“All night, I packed every crevice of the car with supplies and dog food. I was afraid to close the door in case it made too much noise. Outside, there was the crackle [of gunfire] and machine-gun bursts.” This is how Maryna from Kherson, the owner of eight dogs, prepared to leave the occupied territory. She had no intention of abandoning any of her animals.

NGOs often retrieve pets left behind by their owners in frontline areas — sometimes still tied up. Yet, some people are capable of heroic feats to keep their animals fed during the occupation and ensure they’re brought along when escaping. Which cases are more common? We can’t quantify it, but we can share a few stories of people who evacuated with their pets.

Escaping Occupation with Eight Dogs

A house in northern Portugal near a eucalyptus forest. Not long ago, it was uninhabitable, but Maryna Skrypnychenko and her husband have already made significant repairs. Their first task was fencing the yard to prevent their dogs — Yolkin, Yozhyk, Yoryk, Martyska, Mukha, Motya, Mysha, and Chucha — from running off. All of these dogs were once strays roaming around the outskirts of Kherson. One by one, Maryna took them in. But when the occupation began, her home city turned into a living hell. For her own safety, she needed to leave. With eight dogs, though? Here is how she did it.

A House Outside the City

We had a large, beautiful home near Kherson on the banks of the Inhulets River. I organized yoga seminars and art plein-airs there. It was truly a bright, welcoming place. This winter, it served as a shelter for our soldiers.

Recently, we learned that our home no longer exists: it took a direct hit and burned down.

Living on the outskirts of the city, I often saw packs of stray puppies, and I would take in the weakest ones. I first adopted one dog, then another, and eventually, I ended up with eight. My husband built them kennels and enclosures, and they had everything they needed.

A Month in the Basement

When the war began, russian forces immediately entered Kherson. My husband, a sailor, was away on a voyage. I took my mother from Kherson, thinking it would be safer outside the city. But on the very first day, we had to move into the basement. We didn’t know it yet, but missiles and drones were already overhead… And so we spent a month in that basement with the dogs.

They reacted badly to everything. They were terrified of explosions and still hate loud noises to this day.

About a week into the occupation, I saw russian paratroopers — they seemed to emerge from the ground. In full gear — it looked like something out of a movie! One of them asked, “Why haven’t you left?” I was too scared to respond. Then he said, “Get back in the basement and stay there.”

Neighbors gave me some fish, which I boiled and fed to my dogs, both the house pets and the strays outside. Now, my dogs refuse to eat fish at all.

Sometimes, I would go to a neighbor for eggs. Once, I pretended to be going for eggs again but actually went to spray-paint something on a garage. I called a friend to talk with me on the phone — if they shot me, at least she’d hear it. My first canister ran out, so I pulled out another and finished writing: “russians, go f*** yourselves.”

The Departure

The invaders had taken vehicles from everyone in the area. My car survived only because the garage was part of the house, and they hadn’t realized it was there. But if I wanted to leave, I’d need to get the car out without drawing attention. I hesitated for fear they’d seize it, as they had others.

A friend found a farmer who was trying to protect his fields and had managed to negotiate a work permit with them. He called and told me, “Be ready.” All night, I packed every crevice of the car with supplies and dog food. I was afraid to close the door in case it made too much noise. Outside, there was the crackle [of gunfire] and machine-gun bursts. Who or what they were shooting at, I had no idea.

Around six in the morning, the farmer called again, “Pull out of the garage but don’t open the gate. Wait until you see an armored vehicle with the letter Z, then open it.”

The farmer somehow persuaded the invaders to send an armored vehicle to the dacha [summer house] neighborhood, supposedly to “pacify” the soldiers who were causing destruction everywhere. When the personnel carrier arrived on my street, he called again, “Go now.”

By then, I had collected all eight dogs. Half of them had never been inside a car before. I stuffed them in, layered blankets on the back seat, and my mother lay across them because there was no room to sit. The dogs, frightened, sat still and quiet.

It was “fun”… I drove through twelve invader checkpoints! At each one, the soldiers inspected the cars. As I approached a checkpoint, I rolled down the windows. Eight snouts would immediately stick out, and the invaders would just say, “Get the f**k out of here.”

I reached Kherson. By a supermarket, women with children would gather each day in cars to form a convoy — it was less frightening to travel together. I joined the convoy. As soon as we left Kherson, we got stuck; a battle was underway, so we couldn’t move. There were about 200–300 cars, full of children and dogs… Eventually, the entire convoy turned back.

But I thought, “To hell with it. If I die, so be it.” And I went on.

It took us twelve hours to reach Koblevo — a drive that would normally take two and a half hours.

The dogs sat quietly like mice in the car. Only in Koblevo did I let them out for the first time… But I was still scared; there were explosions even there. Well, it was insane. No romance to it at all!

To Portugal With Plywood for a Window

At the customs checkpoint on the Romanian border, I rolled down the window and got out. Two of the dogs immediately jumped out. We had already been waiting in line for 3–4 hours. People were bored, so my chasing after the dogs entertained everyone, and at least we got a bit of exercise.

In Romania, I was met by so many volunteers! When they saw the animals, they started taking pictures and giving me food for them… I told them I had no space left to carry it. “Take it anyway!” It moved me to tears, I still remember it.

The first night, I planned to sleep outdoors. I set out eight bowls for the dogs, but the police came over, asked me not to sleep outside, and escorted us to a hotel. There, in the restaurant, they moved all the furniture, laid out mattresses, and set up beds for refugees.

I thought, “If anyone makes a sound, all eight dogs will start barking…” So I decided to sleep in the car near the hotel. I started the engine to charge my phone, then someone came over, and I got distracted and stepped out. The car had a button on the armrest that locked the doors. The dogs pressed it, locking themselves inside a running car! Until four in the morning, I tried to coax them to press the button again, but nothing worked. Finally, the volunteers broke a window so I could climb in. I patched it with plywood and continued across Europe.

Since then, the dogs have refused to get into a car. I don’t force them.

I remember sitting in that basement when my husband called and said, “I can’t live in a world without you.” That gave me the strength to leave. If they kill me, then so be it, but hiding in the basement, trembling, and waiting for them to come for me was too much. So, I gathered everyone and started the car…

Our home is gone, but the animals are safe. I’m happy that all our dogs are still with us. 

Six People, Five Dogs, Four Cats, and a Turtle

A family from Selydove in the Donetsk region is a large family with quite a lot of pets. Sviatoslav Torkhov worked in the mines while his wife Yuliya raised their three children: Oleksandr, Artem, and Alla. Yuliya’s mother lived nearby. This summer, they were forced to make drastic changes to their lives.

After the Airstrike

Yuliya: On June 23, there were two strikes on our town. Around 4 a.m., a shell hit the garden. Our roof only had some tiles slide off, and parts of the ceiling collapsed. It was still fixable, so we started repairs. My husband was on the roof, and the children, my mother, and I — with the dogs — were in the yard. At 5 p.m., there was another strike, this time hitting just beyond our yard. The windows shattered, and the ceiling collapsed. My husband fell from the roof, sustaining head and rib injuries. We were standing below, shielded from the debris by the garage, but all of us suffered concussions. The news said it was an aerial bomb, though we don’t know exactly what kind.

Our dog Stitch hid with us behind the garage while his mother, an Alabai named Lavyna, was near the fence with her little puppy, Misha. From a distance after the blast, I saw Lavyna lying there. I was afraid to approach, thinking she might be dead. But then the rescue workers checked on my husband and asked, “Would you like to check on your dog?” I finally went over and realized she was still breathing.

I called her name, “Lavyna, Lavyna,” and began petting her. She had hidden her puppy beneath her. She was badly concussed but had no other injuries and gradually started to come around.

Then, we began considering where to relocate and started searching for a place to live. We traveled a lot, and it was heartbreaking to make the animals wait for us for so long each time we left.

Aside from Lavyna and her puppies, we also have Stella, a mixed breed, and Nora, a shepherd dog, plus four cats — Busya, the Scottish Fold, Alisa, and her kittens, Borysych and Bagheera. And there’s also Burger the turtle.

Finding a way to transport all of them was a real challenge.

Sviatoslav: Finally, we found a contact for UAnimals and arranged for help transporting the animals. Volunteers Mariya Holovina and Andriy Zhdanov came. We remember them fondly to this day.

They prepared crates and laid hay in the car. I placed the animals in the crates, and Mariya and Andriy helped get them into the car. The animals didn’t whimper or try to escape — it was as if they understood everything would be okay.

In Petropavlivka

Sviatoslav: Few places allow families with children to stay, let alone with pets! With our large family, it was tough to rent a place where we could live with both kids and dogs.

I’m a miner, so we needed to be close to a mine. We finally found such a place.

Yuliya: We moved to Petropavlivka in the Dnipropetrovsk region. I arrived three days early to settle in and prepare to welcome the animals. I waited for them and settled them all in. Now they’re doing well.

The cats, who always lived in our trees, are still up in the trees. Lavyna adores our children but barks at strangers. If she runs outside, she won’t harm anyone, but people are still afraid of her — she’s huge. So she stays in an enclosure.

Stitch also wanted to run around freely and couldn’t be made to stay in one spot, so we had to add him to the enclosure. Still, the dogs found a way to sneak out to the yard.

Nora, the shepherd, is also a guard dog but is attached to us, having been with us since she was a puppy. Stella, an older dog, will give you her paw if you approach her — she loves attention.

How could we abandon them? We love them and didn’t bring them into our lives just to leave them behind. That thought never even crossed our minds.

Sviatoslav: Soon, we’ll bring my mother-in-law here; she’s still in Selydove. Then our family will be even larger. If you’re in a similar situation, don’t give up. Take your pets with you since pets are family members.

The Cat Who Celebrated Kherson’s Liberation

Yevheniya Akubekova lives in Kherson. Before the full-scale invasion, she worked as a cashier in a shopping mall. When the full-scale war began, the mall was destroyed, and she lost her job. Yevheniya had two cats, and just before February 24, 2022, she gained a third — the cat was left temporarily by her sister, who went to work in Poland. As it turned out, all three cats weren’t afraid of water: they traveled by boat and even went fishing. Yevheniya shared her experience of moving from place to place with her three cats.

The Start of the Occupation

We had two cats — Zoya and Varyushka — and in 2022, we also had my sister’s cat, Joey. He stayed with us through the war and occupation but is now back with my sister.

When Kherson was occupied, my husband and I didn’t leave the house for two weeks. Then, the cat food ran out, and our human food supplies were also running low. I was baking bread at home, but we were out of oil and sugar. So, we started going out to buy food. On April 9, we left for our dacha.

The left bank of the Dnipro is dotted with river channels and dachas on islands. We stayed there up until December 5. We planted a garden and caught fish. There was no electricity in the city, but we had it at the dacha.

The cats were terrified of the shelling. They still get scared and hide. It was horrifying when the orc [russian] planes flew overhead to bomb us. They flew so low, right above the power lines. The poor cats didn’t know where to run, and neither did we, crouching down in fear. I called for the cats, but they were panicked. When they heard a plane approaching from afar, they would dart inside the house.

