Occupied Ukraine has become a laboratory of repression, but resistance survives

But for the Ukrainians trapped behind Russian lines, it is an environment built to make ordinary life impossible unless they submit to Moscow’s authority.

Leaving is neither simple nor safe. Movement is heavily restricted. Documentation is weaponised. Homes are seized. Families risk detention or retaliation if they attempt to flee. Entire communities exist under conditions where passive non-compliance alone can provoke repression.

And yet resistance has not disappeared. It has adapted.

Across temporarily occupied territories, Ukrainians continue to resist in ways both visible and invisible: hiding Ukrainian books and flags, teaching children the Ukrainian language in secret, monitoring Ukrainian news through VPNs despite the risk of arrest, passing intelligence to Kyiv, helping neighbours escape, sabotaging Russian logistics, and simply refusing to psychologically surrender.

In temporarily occupied and frontline areas, investigators and resistance groups have documented what locals now refer to as Russian “drone safaris” or “human safaris” - the deliberate hunting of civilians by military drone operators. Videos of these attacks have circulated across pro-Kremlin Telegram channels accompanied by mocking captions and further threats against Ukrainians.

One of the clearest examples came in January this year, when Valentyna and Valeriy Klochkovi attempted to flee after spending weeks in hiding. Just kilometres from safety, they were pursued and killed by successive Russian drone strikes. Their deaths show the impossible reality - both staying and leaving can cost your life. This served no military objective. It is murder of the innocent and a crime against humanity.

Ukrainians across temporarily occupied regions describe near-constant surveillance, phone tapping, intimidation, and arbitrary detention. In some areas, simply speaking Ukrainian publicly can result in violent reprisals. Individuals have reportedly been arrested for simply having VPN applications installed on their phones or even Ukrainian language in their devices.

Russian agents do not only target suspected resistance members. Families, neighbours, and colleagues are frequently pressured into providing testimony - truthful or otherwise. Civilians understand that just expressing grievance towards Russian occupiers can lead to another feared consequence: “the basement.”

The term has become shorthand for the network of improvised detention sites hidden inside basements, garages, police stations, and industrial buildings where civilians disappear for interrogation, torture, and intimidation. So brutal are the beatings many never return and disappearances are common.

People are taken for suspected links to resistance groups, for monitoring Ukrainian news, for refusing cooperation, or sometimes for reasons that remain entirely unclear. The uncertainty is deliberate. Russian agents do not need to arrest everyone to control a population; they only need to ensure everyone understands what can happen to them.

And still, resistance persists.

Twelve years after Russia’s initial seizure of Crimea, underground networks continue operating across the peninsula. Their activities range from intelligence gathering and sabotage to cooperation with Ukrainian defence forces. Resistance members described to me operations targeting Russian military logistics, ammunition depots, and weapons storage facilities, while smaller acts of defiance continue through the public display of Ukrainian ribbons and flags.

Contrary to narratives that Crimea is irreversibly lost, resistance groups insist the peninsula remains active and have survived since 2014.

This matters because occupation is not static. Russia understands that controlling territory requires more than soldiers. It requires exhausting people emotionally until resistance feels futile. This exhaustion is visible everywhere.

Networks have been infiltrated. Members have disappeared, been captured, tortured, or killed. Civilians are worn down by years of fear, propaganda, and uncertainty. Some adapt publicly to survive while privately maintaining loyalty to Ukraine.

When asked how these activities continue to survive today under such duress one Member of Ukraine’s Resistance explained to me: “You don’t have the biggest army in Europe for just a political war - people want to be Ukrainian.”

That statement cuts through one of the Kremlin’s central narratives. Russia portrays occupied Ukrainians as naturally drifting toward Moscow once exposed to Russian governance.

But sabotage and intelligence-sharing remain active. Ammunition convoys, rail infrastructure, military logistics, and collaborator networks continue to be targeted. Resistance-linked intelligence also contributes directly to Ukrainian military operations along active frontlines.

Yet only a fraction of these actions are ever publicised as visibility is secondary to survival.

Modern resistance inside occupied Ukraine functions through decentralised civilian networks built around compartmentalisation and secrecy. Individuals often know only their immediate tasks. Coordinators relay limited information. Analysts compile intelligence separately. This structure exists because discovery often means torture or death.

One volunteer involved described to me how he joined the movement after Russian forces murdered his brother during the full-scale invasion. His role now includes helping organise supplies, maintain communications with occupied civilians, and support those who manage to escape occupation - often arriving with nothing after crossing dangerous terrain on foot.

He also made another point: Russia fears the resistance too - but that fear also explained the escalation in brutality.

A hotline established by Ukrainian publication Eastern Variant after the 2022 invasion. For civilians trapped in occupied Donetsk and Luhansk, the hotline became more than a source of practical support. It became proof they had not been abandoned by Ukraine despite Russian propaganda.

People reached out seeking evacuation assistance, help accessing documents, humanitarian aid, healthcare, social payments, or advice on Russian passportisation pressures. Others simply wanted contact with someone beyond the occupation system.

The requests themselves reveal the psychological reality. People were not leaving for abstract political reasons. They were trying to protect children and reunite with family. Escape surveillance. Access medicine.

That is the deeper truth often missed in geopolitical debates. Russian occupation is not merely territorial control. It is the systematic attempt to reshape human behaviour through fear. To force people into submission not only physically, but psychologically.

When asked of his thoughts of land swaps often raised within Western narratives and potential peace process, one member of Ukraine’s National Resistance said his first concern was always for the civilians trapped inside occupied territories. In his view, many outside Ukraine still fundamentally underestimate the scale and brutality of what life under Russian occupation entails.

He described methods of torture methods used against civilians by Russian agents in stark terms: sexual violence involving objects, prolonged sleep deprivation, the violent removal of fingernails, and other forms of physical mutilation.

Some detainees, he explained, are deliberately prevented from sleeping for days at a time, while others endure abuse across years of detention. The purpose is not only to extract information, but to destroy people psychologically and to terrorize the wider population into submission.

He concluded: “God bless those people who do not understand this reality.”

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Megan Gittoes is a Senior Non-Resident Fellow of the New Lines Institute and writing from Ukraine

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