We spoke with Ukrainian convicts-turned-soldiers

The Ukrainian law that came into effect last year – unlike its Russian counterpart – does not allow inmates convicted of murder, rape, or crimes of similar severity to apply for the army. According to the Ministry of Justice of Ukraine, more than 8,000 inmates had joined the armed forces by April 2025 (i.e. in little less than a year), and more than 10,000 applications are currently under review.

In 2024, the 93rd Independent Mechanised Brigade “Kholodnyi Yar” was among the first to establish a battalion comprised of convicts. The unit runs under the name “Alcatraz”, a reference to the well-known San Francisco penitentiary. As the first year of warfare is coming to a close for those who survived, some of them are now assisting the military instructors and offering valuable advice to new recruits.

According to their commander, everyone wants to be free, but not everyone is ready to pay the price of freedom.

Pasha

I enlisted with a single goal: to survive this year and get out of prison. Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of surviving my first deployment, in the Klishchiivka area. Ten of us went out, and luckily, the same number returned. There and then, I came to understand everything about war. Those who didn’t think they would survive did not come back. They simply didn’t have what it takes. That’s what I now tell the new guys: don’t worry, just survive the first deployment. You’ll change after that, and everything will go fine. But they don’t believe me. I’m the only one still here from my original squad. I’ve seen and come to understand a lot in the past year – my life and way of thinking have changed fundamentally. I was a different person before the war. I used to work as a warehouse loader, and at one point I took something valuable from a shop. I was sentenced to four years; I had served half of it when I signed the contract. They say that after a year, the commander usually calls to inform you that your supervised year has ended, but I have yet to receive the call informing me that I’m free – even though it would mean a lot to me. Now that the first year is over, I’ll get two weeks’ leave. I’ll celebrate the occasion: I’m going to get my teeth fixed in Zaporizhzhia. And now, I want to improve: move up the ranks. What comes next? I don’t know. I have a little daughter, Sofiya. She’s five. I last saw her a month ago. Her mother divorced me when I went to prison. I understand her side too. My old buddies have completely disappeared from my life. Everyone I have is here in the army

– Pasha tells us his story.

The village of Dovhenke, located on the border of Donetsk and Kharkiv regions, was completely destroyed by the attacks of advancing Russian troops in 2022. The ruined houses now serve as a deserted setting for the urban warfare training of the Alcatraz battalion’s new recruits. Only the sprawling rosebushes still blooming among the scattered bricks serve as a reminder of those who once lived here. Drones zoom over the once inhabited buildings as the fresh pilots gather experience in observing soldiers advancing on the ground, now divided into attackers and defenders.

Boldizsár Győri Pasha