Apart from that, the cats had a wonderful time there. My husband would fish and feed both our cats and the neighboring ones. The price of pet food skyrocketed. At first, locals raised prices on the remaining supplies, then the russians brought in more and sold it at triple the price.

Our biggest softie is Joey. He is affectionate and friendly. He followed me all over the island; everyone knew he was my cat. Liza was a stout little thing, bustling around chasing snakes and mice, getting leaner and more agile. Varya, the oldest, loved sitting in the attic — she had her own little sanctuary up there.

The cats even started bringing grass snakes into the house. They knew all the little holes and cracks where the snakes hid. I yelled at them to stop dragging those poor snakes inside!

The cats loved it there, and it was hard for them when we returned to the city. Joey didn’t eat for a week out of sadness.

Every weekend, I would take a boat to Kherson to buy essentials — oil, grains, or sugar — the things we couldn’t grow ourselves. My husband and I would pass through the Ostriv microdistrict. The orcs had a checkpoint there. They’d check our bags and phones. Once, we were boarded by an orc boat, they searched us and checked our passports and phones.

Liberation

I remember when Kherson was liberated. I went shopping by boat. We all knew each other, everyone else was also going. So we hired a taxi, we were on our way, and we saw a pickup truck with Odesa license plates and a guy in camouflage waving at us. I thought, “What a bastard, they’ve seized another of our cars, and he’s even waving.” I was so stressed I didn’t even notice his uniform was different! I arrived at the market, and it was buzzing: “They’re here, they’re here!” We’d been warned not to gather in groups because it might be a trap — the invaders could be disguising themselves… I said, “People, don’t gather!” They asked, “Don’t you want it to be true?” “Of course I do,” I replied, “but we were warned it could be a provocation.” I didn’t believe it. And Kherson was abuzz.

When we returned to the island, the talk was the same: “Did you hear?” “Is it true?” When it became clear that our forces really had come, we gathered everyone on the island and celebrated. Each family brought whatever they had, and we sat together, sang, took photos, and cried. Even the cat found us and sat at the table with us!

Then, the islands became a target for shelling. They used drones to watch where people were moving and fired at those spots. Soon everyone had fled, and we left in a hurry too.

We left our belongings behind but took the cats. Three carriers, two backpacks.

The dacha is now under orc control. We don’t know if we’ll ever return. Is it mined, is it destroyed? At least we have our animals with us. 

Militaries worldwide emit greenhouse gases that accelerate global warming. russia, with all its emissions caused by war, is accelerating the process even more. Meanwhile, we are no more than four years away from a 1.5°C rise in the global average annual temperature relative to pre-industrial levels.

Can anything still be done?

Olha Chevhaniuk, Head of Strategic Initiatives at UAnimals, talked about this with Lennard de Klerk live on air. We share the highlights of this conversation.  

A Little Green Capitalist

I grew up in a Dutch village with three older brothers. All of us brothers had several nicknames. One of my nicknames was Green Capitalist. Capitalist — because I didn’t mind making money, Green came because I was always concerned about the environment and cleaning up our mess.

My father had a factory. He produced packaging material for flowers, which is very fitting for the Netherlands. As a child during summers, I worked in the factory, and because of that, I became interested in the environment. You know, see all the plastic, you have waste materials… I was often working with a small recycling machine, trying to reuse the plastic materials. It was already a circular economy in the early days.

I started my studies in the early nineties when the Soviet Union fell apart. I realized that we in the West had no clue about what we called the East block, about all these different countries and nations. My parents had a satellite dish and I was playing a lot with it. I managed to get all these TV channels from Hungary, Romania, and the Baltic states. I got sort of interested in the part of Europe I knew nothing about. So, I started working in an engineering and consulting firm, which had its biggest office in Kyiv.

I knew nothing about Ukraine. I’m ashamed to say it now, but like many of us, I thought it was “sort of russia, but a little bit different.” I lived there for several years, traveled around the country, and learned about its regions and proud history, and I fell a little bit in love with the country. It was 1999-2001 — these were difficult times for Ukraine. The murder of the journalist Georgiy Gongadze happened, Leonid Kuchma was a president, so it was not always going in the right direction, but you could see a country developing so much differently from russia.

To cut a long story short, when I got back to the Netherlands, I started working for the Dutch government and got involved in climate change, helping to reduce emissions of greenhouse gases.

What brought you to research the impact of the war on climate change?

I live in Hungary and run a climate-neutral resort there. When the full-scale invasion started, we were able to house many Ukrainians who were on their way to Europe so that they could recover from the week in a car. I thought, what can I do besides helping refugees?

Since climate change is my expertise, I started thinking about what russian aggression does to the climate. When I started to work on this topic, I told friends and colleagues, and we realized that this was never done before — to look at the impact of conflict on climate.

The impact of this war is mostly on Ukraine’s territory. However, it also increases greenhouse gas emissions and accelerates global warming. I believe that by telling this story, we will also be able to show that russian aggression impacts the world.  

A Reminder about Climate Change

Climate change is caused by the emission of so-called greenhouse gases. Carbon dioxide is the most common greenhouse gas, but we have other gases besides CO2: methane, nitrous oxide, halogenated other gases. There are also gases such as sulphur dioxide, ammonia and black carbon aerosols. They all accumulate in the atmosphere. As a result, they trap the heat of the sun. That is why the average temperature in the world is going up.

In the UN’s Paris Agreement, we agreed to limit this increase in temperature to 1.5°C above pre-industrial levels. We cannot stop climate change anymore, it’s too late. But if we limit it to 1.5 degrees above pre-industrial levels, it is more or less manageable.  

If we get to 2 degrees or more, we will not be able to manage it anymore: catastrophic weather events can occur. We will have people on the move, etc. 

We only have 4 years left before the amount of greenhouse gases accumulated in the atmosphere is already enough to raise temperatures by 1.5 degrees.

So, we really have to work very hard to reduce greenhouse gas emissions drastically. But russia, with this war, is doing the opposite — it is causing more emissions. It is basically accelerating the growth of temperature and, therefore, the impact of climate change. 

War in Ukraine and Greenhouse Gases — What’s in Common?

What are the key environmental consequences of this war?

We concluded that the total emissions caused by the war were 175 tons of CO2.

•   It is the same as the Netherlands, with 18 million inhabitants emits in a year. The Netherlands is a highly industrialized country.
•   It is the same as putting 90 million new petrol cars on the road.
•   Or building 260 coal-fired power plant units of 200 MW each.

It is significant. 

Of course, if you look at the total picture of the world’s emissions, it is relatively small. But again — you should understand that we should bring the emissions down, they should ultimately reach zero. But the war is pushing emissions in the opposite direction.

How much of an impact do the burning russian oil depots have on climate?

We looked at different categories of emissions, including energy infrastructure — all the emissions caused by the damage done to power stations. That includes the emissions from oil depots that are put burning not only in russia, but also the oil depots that russians have destroyed in Ukraine. The total impact of energy infrastructure is 10%. But if we look at burning deposits, it’s relatively small. It’s below 1% of the total.

More important is the direct use of the military. All these tanks, all these vehicles use enormous amounts of diesel and kerosene. And that causes tremendous amounts of emissions.

Are more emissions generated in russia since they are at war, increasing manufacturing and energy use?

Yes, in particular in the production of military equipment. They use a lot of steel, and steel is a very carbon-intensive material. We haven’t seen the numbers yet. Every country must report their emission numbers to the UN with a 2-year delay, and russia hasn’t published its report for 2022. But I do expect an increase there.

Where does russia rank in terms of emissions on a global scale?

The first one is China, second is the USA. russia is ranked fifth.

Ukraine is much lower, simply because it’s a smaller country.

If the war doesn’t stop, what changes will we have?

Climate change will continue. It might very well be that these extra emissions caused by russia will not impact Ukraine but will cause flooding in Bangladesh or fire in the Amazon. It’s a global phenomenon. You cannot distinguish who caused what. This is just contributing to the buildup of greenhouse gases. 

The Indirect Impact

Do you feel your studies influence decision-making? 

It’s an eye-opener. As it was an eye-opener for me to see that conflict does so much to climate.

Militaries all around the world emit much CO2, even if there’s no war. Military emissions are about 5% of the world’s total. They train, they practice using military transport…  

russian aggression made all Europe realize that we are not safe—therefore, we have to invest more in defense. Many countries in Europe are increasing military spending and investing more in military equipment. That means military emissions will also go up. With a delay, it will increase emissions worldwide.

I fully understand that climate change is not the biggest problem for Ukraine now. You are fighting to survive as a nation. This story doesn’t hit the headlines in Ukraine; I think it’s normal.

But what you see in Europe, militaries like NATO realize that they contribute a lot to climate change. One of my latest conferences was in June in Oslo, about European defense, where several militaries came together to discuss how they can reduce the environmental impact of what they do. Climate change was one of the main topics. They agree to start working on decarbonization, reducing emissions. So it is getting there.

Another interesting impact of wars is that the war also changed supply lines in the world.

russia closed its airspace above Siberia for Western airplanes. If you fly from London to Tokio, it normally takes 11 hours, but now airlines take completely different routes over Canada, which makes the flight 4 hours longer, meaning more kerosine, more CO2 emissions. We are working on getting more precise numbers of the impact on aviation.

It has parallels with conflicts around the world. For example, houthis are attacking ships in the Red Sea. A lot of marine transport is avoiding the Red Sea; it has to detour Africa, meaning more diesel and more emissions.

After the War

What impact are you expecting from your studies?

The most significant impact would be to hold the russian federation accountable for those emissions. That is a long shot. The legal system works slowly, and it would be particularly for this case. There is no precedent. It will definitely take years. But when it happens, it will show to the world that anyone will be responsible in case of this part of aggression — environmental crime.

A study published in Nature describes the total damage caused by every ton of CO2 emitted to the atmosphere: 185 US dollars. If we consider 175 million tons of CO2, we are talking about damage of almost 33 billion US dollars. This damage will happen somewhere in the world. We don’t know when or where, but it will happen.

That is the compensation we are anticipating from russia.

The idea is that part of the money goes to Ukraine to recover, for example, by replanting the forests that went up on fire because of the shelling. Also, for the reconstruction of buildings, by using less fossil fuels, less steel, but more climate-friendly materials.

The other part should go to the Global South — the developing countries impacted by climate change to improve water management, for example.  

You in Ukraine have such a strong civil society. Once this horrible war is over, reconstruction will be done in a way that is thought-through.

Civil society organizations should be very loud to the government about how to work on it. There will be a lot of money coming from the West to help Ukraine recover, but it is your role as a civil society to make sure this money is well spent.

It will not be easy, but I’m confident you will do it right in a sustainable way. You are tough cookies.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

Main image: Lennard de Klerk. Source: Ministry of Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources of Ukraine

Budum… Budum… Budum… A white minibus crawls through 300-year-old pine trees. This is the Lithuanian forest in the Hetman National Nature Park. Before it became a protected area, the place was rife with poaching—electrofishing, nets, and 12-gauge hunting rifles.

