Yaroslav Zhdamarov

A dog handler and sapper who served in 'Azov' from 2015 to 2019. He was sentenced to 22 years in prison.

The case originally involved 24 defendants. All of them served in 'Azov' at different times and in different positions. Many had never held a weapon or had left the military long before the start of the full-scale war. They are all accused of the violent seizure of power (Part 4 of Article 35, Article 278 of the Criminal Code) and organising the activities of a terrorist organisation (Part 1 of Article 205.5 of the Criminal Code). Some of the defendants are also charged with undergoing training for terrorist activities (Article 205.3 of the Criminal Code). The prosecution requested prison sentences ranging from 16 to 24 years for the defendants, with all men to serve their sentences in strict-regime penal colonies. Two Ukrainian servicemen–David Kasatkin and Dmitro Labynskiy–were exchanged before the trial began; Oleksandr Ishchenko died in a pre-trial detention centre. In September, nine Ukrainian women who had served in 'Azov' – eight cooks and a storekeeper–returned home as part of a prisoner exchange. Those defendants who were included in exchanges continue to be tried in absentia in Russia.

2020s

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The Final Statement

‘…when telling the staff at the refugee camp about my former service, I hoped to find at least common sense and, at most – justice. But now I am afraid. I am afraid, gentlemen. But not of justice. I am afraid that here, in this courtroom, I may find neither.’

To avoid problems with the law, one must not break it. This is simple, clear logic that everyone follows. It is also the logic I followed. Yet this trial says the opposite. I, without violating the laws of the Russian Federation, found myself in the defendant’s dock.

To understand this, put yourselves in my place.

I, just like you, lived in my hometown. Just like you, I served the state. Just like you, I was a law-abiding citizen. It so happened that my hometown, or yours, was occupied. I, or you, were taken prisoner, and six months or a year later a law was written that defined my, or your, former service before discharge as a crime against humanity retroactively.

So how would you feel in my place? How can one comply with a law that has not yet been written? What is left for me to say? For my part, I did everything possible.

First of all, I did nothing criminal. Neither during my service nor afterwards. Including during the period in February 2022 that was particularly favourable for such accusations. The very fact of my service, my former service, is not a crime.

And to make sure of this, it is enough to look at the laws, the Constitution, and the list of terrorist organisations of the Russian Federation that was in force during my service.

I left the service long before it was labelled criminal retroactively. This, in turn, shows that my service was not criminal in essence, in intent, or under the laws of the Russian Federation.

And ultimately, I disclosed my former service despite the danger and the risk. What would you have done in my place? And what should any law-abiding citizen have done? Nothing other than to act in accordance with the law.

Exactly as I did when I informed the staff at the refugee camp about my former service, I hoped to find at least common sense and, at most–justice.

But now I am afraid. I am afraid, gentlemen. But not of justice. I am afraid that here, in this courtroom, I may find neither.

5 March 2025.
Southern District Military Court, Rostov-on-Don, Russia.

Source: Mediazona.
More details about the case: Memorial.
Photo: Aleksandra Astakhova / Mediazona.