nearly three hundred men lived at the institution. According to staff, some were bedridden and entirely dependent on care, while others could move independently, help in the kitchen, clean, and work around the grounds. For many residents, the institution's director was effectively their legal guardian.

After the occupation began, staff recall armed men wearing white armbands, declarations that "Russia is here forever," and attempts to force the administration to work under new rules. The occupation authorities appointed a new director and promised staff salaries in Russian rubles.

Nataliia Mykhalchuk, a nurse who worked there for more than forty years, described it not as an institution but as a shared life, a family. It was this "family" that began to be taken away in the autumn of 2022.

The transfers took place in several waves between September and mid-November. Buses, ambulances, armed Russian military personnel, and medical workers from occupied Crimea arrived. Staff were excluded from the process or had their movements restricted. People were led or carried out of the buildings. Bedridden residents were taken separately, while those who could walk were put onto buses.

"They hid, they didn't want to leave, they begged us not to let them be taken away," staff members recall. One man who tried to resist was tied up and given a sedative injection.

This detail undermines Russia's claim that these transfers were an "evacuation," raising serious questions about the credibility of that characterisation. A lawful evacuation implies protection, clear humanitarian necessity, tracing and oversight, communication with relatives, and the ability to return when feasible. What staff describe is different: a coercive and opaque operation by occupation authorities, familiar caregivers excluded, routes and destinations unclear, and the dispersal of people across occupied territories and Russia.

Having heard rumours that the institution would be "evacuated," Olena took her son home. Kherson was liberated soon afterward. Olena made it in time. Other relatives did not.

Yuliia Makarenko learned online that her brother Anatolii had been taken from the institution.

A man had lived at the Kairy Psychoneurological Residential Institution since 2014. He had had a disability since childhood but was fairly independent. He enjoyed working, earning money, and helping others. Although the family had initially worried about the institution, Anatolii liked it, made friends, and received care packages from the family.

After the full-scale invasion, contact with the institution was lost. Yuliia received a few brief messages from a caregiver saying that "everything is fine." Their last contact was in the summer of 2022.

Yuliia lived through the occupation in Kherson, and she couldn't go to bring her brother home from Kairy. The communication with him repeatedly disappeared, and the security situation deteriorated daily.

Yuliia learned about Anatolii's removal from another woman whose son had also lived there. The woman had seen photographs online of a bus carrying residents. Among them was Anatolii. The caption said people had been taken from a Ukrainian residential institution. For the families, this was the first confirmation that their relatives had been removed.

The family then formed a search team. Yuliia tried to find out where her brother had been taken. Some people said Crimea, others Russia. Russia's Ministry of Emergency Situations told the family, that the information about Anatolii's whereabouts was confidential.

After the residents were taken away, the Kairy institution stood empty. Eventually Russian soldiers occupied the building, and it was later looted. Residents' personal files were lost, destroyed, or taken away. For many families, only fragments remain: photographs from the buses, random messages, and rumours.

Under international humanitarian law, Russia, as the Occupying Power, was not entitled to forcibly transfer or deport civilians from occupied territory except in exceptional cases required for the security of the civilians themselves or by imperative military necessity. Even then, any transfer must be temporary, properly organized, include accurate registration, preservation of documents, notification of relatives, and guarantees of return as soon as circumstances permit.

Olena managed to bring her son home. Yuliia is still searching for her brother. Overall, hundreds of residents of the Kairy institution were removed by the occupation authorities from the place that had been their home. And until their whereabouts, status, and possibility of return are established, this story is not over.

*Names of the characters were changed for security reasons