Later, when the area became a nature reserve, some locals wrote letters to then-President Yanukovych, urging the park to be dissolved. “In a few years, you won’t have anywhere to graze your cows because this land will be privatized, and the fields will be plowed,” the deputy head of the environmental education department recalls telling them. Over time, the locals grew accustomed to the rules. Perhaps, because fines increased tenfold.

Trrr… The head of the Hetman Park’s state protection service stops his car. He needs to inspect the area. He parks at a recreational site with gazebos, tables, and swings. In the past, people from Sumy, Poltava, and Kharkiv would come here to breathe the fresh air. Now, only park staff can enjoy this privilege, as visiting the forests is prohibited. At the beginning of the full-scale war, the park was under russian occupation for nearly a month, and it is potentially contaminated with explosives. While sappers have not yet inspected the area, park scientists have already begun their work.

Nature Adapts

Mykola Hryhorovych points his camera at a fragment in a fallen tree trunk. Nearby, there is a crater from an airstrike that took place back in February 2022. He tilts his head back to observe the tree tops. On one side of the clearing, death has passed through—burned, decayed, dead branches. On the other side, green and living pines. This contrast reveals the wind’s direction on the day of the raid—northern, as the southern side of the trees suffered the most.

Mykola Hryhorovych is the newly appointed head of the park’s research department. Previously, he taught at the Sumy National Agricultural University’s ecology department and brought students here to study the species composition of plants. Now, he and his colleague, entomologist Oleksandr Volodymyrovych, are examining a crater left by a shell.

He scrapes the soil and puts samples into small jars. These are samples for monitoring, which will show the impact of the war on nature. However, it’s too early to draw conclusions now, as changes in the soil might only appear over time. In 20-30 years, a full atomic spectral analysis will be conducted to understand which elements migrate from the soil to the plants.

But now a brief inspection reveals that the plants are determined to overcome difficulties and changes. Birch and pine trees are already regenerating. Perhaps they were growing here before the shelling, and the explosion failed to completely destroy their roots. Or maybe a bird dropped a cone, leading to the growth of new trees. Moss, the first “settler,” is also taking root here. This change in the ecosystem is known as succession. Sometimes, its manifestations can be quite unpredictable.

“How did a marsh species end up here?” Mykola Hryhorovych wonders as he examines a reed stalk and narrowleaf cattail inside the crater. “Maybe the rains helped… but I don’t think there’s been been much rainfall.”

Mykola Hryhorovych calls Oleksandr Volodymyrovych for help. The entomologist dismisses it, saying that it is just moisture that had accumulated. After all, an entomologist is more interested in insects. He pokes the soil with a stick and notices wasp burrows. Striped insects burrow into the sandy slopes, where they breed. With each new crater from a shell, the population of wasps and bees increases. 

There is even a tarantula burrow in one of the craters. But it is not just insects that inhabit these war-created apartments.

Mykola Hryhorovych kneels in another crater and peers into a black hole under charred branches. A fox has made its home here and recently gave birth to a litter. A few meters away, there should be another hole through which the animals can escape in emergencies. He looks out of the crater, scanning the surroundings, but can’t find the emergency exit. He sets off to search, overcoming obstacles—fallen and broken trees—but doesn’t find the desired passage. The foxes have hidden their escape route well, away from prying eyes.

Instead, Mykola Hryhorovych notices something else. Near the charred tree stump that was at the center of the explosion, crustose lichens are appearing. The farther from the explosion site, the more visible these plants become. This, he says, is a good sign—the air is becoming cleaner. In fact, there is an entire branch of science that evaluates environmental conditions based on crustose lichens—Lichenoindication . But there aren’t enough hands to engage in this work here, another consequence of the war.

How the Big is Captivated by the Small

“Look at the beautiful admiral flying!” — Oleksandr Volodymyrovych spotted a butterfly.

A man nearly two meters [~6.7 feet] tall studies small insects. Oleksandr Volodymyrovych has been working as an entomologist at Hetman Park for seven years. Together with his colleagues, he observed that three years before the full-scale invasion, butterflies migrated from Crimea to the forest-steppe here. The entomologist believes that global warming likely played a role.

Research on insects in the park also led to the discovery of new species. In 2014, a unique species of leaf-miner flies was found here—Ophiomyia adunca Guglya, named in honor of Kharkiv scientist Yuliya Guglya.

So, as soon as the city of Trostianets was liberated, Oleksandr Volodymyrovych hurried back to the fields—hoping there were new discoveries waiting to be made. He wrote to the military administration, asking for permission to use lights during nighttime research. He explained that it was necessary to monitor the insect population. Of course, one could chase insects with a net instead of using light, but Oleksandr Volodymyrovych wasn’t quite in shape for that anymore.

The military hesitated for a long time, as active fighting had ended only two months earlier. Eventually, they granted permission, chose a safe spot, and left the researchers for the whole night. That night, the forest near the village of Zhuravne was quiet, save for the buzzing of insects. They flocked to the lamp, and the scientist described every species he saw.

Before the war, there were five such expeditions a year, but now, a single one is considered a blessing. Many scientists have joined the military, and some are reluctant to venture into the field due to safety concerns. They say that even in the most remote areas of the park, near Poltava, there could still be explosives.

Saved by Ancient Oak Trees

Today, some former employees who now serve in the Armed Forces of Ukraine visited the park. Among them was Oleksandr, who had been steadily climbing the career ladder since 2013 and, just before the full-scale war, held the position of a leading wildlife protection engineer. He used to catch poachers and conduct raids. But after February 24, 2022, his duties changed: instead of chasing poachers, he now had to chase russians through the forest.

In the first days of the full-scale invasion, Oleksandr evacuated his family to Poltava and returned to defend his home. He called his friends to meet and head into the city together. Trostianets had already been occupied, so the only way to get there was via forest paths not even locals always knew.

It was on these paths that Oleksandr and his friends encountered soldiers from the Kholodnyi Yar 93rd Brigade. They introduced themselves and agreed to show the brigade every passage into the city and the locations of the russians. They lived together in the ravines, planning surprise attacks on the invaders. However, the generals repeatedly postponed the assault.

During the day, the temperature hovered around 0°C [32°F], but at night, it dropped to -17°C [1.4°F]. The soldiers had no sleeping bags, and they couldn’t light fires. They sat freezing under ancient oaks with thick canopies. The russians bombarded them with shells, and many exploded in the branches. In a way, the park protected the soldiers.

Finally, on March 21, the assault began. The russians scattered in all directions, falling into classic hunting ambushes. That day, Oleksandr received seven shrapnel wounds and ended up in a hospital. After a few months, he recovered and fully mobilized into the army. Now, he beams with joy when he talks about shooting down Shahed UAVs at night, “We took down eight today.” 

However, the drones don’t always burn up in the air—they often fall into forests, where they start fires that can smolder for days, or even weeks.

Currently, smoke still rises from the area in Hetman Park where a Shahed drone crashed into the peatlands. Thick soil, fallen trees, and the stench of burning linger. The drone went down about two weeks ago. For the military, the priority is human life, and only after that comes nature. This particular Shahed could have reached its target—who knows what that might have been. Perhaps, an ordinary residential building or yet another hospital.

“The park will recover on its own, and we will help it,” says Oleksandr. “You can plant trees, and in 30 years they’ll grow—but it doesn’t work that way with human life.”

Life Has Changed

Before February 24, 2022, when Oleksandr was not yet a soldier, he often walked his dog in the park. His energetic dog would race through the forest for 40 minutes, rest, and then start running in circles again. Now, such activities are too dangerous. In the spring, after the de-occupation, many animals—foxes, hares, and dogs—were killed by tripwire mines. These days, Oleksandr’s dog sees only the confines of his own yard. “I don’t know where to walk my dog in Trostianets,” says the soldier. “The dog’s going to go mad in that kennel.”

The war has also affected the lives of wild animals—both birds and large mammals. Some have been forced to migrate to quieter areas, while others flee from the explosions even into human hands.

After the occupation, wolf tracks were spotted on the outskirts of Trostianets. Oleksandr suggests that the wolves likely migrated from the russian border or the Donetsk region, where intense fighting is currently raging. Previously, wolves were just occasional visitors to Hetman Park—passing through maybe once every two years.

Even on duty, the soldier has seen wild animals: several herds of wild boars ventured onto a mine-laden field. His colleague Maksym, who worked in the park’s tourism and ecology department before being mobilized, shared a story about encountering a lynx. He was stationed in the Chernihiv region with his brothers-in-arms, digging trenches, when suddenly a lynx strolled into their position and arrogantly laid down on a bench. The soldiers were scared, “Commander, should we shoot it? What if it jumps on one’s head—scary stuff.” Maksym wouldn’t allow it. The lynx thanked them for their humane decision by not harming either him or his subordinates. That was the end of the encounter.

“Animals are getting used to the explosions and are more at ease than before the war,” says Maksym. “This is because there are no poachers or hunters now.”

Nature adapts, despite everything, as long as it’s left in peace.

The head of the park’s protection service pulls out a gondola—or rather, an inflatable boat—and sets off on an inspection tour along the Vorskla River. The river has shallowed this year, and only the fry are racing about. Driftwood, submerged yesterday, now fascinates with its shapes on dry land. Still, some remain underwater. The somber man pushes through the trees and thorny branches, finally emerging into the “open sea.” The Vorskla remains silent and resting. It feels as though peace is possible, and life is slowly returning here. The nearest frontline is less than 100 kilometers [~62 miles] from Hetman Park.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

At least $600 billion is the estimated cost of damage to Ukraine’s protected areas and biodiversity caused by russia’s invasion, according to the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources. However, the real loss far exceeds monetary value. It includes countless dead animals, devastated ecosystems, and stolen beloved places—places dear to each and every Ukrainian.

In this article, Ukrainian opinion leaders share their favorite places, which, because of russia, we have either lost or are losing right now.

Sasha Tab’s Crimea

“At Cape Aya near Sevastopol, I first saw bioluminescent plankton. We swam at night, and I couldn’t believe my eyes—my hands turned into some sort of neon light. These are incredible memories! Sadly, I haven’t seen this magical plankton again,” recalls Sasha Tab, vocalist of the band Kalush Orchestra.

Sasha was fortunate to visit Crimea several times in his youth, traveling to Yalta, Partenit, Koktebel, Hurzuf, Feodosia, and Kaihador (then known as Ordzonikidze).

The damage inflicted on Crimea’s unique nature by russians during the 10-year occupation is hard to assess. However, it’s known that military drills involving missile launches and bomb drops are conducted in the Opuk Nature Reserve. Additionally, illegal sand extraction has flooded about 10 hectares of the Bakalska Spit Regional Landscape Park. 

Many other russian crimes against nature likely remain undocumented, and we may only confront their consequences once Crimea is liberated.

“My best memories are about Crimea,” Sasha Tab says. “The younger guys in my band have never been there. That’s unfortunate. But I hope we’ll still have a chance to see these places.”

Nataliya Zhyzhchenko’s Chornobyl

“The last time I visited Chornobyl was April 26, 2021, at 1:23 a.m.—precisely on the anniversary of the disaster. I was there with the plant workers, and I brought my father. We visited the Shelter Structure and honored the memory of those who perished,” shares ONUKA lead singer Nataliya Zhyzhchenko.

