For Ukrainians tasked with caring for Russian prisoners of war, the role brings daily challenges that go beyond standard guard duties. Since Russia's invasion of Ukraine in 2022, Ukraine has captured thousands of Russian soldiers, placing them in detention camps such as the large facility near Lviv in western Ukraine. Those working in these camps must navigate complex emotions while ensuring prisoners are treated according to international humanitarian law.

Many Ukrainians involved in prisoner care have conflicting feelings about their work. Oleh, a 58-year-old former soldier who oversees a construction workshop within the camp, explained that initially, he saw Russian prisoners only through the lens of combatants he once fought against. Over time, he sought to reconcile his hatred and question whether forgiveness was possible, though he made clear that forgiving did not mean forgetting the losses Ukraine has suffered. Despite this, Oleh keeps his role secret from most family members, fearing stigma for working with enemy combatants.

Others share a range of motivations for their roles, from curiosity to contributing to the war effort or simply earning a paycheck. Ivan, 42, who helped establish Ukraine’s first prisoner of war camp, stressed the importance of treating captives humanely to demonstrate Ukraine’s commitment to international law and to contrast with the widely documented abuses by Russian forces. He noted that while Russia has consistently denied humanitarian organizations access to its camps, the International Committee of the Red Cross and other monitors frequently visit Ukrainian detention sites, and conditions there have reportedly improved since 2022.

The emotional toll on camp workers is significant. Roman, responsible for the prisoners’ meals, struggles daily with preparing food for soldiers from a force that has caused him deep personal loss. At times, the emotional burden led him to take leave from the camp. Oleksii, from the Donetsk region, maintains physical and emotional distance from the prisoners, citing the destruction his home has endured since 2014 and the ongoing conflict. He acknowledges the difficulty of the task but recognizes that adhering to legal standards serves Ukraine’s broader interests.

Medical personnel like Robert face unique challenges, as they must directly care for wounded Russian soldiers. Initially conflicted, Robert has come to view his work as a contribution to humanitarian principles despite the ongoing war. He reflects on the human cost of the conflict, holding onto empathy even as he tends to men who might return to combat.

At the same time, some camp workers develop nuanced perspectives on the Russian captives. Maryan, who manages a workshop where prisoners craft wicker furniture, has found moments of connection despite the conflict. He hears firsthand accounts suggesting many prisoners were misled about their roles or enlisted out of economic necessity rather than a personal desire to fight. This complicates the image of the “enemy” and brings a degree of sympathy, even if it does not erase the pain caused by the war.

Ukraine’s treatment of Russian prisoners appears intended to align with Geneva Conventions and to showcase adherence to humanitarian standards amid a brutal conflict marked by allegations of widespread abuse by Russian forces. While isolated incidents of mistreatment in Ukrainian custody have been reported, monitors emphasize that these are exceptions rather than the norm. Unfettered access for international observers and journalists lends credibility to these claims, although the war’s emotional and psychological complexities remain deeply felt by those on the ground.

As Ukraine continues its defense, those charged with the care of Russian prisoners must balance legal obligations with personal trauma and national sentiment. Their experiences underscore the human dimension of warfare, where enemies in combat become subjects of care, requiring a difficult blend of professionalism, restraint, and sometimes uneasy compassion.