From a young age, Nataliya was familiar with the details of the Chornobyl catastrophe because her father worked as a liquidator at the plant from 1986 to 1988.

“There’s history here, lessons to be learned, and sadly, they are repeating. Chornobyl has always been a source of pain for me, but also inspiration and awe.”

Nataliya has been to the Chornobyl zone about 20 times, doing internships at the power plant, filming documentaries, modeling for Vogue, and composing songs. As she puts it, Chornobyl allowed her to escape people and recharge.

After almost four decades of recovery, nature in the Chornobyl zone is once again under threat, this time from russia’s full-scale invasion. In 2022, Ukraine’s State Nuclear Regulatory Inspectorate recorded elevated gamma radiation levels, likely caused by russian military vehicles stirring up radioactive dust.

“The nature there is unique,” says Nataliya. “The reserve is extraordinary because of the absence of humans and the environmental condition. When I was there, I saw a fox on the streets of Prypiat. I saw a moose and her calves when I stopped the car by the roadside. She looked directly into my eyes, assessed the situation, and simply walked away. Everyone [in the car] held their breath.”

The exclusion zone is home to many animals, including deer, roe deer, wolves, raccoons, wild boars, storks, lynxes, and bears. In total, over 300 species of vertebrates live in the area, 75 of which are listed in Ukraine’s Red Data Book of Ukraine.

“After all the harm humanity has inflicted on this area, it’s hard to imagine how else we could damage it. Nature will overcome this too. It will forgive this too. Unfortunately, but also, in a way, fortunately,” concludes Nataliya.

Anton Ptushkin’s Tuzly Lagoons

Blogger Anton Ptushkin’s memories of the Tuzly Lagoons are quite recent. In August 2022, he began filming a documentary there about animals during the full-scale war.

“We were filming the mass death of dolphins and cetaceans due to russian aggression,” Anton recounts. “I saw dead dolphins with my own eyes, lying on the shore.”

The Tuzly Lagoons, a group of saltwater lagoons [lymans in Ukrainian] in the southern Odesa region, are home to dozens of bird species, including some that are endangered. Despite the grim circumstances, Anton was struck by the beauty of the area. He was particularly amazed by the pelicans, noting he had never seen so many of them before.

This part of the Black Sea is also home to porpoises, one of the smallest cetacean species, including a unique subspecies known as the Azov porpoise [Phocoena phocoena relicta], which inhabits Ukrainian waters.

The natural park has been under enemy fire, with fragments of russian missiles found there. Anton was joined by a prosecutor investigating crimes against Ukraine’s ecosystem, who conducted autopsies on the animals to send samples to Germany and Italy to determine the cause of death.

“The park’s director, who has studied cetaceans for many years, believes that sonars and missile launches caused the mass deaths of dolphins,” Anton adds.

Anhelina Usanova’s Askania-Nova

“When I think of my time at Askania-Nova, I remember its peaceful atmosphere. But now, it’s far from a place of relaxation and connection with nature,” says Miss Eco International 2024 Anhelina Usanova.

She visited the reserve as a child during a nearby camp stay. She recalls reading about Przewalski’s horses and being determined to see them. Though she didn’t spot the horses, she saw many other exotic animals, including Caffra buffaloes, Chapman’s zebras, Père David’s deer, and American bison.

Today, these animals’ lives are in danger. We have previously reported on the fires in Askania-Nova, the largest occurring on August 22 and September 1, 2023. These fires destroyed plants listed in Ukraine’s Green Data Book. Since the start of the war, over 5,500 hectares of the reserve—nearly one-fifth of its territory—have burned.

Askania-Nova’s director, Viktor Shapoval, reported that three Caffra buffaloes died because the occupation administration failed to move them to winter quarters in time. Additionally, endangered species are illegally taken from the reserve to russia and Crimea, often to worse conditions where they lack the freedom they enjoyed in Askania-Nova.

A comprehensive assessment of the impact of russian occupation on the reserve’s ecosystem will only be possible after its liberation. After Ukraine’s victory, Anhelina plans to join a volunteer mission there.

“Our land will need a lot of work to restore everything, especially places as incredible as Askania-Nova. Its value cannot be measured in money, it is simply priceless,” she says.

Olha Martynovska’s Kinburn Spit 

“As a student, we used to vacation in Kobleve and Ochakiv, coastal towns near Mykolaiv. The Kinburn Spit was something like a foreign country for us, something exotic,” recalls Olha Martynovska, judge of the culinary show MasterChef.

One day, she and her classmates went to the spit that so “tenderly and delicately enters the open sea.” 

“After that, I had many foreign countries, islands, peninsulas, oceans, and seas, but this first one was like my first love. It stays forever, and the Kinburn Spit is a place of power for me.”

Now, Kinburn Spit is part of the russian-occupied territory, from which the mainland of Ukraine is regularly shelled. Fires frequently break out on the peninsula, and according to local residents, the invaders prohibit extinguishing them. Anticipating the advance of the Ukrainian Armed Forces, russians have mined the spit, posing a threat to wildlife.

“When Ukraine liberates Kinburn Spit, I’ll go searching for the roe deer and hares I used to see there,” Olha shares her plans.

Polina Uvarova’s Kyianytsia

“I remember how in Kyianytsia, you could hear the birds’ songs so well that we would stop just to listen. Now, alongside the birds, KABs and Shaheds fly,” says travel blogger Polina Uvarova.

Kyianytsia is a small village in the Sumy region, just 30 kilometers from the russian border. Polina and her friends used to love visiting Kyianytsia to enjoy nature and tranquility.

“There’s a stunning architectural monument there—Kyianytsia Palace—and the nature is just incredibly beautiful,” she recalls.

The forest, with its many streams, abundant wildlife, and picturesque lake, is how Polina remembers this place. But now, due to constant shelling, locals no longer travel to Kyianytsia to unwind.

“After the victory, I’d love to return and walk the same paths. I’d look for the springs and stroll by the lake. I’d go to the local store, buy some coffee, sit by the lake with an ice cream, and just soak in the energy of this place,” she says.

Sasha Shabalina’s Dzharylhach

“Dzharylhach is a place that russia has stolen from me,” says comedian Sasha Shabalina. Dzharylhach Island is the largest island in Ukraine and the Black Sea. Sasha visited it in the summer of 2020. “YouTube convinced me to go to Dzharylhach: there were so many videos calling it the ‘Ukrainian Maldives.’ The videos showed crystal-clear water and wild animals.”

Sasha decided to go and was amazed by the natural beauty and the peacefulness of the wildlife. Right after arriving with her friends, they spotted a dolphin playing near the shore.

“There was this feeling that we were guests, and the true hosts—the animals—were nearby, so we had to behave respectfully. For the first time, I saw how people can show respect for both nature and each other.”

Since the beginning of the invasion, the russians have occupied Dzharylhach. Since then, the local ecosystem has been fighting for survival, as the russians are now using the island as a firing range. In August 2023, a fire raged on Dzharylhach for a week in the part of the island home to rare species. Endangered animals such as the steppe viper and the unique empusa fasciata, a type of praying mantis that can mimic a drop of water, were at risk from the flames.

Dzharylhach now faces the threat of being turned from a protected area into an industrial site and resort. In 2023, russian authorities permitted fishing, hunting, logging, and the extraction of clay, salt, oil, and natural gas. They also allowed the construction of hotels and restaurants in the national park. 

Additionally, the invaders built a land bridge between the mainland village of Lazurne and the island to facilitate access for military vehicles. Environmentalist and zoologist Pavlo Holdin explained that this artificial connection posed a threat to the Dzharylhach Bay ecosystem. Fortunately, the sea washed away the land bridge during a powerful storm.

“I think I would have removed that bridge with my own hands. It is ecocide,” Sasha Shabalina says in frustration. “I really want to believe that nature will heal itself. Since learning about the occupation of Dzharylhach, I’ve been dreaming of all the animals rising up to defeat the invaders, just like in the movie Jumanji.”

Cover Photo: Nataliya Zhyzhchenko in the Chornobyl Zone. Source: ONUKA archive and Vogue Ukraine.

Banner Photo: Animal autopsy in the Tuzly Lagoons. Source: Anton Ptushkin’s personal archive.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

We meet Leonid Myslyvets, the mayor of Oster, on the banks of the Desna, near the rescue station. He spreads a map of the community over the car hood to show the length of the riverbed—from the village of Bilyky in the north to Krekhaiv in the south, covering over 50 kilometers. Almost every day, rescuers go out on the water here to check if any dead fish have appeared along the shores.

Black Water

Oster lies on the Desna, halfway between Kyiv and Chernihiv. By car, it takes about 1.5 to 2 hours to reach from either city. Just south of the town is the Beremytske Nature Park, where green tourism had been promoted before the full-scale war. However, the russian invasion, followed by russia’s poisoning of the Seym and Desna rivers, significantly reduced the flow of visitors.

The pollution of the Seym in the Sumy region began around August 14, when the first reports of deteriorating water quality emerged. By September, it had reached the Chernihiv region. Social media was flooded with photos and videos showing hundreds, if not thousands, of dead fish along the riverbanks. There were fears that the contaminated water could even reach Kyiv.

From mid-August to mid-September, local authorities and volunteers in the Sumy and Chernihiv regions collected nearly 40 tons of dead fish.

“The poisoned water reached us on September 12. At that time, we set up two small aeration stations along the shore, and from them, we placed tubes into the water—one 40 meters long, the other 70. We punched holes in the tubes, following advice from the department [Desna Basin Water Resources Management],” Leonid explains. “The water is gradually getting oxygenated: our divers went down there and said that fish gather near the oxygen sources to survive.”

We head down to the pier, where we can hear a buzzing sound. These aren’t russian Shahed drones that fly along the Desna at night. Near the water, there are two small pumps, each providing a flow of 400–450 liters [100-120 gallons] per minute. Tubes extend from the pumps into the water, and from the middle of the river, you can see bubbles being carried along by the current.

“The water still isn’t bright and clear enough, but on September 13, let’s say, it was like tar, and there was a dark residue along the banks. Now there’s much less of it. But if the situation worsens, we’ll install more aeration stations—we’ve already arranged with local businesses to add four more of varying capacities,” the mayor of Oster states.

While chatting, we put on life vests brought by Oleksiy, a rescuer. He helps us settle into a boat, starts the engine, and steers us to the middle of the river. We speed upstream. Both banks are empty. Occasionally, a solitary gull soars above the water, or a kite circles high in the sky.

“Fortunately, it didn’t come to a fish die-off in Oster. There’s a key indicator—the level of dissolved oxygen in the water. The normal value is 7 milligrams per cubic decimeter or higher. Ours dropped to 5, and below 4, fish begins to die. Another indicator is chemical oxygen demand, also measured in milligrams per cubic decimeter. The normal level is around 30, but ours reached 50 or more. I know that upstream, it could reach more than 100,” Leonid explains.

A drop in the first indicator and an increase in the second shows that a chemical reaction is consuming oxygen from the water. When fish start dying, they begin to decompose, which also requires oxygen.

“If there’s a fish die-off, they need to be collected quickly. We were prepared for this and are still ready because we read reports of more pollution being dumped into the Seym. The rescue station has six boats and nets to retrieve the dead fish. Even some locals have offered to help. So, I hope we’re ready if it comes to that,” says Leonid.

We approach the boundary of the community along the river. No dead fish are visible along the shores. Currently, in Oster and throughout the Desna and Seym, there is a ban on using the water for any purpose, swimming or fishing. But this doesn’t stop the locals. As we moved upstream, we saw several fishermen: one casting from a boat and two others from the shore. When they noticed us, they pretended they were just relaxing and that the rods and reels weren’t theirs.

“What can you do about them?” Oleksiy chuckles. “Some people just don’t care about bans. I hope they don’t get poisoned. At least at the market, they try to control the sale of dead fish. But how do you control it on the river? Sure, we go out every day, travel upstream. But we can’t be going back and forth all day,” the rescuer complains.

Oleksiy steers our boat into an old part of the riverbed—the natural course of the Desna. The one we had traveled earlier was dug during Soviet times. The Desna, though navigable, was too winding, so they decided to dig a straighter course. During the fish die-off, the old channel became a refuge.

“The fish sought refuge in the old riverbed, these backwaters, to survive. The water here was cleaner—people noticed that. You won’t see it now, though, because the water quality has improved,” explains Oleksiy, peering into the water. “Oh, beaver dens. I hope we haven’t disturbed them too much because beavers are the real masters here,” he adds as we turn back into the newer river channel.

On our way back, we spot tourists with a tent on one of the banks. Leonid remarks that these are the first he’s seen since the river pollution began. Before the full-scale war, up to 300-500 cars would pass through Beremytske Park, that is, its parking lot, every day.

“Usually, from late May to October, people would come to the Desna for camping. In the Oster area alone, there could be as many as 5,000 visitors during the season. Now, the shore is empty. As soon as the news of river contamination broke, people stopped coming,” Leonid explains.

We dock at the shore. The aeration stations are humming. The rescuers tell us that they keep running even during power outages, thanks to a dedicated generator.

How They Dispose of the Fish

The village of Slabyn, located 60 kilometers from Oster, is part of the neighboring Honcharivka community. We meet with the local elder, Serhiy Kraskov, also near the Desna. He’s currently giving an interview to British journalists.

Even though we’re standing on the steep right bank, the wind still carries the heavy, cloying stench of decay from the water. As soon as we descend, the smell hits us with full force. Dark patches are visible on the water, and along the shore, there are black streaks left by residue. However, there are almost no dead fish on the shore—they were mostly collected the day before. Nevertheless, among the shoreline vegetation, some dead crucian carp can still be seen, and a pike about a meter long lies nearby.

“The banks here are overgrown, so a lot of dead fish got stuck there. On Sunday, September 15, we walked along the shore and pulled them out with nets. We had people from the village council, the cultural center, and the medical outpost helping. There were also a few volunteers with boats—they took care of the opposite shore. That day, we gathered almost one and a half tons,” Serhiy recalls.

Simply discarding or burying the collected fish isn’t an option: the decomposition products could contaminate the soil and groundwater. Therefore, a special burial site is needed—a deep pit lined with concrete wells with a concrete bottom. These burial sites are sealed with a similar concrete cover and placed far from water sources and residential areas.

“In our community, there’s still a burial pit left from Soviet times, but it hasn’t been used since the 1980s. I remember talking about it with Chernihiv [the State Environmental Inspectorate in the Chernihiv region] when the foul water reached them, and they were also gathering dead fish,” says Serhiy.

We head out to see this burial pit. It’s a few dozen kilometers of driving along rough field roads. As the car bounces over the bumps, Serhiy continues talking about the die-off: many large fish perished. The biggest one he saw was a catfish about a meter long. They collected bream, crucian carp, and zander, and the most numerous were pikes.

“I don’t know how all this will recover. If both the large and small fish have died, who will lay the eggs? Unless we artificially restock. Plus, maybe something will come down from the upper Desna, where the poisoned water didn’t reach. But even if that happens, who can guarantee that this won’t happen again in a year or two? russia isn’t going anywhere,” Serhiy says in frustration.

We cross the highway connecting Kyiv and Chernihiv and head into dense wooded plantations between fields. In one of these plantations, we stop and get out. From there, we continue on foot along a packed dirt road leading to a deep pit. The closer we get, the stronger the stench becomes. The pit is about four meters deep, roughly the same width, and about ten meters long. If it weren’t for the two concrete wells, it could easily pass for a dugout for armored vehicles.

“Since September 13, I’ve been dealing with this burial pit. We urgently ordered concrete rings from a local business to line the wells. It turned out that in the forty years since it was last used, the burial pit had completely grown over with trees. There was no access, so we had to cut down some of them. Now, we need to lay an asphalt road here,” says Serhiy.

We approach the wells. One is empty, while the other is nearly full of bags sprinkled with chlorine. Despite the concrete lining, puddles are starting to form at the bottom of the pit—a result of the decomposition of the dead fish. The buzzing of green flies, seemingly thousands of them, is unbearable.

“Since we’re a starostat [an administrative unit headed by a starosta—a village elder], bureaucracy moves slowly here: we can’t make quick payments, especially on a Friday evening. But I’m grateful to the local businessmen who delivered the first three concrete rings already on Saturday. And on Monday, September 16, they brought three more. It was all based on trust—they trusted that we’d pay them later. But we needed to bury the fish immediately,” Serhiy explains.

The community ordered a second well just in case, anticipating a larger die-off. However, by September 17, the number of dead fish had decreased, so it wasn’t needed for now.

The filled well will eventually be sealed with a concrete cover and buried. A fence and warning signs will be placed around the perimeter of the burial site so that locals won’t accidentally unearth it a decade or two from now.

New Pollution Incident

On September 17, Serhiy Zhuk, the head of the Environmental Inspection in the Chernihiv region, told UAnimals media that the situation in the rivers of the Chernihiv region had finally improved: “The fish are no longer dying. I can say this because I personally walked along the banks. We still find dead fish, but these are ones that died 3-5 days ago, surfacing from the bottom or from under the roots. Of course, the Seym and Desna waters are still unsafe for swimming. Almost all life there has perished, and an unpleasant odor persists. However, the levels of oxygen, ammonium, and iron are normalizing.”

The Chernihiv and Sumy regions are still calculating the damages, which are currently estimated to be around 450 million hryvnias.

This environmental crime has clear russian involvement. The Department of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources of the Sumy Regional State Administration believes that wastewater from a sugar factory in the village of Tyotkino, in russia’s Kursk region, entered Ukrainian rivers. This conclusion was drawn after analyzing satellite images: they show that in early August, the wastewater accumulation basin at the factory was full, but by the second half of August (when reports of pollution in Ukrainian rivers emerged), it had emptied. Moreover, laboratory analysis of the water found substances “specific to sugar production.”

This is not the first time that russian activities have polluted Ukrainian rivers with wastewater. Oleksandr Yemets, a research associate at the Seymskiy Regional Landscape Park, recalled that this had happened at least twice before: in 2011, when an accident occurred at the treatment facilities in Kursk, and the dam near Tyotkino deliberately released polluted water into Ukraine, and again this year at the end of May. On those occasions, fish and crustaceans also perished. Each time, the incidents increased the risk of extinction for a unique species of the region, the Desman, which is on the Red List of endangered animals.

Unfortunately, this might not be the last such environmental crime. On September 16, the Ministry of Environmental Protection and Natural Resources reported further deterioration of water quality in the Seym. Samples taken in the village of Manukhivka (about three kilometers from the russian border) indicated a drop in oxygen levels. Once again, russia is the most likely source of this pollution. However, identifying the exact origin and cause of the contamination is difficult due to ongoing hostilities in the Kursk region, which borders Sumy.

As of September 25, polluted water reached Baturyn in the Chernihiv region. The dissolved oxygen level, as mentioned earlier, was less than one—ranging between 0.3 and 0.8 milligrams per cubic decimeter. In the Sumy region, between the villages of Mutyn and Ozarichi, the oxygen in the water was completely depleted. The next day, the situation in the Seym in the Chernihiv region worsened further.

The Ministry of Environmental Protection assures that this pollution incident is not as severe as the one in August, and the rivers should be able to recover more quickly. However, if a fish die-off occurs again, the border communities will once again have to collect the dead fish from the banks.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

The Black and Azov Seas are home to three species of dolphins, each suffering in its own way due to russian aggression. What do we already know about how military actions affect them, and how can we help nature endure? Pavlo Holdin, a zoologist, ecologist, and expert on modern and extinct marine mammals, sheds light on these issues.

Currently, there are many conflicting reports regarding the number of dolphins killed since the full-scale invasion began. Some say 50,000, others mention 60,000 or more, while some believe these numbers are exaggerated. What do you think?

Any number mentioned right now—whether it is 10 dolphins or 100,000—has no scientific basis whatsoever. In 2019, Ukrainian researchers conducted an extensive aerial survey of the Black Sea. After the war, after our victory, we can fly again and cover all our waters, including those around Crimea. That will give us an idea of where dolphin populations have increased or decreased and how many remain in total, and then we can assess how many may have died. 

Until then, I believe it is premature to draw definitive conclusions. For now, the figures we [the Institute of Zoology of the National Academy of Sciences of Ukraine and the Ukrainian Scientific Center of Ecology of Sea] provide relate to the bodies of animals found onshore. Of course, this assessment can and should be supplemented in the future with ecological modeling and extrapolated to estimate total losses.

So, what confirmed data do we have?

In 2022, more than 900 cases of dolphin deaths were recorded in the Black Sea region. This includes Ukraine, Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey, and Georgia. Naturally, this does not cover all the incidents, but it is a starting point for analysis and modeling. 

It is also important to note that we only work with verified photos and video recordings of deceased dolphins. Whenever we receive such materials, we verify them to ensure they are not fake, as media reports have sometimes falsely claimed sightings of dead dolphins that turned out to be from different locations or times.

Can I assume that such disinformation, especially if coming from russians, aims to undermine and discredit ecocide documentation efforts?

I do not know. But if we look at the official russian discourse, they try to downplay the scale of the deaths and claim nothing is happening, even when a dolphin carcass washes ashore in the center of Sevastopol.

There is a significant difference between their official and unofficial narratives. Their only similarity is that both are lies.

Can we identify an event or series of events that are most likely causing dolphin deaths?

The only cautious conclusion I can make is that the animals are dying for various reasons. It is unlikely we’ll find that all the deaths stem from a single cause. 

To draw an analogy, though it may seem imperfect, let us look at how war affects people. There are direct life-threatening factors, such as bombardment with various weapons. But people also die from heart attacks, strokes, or from not receiving timely medical care, lacking clean water, or from increased infection rates. 

When forensic pathologists examine the deceased, they find various causes of death, but investigators and prosecutors may conclude that the root cause is war.

The same applies to wildlife, including dolphins. There are multiple threats to their lives and health. Missile launches from surface and underwater naval vessels, whether successful or not, pose a danger. A failed missile that crashes into the sea contaminates the dolphins’ environment with rocket fuel. Even a missile that was successfully launched underwater exposes the animals to harmful noise. Speaking of noise pollution, another source is russian radar systems, which also harm marine mammals. Thus, due to the war, animals are suffering from both acoustic trauma and chemical pollution.

Stress is another threat to the animals. And it is not just the dolphins that are stressed; the fish they feed on are too. To put it simply, the fish get scared and move away, and the dolphins follow. This migration into unfamiliar conditions increases the risk of them getting caught in fishing nets.

There is also speculation that dolphins can suffer from concussions even far from combat zones. A recent article in Science suggested that mild concussions might be a possible cause of whale strandings around the world. While we need technologically complex studies to confirm this, it is not something we can rule out as being connected to the war.

The destruction of sewage systems or larger-scale events, such as the russian military’s destruction of the Kakhovka dam, is also dangerous for dolphins. These incidents release large amounts of organic matter into the sea—from agricultural fertilizers to sewage from cities. This raises the risk of infectious diseases and provides the conditions for phenomena like “red tides,” massive algal blooms. Some of these algae release toxins into the sea.

If a dolphin washes ashore in Bulgaria or Georgia, for example, can this also be linked to the war?

Biological and veterinary analyses are needed to confirm that. When we study what is happening to dolphins in the Black Sea, we must consider everything, because there are no state borders for animals. The impact might occur within our economic zone, say, halfway between Snake Island and Crimea, but the aftermath could manifest in Bulgaria or Turkey.

Then, it is important to establish cooperation with other countries to jointly assess the effects of the war on marine animals. Is such cooperation in place, and how does it work?

Yes, cooperation has been established. Colleagues in Romania, Bulgaria, Turkey, and Georgia perform autopsies on dead dolphins, conduct laboratory analyses, and share their data and findings with us. 

However, as in Ukraine, the capabilities for such research are limited in all Black Sea countries: no government funds autopsies or analyses. Scientists carry out these studies only when they can and out of their own initiative. 

Considering that dolphin bodies decompose quickly, very few are suitable for autopsy. As a result, the data we receive is quite scarce.

As far as I know, dolphins are at the top of the food chain. How does their death affect the Black Sea ecosystem?

Yes, dolphins are at the top of the food web. We use the term “web” because it is not a single chain but a network of interconnected chains. 

Dolphins are considered keystone species, meaning that top predators like them stabilize entire ecosystems. In the Black Sea, dolphins regulate fish populations, and in turn, fish control the populations of zooplankton, phytoplankton, crustaceans, etc.

So, if dolphins are absent (or too few), fish begin reproducing uncontrollably. When there are too many fish, they deplete zooplankton, and that leads to the unchecked growth of microalgae. The toxins from these algae can kill both zooplankton and fish. In the end, we end up with a sea overrun by algae where little else can survive. 

Moreover, when dolphins die out, their place is often taken by jellyfish or, even worse, comb jellies. There have been cases in history where the mass death of dolphins led to ecological disasters.

In the 80s and 90s, up to 90% of Black Sea dolphins perished. This was caused by the dolphin hunting industry, which thrived until 1983. Around the same time, a species of comb jelly, Mnemiopsis, entered the Black Sea through ballast water. With no competition, it multiplied rapidly—an aggressive spread of an alien species is known scientifically as a bioinvasion. As a result, in the 1990s, Mnemiopsis consumed the eggs of almost all common fish species, and anchovy catches dropped 100 to 200 times by 1991. It was even said the Black Sea could become a dead one.

Ironically, the dolphin population recovered partly due to another bioinvasion, an accidental one at that. In 1997–1999, another species of comb jelly, Beroe, was introduced into the Black Sea, and it fed on Mnemiopsis.

In your opinion, how difficult will it be to restore the dolphin population after the war?

Ukraine is home to various dolphin populations. We have three species: the harbor porpoise, the common dolphin, and the bottlenose dolphin. Each species has its own life cycle, lifespan, reproduction rate, and so forth.

As of now, the common dolphin, is doing relatively well. This species is mostly found in the open sea and stays away from the coast.

On the other hand, the harbor porpoise suffers greatly due to human activity. Although no one hunts it intentionally, it often gets accidentally caught in fishing nets. Each year, 12,000–16,000 porpoises die this way, one of the highest rates in the world. Due to this constant pressure, porpoises reproduce quickly: females give birth almost every year and reach sexual maturity at just three years of age, or perhaps even earlier now.

In contrast, the Black Sea bottlenose dolphin reproduces much more slowly, giving birth only once every three years, and reaching sexual maturity at 5–6 years, sometimes even later. This species is listed as endangered and is the largest dolphin in our waters with the smallest population.

Bottlenose dolphins are divided into several local groups. Some groups can be large, numbering in the hundreds, while others are much smaller. For example, near Dzharylhach Island, between 2016 and 2020, we studied a group of fewer than 50 bottlenose dolphins.

Bottlenose dolphins have strong cultural traditions and sophisticated social relationships—they are highly attached to their home territory. If some russian soldiers were to shoot them near Dzharylhach, the dolphins would simply disappear from that area, leaving it desolate for decades.

Therefore, even if we assume that the overall dolphin population in the Black Sea recovers, it does not mean that each small group of bottlenose dolphins will survive. It is entirely possible that while things may look fine in the center of the sea, the situation near the shores—particularly near our shores—will be much worse. And it is crucial to understand this: the bottlenose dolphin population cannot be replenished in captivity. Second-generation offspring simply do not get born in captivity.

Thus, bottlenose dolphins are the most at risk, especially in peripheral areas where fighting occurs, and even in areas without direct combat.

What non-combat measures negatively affect them?

The russians are distorting nature. They do not just destroy dams—they build new ones, and that is bad.

They constructed a causeway between Dzharylhach Island and the occupied mainland of Ukraine. Fortunately, nature took care of it: in 2023, a massive storm washed it away. But that causeway posed a threat to the Dzharylhach Bay ecosystem by blocking the water exchange with the open sea.

As for the Kerch Bridge, it does not just threaten nature—it has already caused harm. 

Firstly, its construction generated severe acoustic pollution, harmful to dolphins.

Secondly, there is now a dam between Tuzla Island and the Caucasian shore, damaging the ecosystem of the Taman Bay and the Kerch Strait, where small herds of bottlenose dolphins live. It also endangers the entire ecosystem of the Sea of Azov, home to a unique population of harbor porpoises.

What can Ukraine do to protect Black Sea marine mammals? How can we at least reduce our own negative impact on them?

Scientists propose three main areas of work, which align with the international convention that came into force in Ukraine back in 2003.

• The first is to reduce accidental dolphin deaths. We can learn from the experience of Romania and Bulgaria, where special devices are installed on fishing nets to deter harbor porpoises.
• The second is to expand the network of protected areas. This requires political will since it requires legislative changes. It is crucial to start this process now, even during the war, and especially to create these protected marine areas in Crimean waters.
• The third area is to strengthen government control over pollution sources—biological, chemical, and acoustic. This is not about punishment but about systemic recommendations. In other words, experts should be present to say, “Do not operate here right now because fish are coming,” or “This area is clear for operations.”

Will the abolition of dolphinariums affect the dolphin population? 

It will, and significantly. We do not have large herds of bottlenose dolphins like in the Pacific, where they number in the thousands. Our groups are small, each with its own routes and feeding grounds. When a dolphinarium poacher catches five bottlenose dolphins, it can have fatal consequences for the entire group.

For our country, dolphinariums are evil. Public pressure is key here—going to dolphinariums should become bad taste.

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

Main photo: NGL media. Photographer: Maxym Kozmenko

Since 2014, Ukrainian nature reserves have been turned into battlegrounds or ended up under military occupation. For example, russia seized the Kazantyp and Yalta reserves after occupying Crimea. The Holy Mountains National Nature Park, the Donetsk Ridge and Zuyivskyi landscape parks, and parts of the Luhansk Provallia Steppe Nature Reserve were damaged or completely destroyed during the fighting in the Donetsk and Luhansk regions.

With the start of russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, reserves in the Zaporizhzhia and Kherson regions also came under occupation. The occupation authorities there are employing the practices already mastered in Crimea.

Within the framework of the #StopEcocideUkraine project, we discuss the ecocidal actions committed by russians on Ukraine’s occupied nature reserve lands.

THE GOAL IS TO SEIZE NATURAL WEALTH AND USE IT FOR FURTHER MILITARY AGGRESSION

russians exploit Ukraine’s protected areas wherever they can establish even a temporary foothold. They try to make this temporary presence permanent by legalizing their actions, at least within the framework of russian legislation.

Re-registration

After the occupation of Crimea, the russian state register saw an increase in legal entities, including national parks and reserves located on the Crimean peninsula. russians began re-registering them as property of their state. Thus, December 2014 saw the appearance of the Kazantyp Nature Reserve, the Tarkhankut National Nature Park, the Opuk Nature Reserve, and other “state budget institutions”.

However, from 2017 to 2023, the russian legal entities of the Kazantyp, Karadag, Opuk, Tarkhankut, and Karalar reserves were liquidated. No, the russians did not regret their conquest or acknowledge their crimes — they simply decided to centralize the management of protected areas through a single directorate, Zapovednyi Krym (Protected Crimea). This entity was created back in 2020, and its activities include fishing and logging. Thus, what is essentially a scheme with the creation of a parent organization legalized these operations on Ukrainian protected territories.

Another criminal activity concerning animals and a way of making money is carried out by the Karadag Nature Reserve in temporarily occupied Crimea. There, russians created a “science demonstration program” involving dolphins. Every day except Monday, visitors are treated to a “bright and colorful acquaintance with Black Sea bottlenose dolphins” — a rare species listed in Ukraine’s Red Book. Judging by the poster, an institution dedicated to studying and preserving nature instead entertains the public with shows similar to those at Nemo dolphinariums.

During the full-scale war, russians apply their experience of appropriation and destruction to mainland reserves under occupation. For instance, last year, the Ukrainian Dzharylhach National Nature Park (Dzharylhachsky in the russified version) was included in the russian unified state register of legal entities. According to this register, russians have allowed fishing and hunting, logging, and the extraction of clay, salt, oil, and natural gas on the territory of the national park. They also want to turn the protected area into a recreational zone by building hotels and restaurants.

In March 2023, russia also included the state-owned autonomous institution Askania-Nova Biosphere Reserve in its state register. The russians omitted an important part of the reserve’s name — the name of Friedrich von Falz-Fein, who founded it. The occupation administration of the Kherson Region appointed a former employee of the Security Service of Ukraine, Dmytro Meshcheriakov, as the reserve’s director. The National Police has already made him a collaborationism suspect for this.

The same situation occurred in the Azov-Syvash National Nature Park in the Kherson Region. It was re-registered under russian law in February 2023, with Ukrainian citizen Yevheniy Popovchuk appointed as director. Evidently, he harbors political ambitions under the russian occupation regime, as he ran as a candidate from the United russia party in the illegal elections held in Kherson in 2023, becoming a deputy of the so-called Henichesk Municipal District of the Kherson Region.

Military Exploitation

However, re-registration and russian conservation status do not protect the occupied reserves: russians use these lands for military purposes, endangering and deliberately destroying them. 

russians have set up a military training ground in the Pryazovskyi National Nature Park in the Zaporizhzhia Region. There, they conduct mortar fire drills, damaging the reserve landscapes with shelling. Last year, they also actively excavated the Molochna River to create a water barrier in case of a Ukrainian counteroffensive.

According to the Ukrainian Nature Conservation Group, at the beginning of the full-scale war, russians also entrenched themselves in the south of the Donetsk Region, in the Meotyda National Nature Park. This destroyed the nesting sites of wetland birds: the Pallas’s gull, oystercatcher, Dalmatian pelican, and Sandwich tern. Ornithologist Vadym Zhulenko explained that these birds nest only in that location.

The consequences of the occupation of protected areas can already be assessed by the condition of those that have been liberated. For example, after the de-occupation of the Kamianska Sich National Nature Park in the Kherson Region, experts discovered the barbaric method russians used to camouflage their military positions. The invaders tore up rare feather grass species and other plants, which the park was created to protect.

Moreover, let us also take a closer look at the Holy Mountains National Nature Park in the Donetsk Region, which was under occupation from February to autumn 2022. According to its director, Serhiy Pryimachuk, during these months, russians destroyed about 5,000 hectares of forest and removed equipment belonging to the park. The protected area was heavily mined, and mine explosions continue to cause fires.

A similar story unfolded in Dvorichansky National Nature Park, occupied in spring 2022. When the Ukrainian Armed Forces liberated the Kharkiv Region in the autumn, russians had mined the park area, including with anti-personnel mines known as “petals” [PFM-1 anti-personnel land mine]. Demining is not possible at the moment — it can only be done after the fighting is over. The park is too close to the russian border.

METHODS — BURNING PLANTS, STEALING AND SHOOTING ANIMALS

Regional military administrations monitor the condition of occupied biosphere reserves and national nature parks using satellite imagery and maintaining contact with employees who were forced to remain under occupation. They report that these territories suffer most from fires: forests and steppe grasses burn. Consequently, animals suffer from starvation as well as die from mines and shelling. They also get killed by russian poachers and stolen from Ukrainian reserves to russian zoos.

Nature in Flames

According to the Kherson Regional Military Administration, over 5.5 thousand hectares of the Askania-Nova reserve have burned since February 24, 2022—almost one-fifth of its territory. Agricultural landscapes were most affected: arable land, fallow fields, and shelterbelts. The administration explains this by neglect: weeds have grown, which quickly dry out and are susceptible to catching fire.

However, protected zones also suffered from fires, including the “model” fescue-feather-grass steppe of the Black Sea region, the main ecological asset of Askania-Nova. The most significant damage was caused by large fires on August 22 and September 1, 2023. Plants listed in the The Green Data Book of Ukraine is a government document that promotes the protection of entire plant groups.Green Data Book of Ukraine (2009), primarily Ukrainian feather grass [Stipa ucrainica] and downy feather grass [Stipa capillata], were burned. Additionally, during the firefighting on September 1, 2023, russians plowed the virgin steppe in the reserve, damaging the soil.

Partially affected by the fires was the bottom of the Great Chapelsky Hollow [also referred to as the Great Chapelsky Lowland], a wetland of international importance protected by the Ramsar Convention. The entire reserve area is part of Ukraine's Emerald Network is a network of areas of special conservation interest that is part of the Emerald Network of Europe.Ukraine’s Emerald Network.

In 2023, the Dzharylhach National Nature Park experienced 36 fires which burned over 1.5 thousand hectares of protected land. Rare Red Data Book orchids, sawgrass, and other valuable plants used to grow there. Deer, fallow deer, foxes, and gray hares had to flee the fires. The damage to the park is estimated at over 102 billion hryvnias [~2.5 billion US dollars].

From February 2022 to April 2023, over 7 thousand hectares of protected lands in the Lower Dnipro National Nature Park burned. In June, when russia blew up the dam of the Kakhovka Hydroelectric Power Station, the park was completely flooded. The damage to the plants cannot be determined since most of the park’s territory remains under military occupation.

In the Mykolaiv Region, the Kinburn Spit, located in the Ivory Coast of Sviatoslav National Nature Park, regularly suffers from fires due to russian military actions. Over the two years of full-scale war, park employees recorded more than 200 fires on the occupied territory. The fire often reignites in the same area, affecting over 6 thousand hectares of the reserve.

The Luhansk Regional Military Administration reported that eight forest fire sites caused by active hostilities in the region have been identified since 2022. These fires have damaged parts of the Kreminna Forests National Nature Park and the Triokhizbenskyi Steppe Reserve branch of the Luhansk Nature Reserve.

After de-occupation, the Holy Mountains National Nature Park in the Donetsk Region still suffers from russian shelling. Constant fires from attacks prevent the forest from recovering. The fires also cause significant damage: on May 7, 2024, over 470 hectares of forest burned, with the State Environmental Inspection estimating the damage at over 2.6 billion hryvnias. This assessment had to be conducted remotely, relying on firefighter reports and geospatial data, as the park’s territory is mined.

Explosives pollute the soil, hindering plant growth and generally negatively impacting flora restoration. “I know from 2014 — when Grads [MLRS] shelled a plot of land in the forestry — that for 8 years, not even grass grew there,” says Serhiy Pryimachuk, director of the Holy Mountains Park, about the war’s consequences for nature.

Animal Deaths and Injuries

On Ukrainian conservation lands under occupation, animals die due to inadequate care and suffer injuries and stress due to hostilities. 

Viktor Shapoval, director of Askania-Nova, reports that many animals in the reserve die from a lack of proper care. For instance, in November 2023, three Cape buffaloes, warmth-loving African animals, died on the territory of the Great Chapelsky Hollow because the occupation administration did not move them to winter quarters in time. Another female buffalo died on the way there.

The Kherson Regional Military Administration estimates the losses to the Askania-Nova reserve from animal deaths and removals at 970 thousand hryvnias [~24,000 US dollars]. This is not the final amount, as the damage continues to be calculated, however, it won’t bring the animals back.

In the occupied part of Zaporizhzhia Oblast, in the Pryazovskyi National Nature Park, russian invaders and local collaborationists engage in fish poaching. According to the park’s director, Dmytro Volovyk, they have placed at least 8 kilometers of fishing nets in the Molochnyi Estuary Hydrological Reserve, collecting up to 5 tons of fish daily.

He also confirms that in the Azov-Syvash National Nature Park, the invaders kill animals “for meat”, “Animals from Biryuchyi [Island] are shot and transported in trucks. I know of an incident where the invaders shot a truckful of hooved animals, with blood dripping from the car trunk.”

There are also reports from occupied parts of the Kherson Region that russian soldiers hunt there. The animal killers do not hide their actions and post photos of their prey on social media. Zoologist Vitaliy Smahol identified a male red deer in these photos. Before the war, herds of these deer used to live in the Askania-Nova reserve and the Azov-Syvash National Nature Park.

Theft of Red Data Book Animals

russians illegally transport animals from Askania-Nova, disguising their actions with a “cooperation agreement,” but these documents are signed not by the legitimate Ukrainian director but by the russian appointee.

In 2023, the National Resistance Center reported that russians were taking animals to the Safari-Park in Krasnodar. The park has a petting zoo, and the animals are kept in enclosures, which are very different conditions from Askania-Nova, where the animals roamed freely.

In December of the same year, the russians illegally exchanged several specimens of Chapman’s zebra, American bison, Przewalski’s horse, and Père David’s deer from Askania-Nova for eland antelopes, domestic yaks, and Bactrian camels from the Rostov Nature Reserve. The species taken from Ukrainian territories are listed in the Red Book and included in the International Union for Conservation of Nature’s Red List with statuses such as Extinct in the Wild, Critically Endangered, and Near Threatened.

russian propaganda media also report “exchanges” between Askania-Nova and the Tayhan Park in Crimea. In the spring, a 15-year-old pregnant Chapman’s zebra and two foals of this species were taken from Ukraine to Crimea. In return, pelicans, dwarf pigs, alpacas, and a Eurasian bustard were taken from the park in the occupied Crimea. Tayhan has a bad reputation even in russia: its director Oleg Zubkov is often accused of animal abuse. He himself states that he has gone through 582 court sessions involving 70 administrative and six criminal cases. Animal rights activists say he is protected by the occupation authorities of the peninsula. They also sent a petition to vladimir putin, citing the Tayhan Park as “a parody of a zoo, an amateur zoo garden without any animal professionals, with daily dangerous situations caused by the reckless actions of the park owner Zubkov.”

Moreover, the same Oleg Zubkov owns another animal abuse facility—the Skazka Zoo. russian Red Data Book animals — Bengal tiger cubs — have already died there. Now, the zoo has signed a criminal agreement with the occupation management of Askania-Nova to obtain Ukrainian Red Data Book animals.

By managing temporarily occupied Ukrainian reserves, russia exploits loopholes in international law. For instance, the Rome Statute still lacks a definition of ecocide as a crime, and the Geneva Convention does not specifically protect reserves and sanctuaries. While there is a 2016 UN General Assembly resolution on the environment that calls on member states to protect the environment during armed conflicts, UN resolutions are not binding, and thus russia has not included environmental protection requirements in its military documents.

Therefore, Ukraine must vigorously advocate for changes in international law that would hold russia accountable for the damage to Ukrainian protected territories and the environment in general.

Cover photo: Kreminna Forests, 2024. Source: Open Forest NGO

Bottom banner photo by Roksolana Baran. Source: Nature Reserve Fund of Ukraine

This publication was compiled with the support of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation within the framework «European Renaissance of Ukraine» project. Its content is the exclusive responsibility of the authors and does not necessarily reflect the views of the European Union and the International Renaissance Foundation.

In April 2023, the Odesa dolphinarium Nemo was once again at the center of an animal cruelty scandal. Bloggers vacationing at Nemo Hotel Resort & SPA were getting photographed with seals from the dolphinarium right in their hotel room. At that time, UAnimals filed a complaint with the police, as the law prohibits offering photo services with wild animals outside the confines of dolphinariums. The inter-faction parliamentary association Humanna Krayina (Humane Country) also sent a petition to the police. As a result, criminal proceedings were initiated but later closed due to “lack of evidence of an offense.”

However, animal cruelty is not the only issue with the Odesa dolphinarium. UAnimals media, along with the OSINT agency Molfar, discovered that Nemo likely still has ties to Russia, with branches operating not only in the aggressor country but also in the temporarily occupied Crimea. Despite this, the dolphinariums in Ukraine remain open and continue to welcome visitors.

Debts and Hostile Takeovers: The Creation of Nemo

The first Nemo dolphinarium opened in Odesa in 2005, established by employees of the private enterprise Biolohichna Stantsiya (Biological Station).

According to the website of the city of Odesa from the CitySites network, about 1 million hryvnias from the Sevastopol budget were allocated for the dolphinarium project, with the remaining funds contributed by the limited liability company Nerum. This company leased land from the Biological Station for the construction of the dolphinarium, as well as four dolphins and three seals. In 2008, the lease expired, and Nerum owed about 5 million hryvnias for it.

The company was in no rush to return the money, so the debts were never paid. Instead, the Biological Station and its property were seized in a hostile takeover. Insiders working at this enterprise re-registered the dolphinarium to Nerum. Although the management of the Biological Station filed a lawsuit, it was not successful.

Thus, the dolphinarium belongs to the company Nerum, whose co-owners are:

• Rayisa Kislovska, mother of Odesa City Council deputy Andriy Kislovskyi;
• Mykhailo and Vyacheslav Kuchuks. Mykhailo Kuchuk was the deputy mayor of Odesa and was accused of accepting a bribe from a criminal group in 2023;
• The couple Serhiy and Nataliya Keliushkys. Nataliya Kelyushok (Kelly) has a temporary residence address in Russia;
• Dmytro Uryvskyi, one of the founders of the international non-governmental organization Mizhnarodna Asotsiatsiya Okeanariumiv Ta Delfinariyiv (International Association of Aquariums and Dolphinariums) in Crimea, lives in Anapa.

All of Nerum’s owners (or their full and partial namesakes) are also founders of the Russian limited liability company Ekologicheskiy Tsentr (Ecological Center). The company is located in Anapa, continues to operate, and pays taxes to the Russian budget. For example, in 2022, it paid over 600 thousand rubles (at the current exchange rate, this is over 6 thousand U.S. dollars to the budget of the state that launched a full-scale war against Ukraine).

Andriy Kislovskyi, who indirectly owns the dolphinarium through his mother, works in housing construction and apartment sales in Odesa. He was also a deputy of the Odesa City Council for four terms, particularly representing the Communist Party of Ukraine from 2010 to 2015. In 2013, Andriy Kislovskyi was seen among those involved in the seizure of the dolphinarium in Sevastopol. According to information from Russian databases leaked to the Internet, Kislovsky has a temporary residence address in Russia, where he has even retired.

Branches and Partner Companies: Nemo’s Ties to Russia

As part of its franchise, Nemo has dolphinarium branches in several Russian cities: Anapa, Nizhny Novgorod, Dzhubga, Golubinskaya, and Vityazevo.

Additionally, the Nemo dolphinarium is closely associated with other Russian companies. Primarily, this involves Chudnoye More (Wondrous Sea). From 2011 to 2013, this Russian company had a partnership with Nerum and received marine animals on behalf of the limited liability company Ecological Center.

These enterprises likely maintained connections even after Russia’s occupation of Crimea and the invasion of Donetsk and Luhansk regions in 2014. For instance, the autonomous non-profit organization Ortsynus reported the deaths of marine animals between 2019 and 2021, including a female Pacific walrus named Nyusha and a female seal named Meggy. These animals belonged to the Nemo dolphinarium network through Ecological Center and Wondrous Sea, according to Ortsynus.

The owner of the limited liability company Wondrous Sea through a trustee is Sergey Zirinov, a deputy from Russia’s ruling party, United Russia, who is suspected of murders and organizing a gang. In 2017, he was sentenced to 21 years in prison.

In 2014, the company Nerum, together with Tetyana Ryabchikova, founded the limited liability company Delfinariy Nemo (Dolphinarium Nemo) in the temporarily occupied Crimea. The legal address of this company is 10  Revkomivskyi Lane in Alushta. Can you guess what else you can find at this address? A dolphinarium from the Nemo network in Alushta, according to its website. It can be assumed that through this newly established company, the Ukrainian owners continued to manage the Crimean dolphinariums under occupation, not only in Alushta but also in Feodosia. Evidence supporting this includes:

• As of 2016, the Nemo website still listed branches in Feodosia, Alushta, and Russian cities.
• Dolphinariums in the Russian-occupied Alushta and Feodosia, as well as the one in Minsk (Belarus), share the same logo, website design, cross-references, and mentions of each other on social media. At the same time, dolphinariums in Odesa, Almaty, and Minsk offer the same gift certificates with the contact information of the Odesa dolphinarium.
• The Nemo dolphinarium Odesa mentions 15 branches on its website (a number that can only be reached by including those operating in Russia and the Russian-occupied territories of Ukraine).

Regarding Nemo branches in occupied territories, it is also worth mentioning the Berdyansk branch. This branch is well-remembered by colleagues in Kharkiv: as of June 2024, the official website of the Kharkiv Nemo still lists the dolphinarium in temporarily occupied Berdyansk as part of the network. Additionally, the owners of Nemo in Kharkiv do not fully comply with the Law “On Ensuring the Functioning of the Ukrainian Language as the State Language” on their website. Although it technically has a Ukrainian version, part of the menu and other content, even the logo, remain in Russian.

Shady Land Deals and Animal Cruelty: Other Allegations Against Nemo

The Nemo dolphinarium has repeatedly faced accusations of animal abuse. At the beginning of this article, we mentioned bloggers filming sea lions not in the dolphinarium but in a hotel room at Nemo. Guests of this hotel complex get entertained not only by sea lions but also by dolphins. This can be seen in photos and videos on social media from people who have stayed at the Nemo Hotel Resort & SPA.

The dolphins are kept in a pool near the sunbeds where guests swim with them, which violates the law “On the Protection of Animals from Cruel Treatment.” By referring to Article 25, Section 10 of the aforementioned law, you will find the prohibition against keeping dolphins in public catering establishments, hotels, resorts, and health institutions. These animals are listed in Appendix II of the Convention on the Conservation of European Wildlife and Natural Habitats under the scientific name Tursiops truncatus (tursio), or the common bottlenose dolphin.

There are also suspicions that even the pools at the Nemo dolphinarium may not be safe for the animals. 

In 2020, the Zelenyi Lyst NGO (Green Leaf), together with the State Environmental Inspection in the Odesa region, attempted a surprise inspection of the pool where the dolphins are kept. They were not allowed inside, but they managed to film the pool using a drone. The pool’s condition raises questions about whether the water volume is sufficient, whether the tent covering is too thin, and whether the water in the pool is tap water. Chlorinated tap water is harmful to dolphins, causing skin and mucous membrane issues.

This was not the only time state inspectors were denied access to monitor compliance with environmental protection requirements. Over the past five years, State Environmental Inspection employees in the Odesa region were denied access twice. However, experts were eventually able to inspect the Odesa dolphinarium in 2023 when the police opened a criminal case due to signs of animal cruelty. The State Environmental Inspection cannot disclose the conditions in which the animals are kept due to the secrecy of the investigation.

These were far from the first signs of animal cruelty. Suspicions of mistreatment of Nemo residents existed earlier. 

For example, in 2018, employees of the Odesa dolphinarium organized an unforgettable show for visitors: during a performance, a female dolphin gave birth while performing a “romantic dance.” This occurred despite the Ministry of Ecology and Natural Resources having established Rules and Standards for Keeping Dolphins in Captivity five years earlier, which, among other things, prohibited the use of pregnant females and nursing calves in public performances.

At the Odesa Nemo, pregnant dolphins are not only made to perform, but the dolphinarium also offers individual dances with dolphins for a hefty fee. Here is the price list for such services: 3,000-4,000 hryvnias [$75-100 as of June 2024] for 10 minutes of VIP swimming with dolphins. You have to wonder whether this money is worth the life of the animal. Humans can infect dolphins with deadly infections such as influenza or COVID-19. Karyna Vyshniakova, a candidate of biological sciences and head of the Marine Vertebrate Laboratory at the Ukrainian Scientific Center of Ecology of Sea (UkrSCES), highlighted this risk, “Scientific publications describe cases of bottlenose dolphins dying from the influenza A virus subtype H5N1. Additionally, scientists have discovered that dolphins have receptors similar to humans, which are responsible for SARS-CoV-2 infection.”

Moreover, there are the ubiquitous tricks where trainers ride the dolphins’ noses (scientifically known as rostrums). This can injure the animals. Experts have noted that even just being in captivity, dolphins can injure their rostrums against the pool walls. Adding the weight of 50-60 kg riders increases the risk of injury. Nemo does not seem to plan to abandon this practice. Recently, in May, UAnimals volunteers visited the Odesa dolphinarium and saw that they still have people riding on the dolphins’ noses.

Lack of Permits for Animal Keeping and Capture

In 2011, the Donetsk court considered a case against Nerum, which was accused of illegal construction and poaching. The lawsuit alleged that Nerum lacked permits for keeping wild animals and documents confirming the legality of transferring endangered marine mammals into private ownership and breeding them in captivity. 

According to the plaintiffs, the company had a permit to catch endangered animals in 2007, but all permits were annulled in April 2008. However, the company continued to somehow acquire marine animals for the Donetsk branch even after 2008. The court’s decision did not refute this information.

Unauthorized Land Seizure

The Odesa Nemo Dolphinarium is located on the territory of the Lanzheron beach. Nerum received a lease permit for this plot back in 2003. By 2007, the executive committee of the Odesa City Council allowed them to expand and build a “rehabilitation and health center for Dolphin therapy is not an evidence-based treatment method. The ultrasound emitted by dolphins does not meet the medical standards for ultrasound therapy. Besides, dolphins are wild animals that can harm people. For example, a dolphin had bitten a boy in the Nemo dolphinarium in Odesa.dolphin therapy».

Notably, the responsibility for overseeing this project was assigned to Mykhailo Kuchuk, not as a co-founder of Nemo but as the deputy mayor. At that time, the law “On Prevention of Corruption” did not exist, so such situations were not classified as a conflict of interest.

Since 2008, the company has been reconstructing the beach at the city’s request, as this plot was still in municipal ownership. However, in 2012, Nerum filed a lawsuit demanding that all newly constructed facilities on the Lanzheron shoreline be recognized as theirs. The court granted these demands and dismissed the prosecutor’s appeal. The Nemo Hotel was built with obvious legal violations as it is located less than 100 meters from the sea.

Nemo seized land during its expansion not just in Odesa. In Kyiv, the branch was established in a blatantly illegal manner: they occupied a plot of land and built a dolphinarium without permission. However, this trick did not work in the capital. The State Architectural and Construction Commission filed a lawsuit, and in 2013, the court ordered the demolition of the Nemo building in Kyiv. The founders appealed and continued to ignore the final demolition order for a long time. In the summer of 2017, the dolphinarium building was seized for large-scale fraud, and the dolphin shows ceased a few months later, in October. Unauthorized construction was insufficient for the dolphinarium’s operation, so the owners also illegally connected sewage systems to the building. In 2016 alone, Kyivvodokanal [Kyiv’s municipal water supply company] disconnected Nemo from the city’s sewer system three times, but they persistently reconnected each time.

The history of the Nemo dolphinarium network includes raiding, illegal construction, and, most disturbingly, the exploitation of defenseless animals. Despite animal rights activists’ outrage and numerous lawsuits, the Nemo dolphinarium continues to operate. Without visitors, this would be impossible. Perhaps, at least, the Russian connection in Nemo’s activities might convince Ukrainians not to support animal cruelty with their money.