As Russia consolidates control over parts of Ukraine, residents in cities like Melitopol, Mariupol, and Crimea describe a daily reality of fear, surveillance, and silent resistance to forced Russification.

Mavka, a resident of Melitopol, reports that the city has become increasingly militarized. Schoolchildren now wear Russian military uniforms, and notebooks feature Vladimir Putin’s image. Billboards urge young people to join Russia’s military, part of a broader campaign to normalize occupation. “Russification is everywhere,” she says.

Occupied Mariupol: Fear and Survival

Pavlo, a survivor of the siege of Mariupol, remains in the city to care for elderly relatives. He says Russian citizenship is now mandatory for employment, education, and even emergency healthcare. “Refusing to sing the Russian anthem at school could bring the FSB to your door,” he warns. Much of the city has been demolished, and residents are obsessed with retaining property amid soaring costs and unemployment.

Crimea: Identity Erased

Iryna, who stayed in occupied Crimea, says she no longer dares speak Ukrainian in public. Children sing the Russian anthem daily, and teachers are mostly wives of Russian soldiers. Even wearing a traditional Ukrainian vyshyvanka at home is considered dangerous. “They might not shoot you immediately, but you can simply disappear,” she says.

Secret Networks and Silent Resistance

Women-led underground movements like “Zla Mavka” operate across occupied areas, using social media, symbolic leaflets, and even pranks—like spiking food with laxatives—to express defiance. These acts, though small, are seen as vital morale boosters. Members face the constant threat of detention, torture, or disappearance.

One haunting example is journalist Viktoriia Roshchyna, who vanished in 2023 and was returned dead in 2024 with signs of torture. Her fate exemplifies what many residents fear: sudden, silent erasure.

Background: The Weight of Occupation and Ceasefire Fears

For many like Mavka and Iryna, the idea of Kyiv signing a ceasefire that leaves them under permanent Russian control is terrifying. They fear the Crimea model—systematic identity erasure, settlement by Russians, and institutional violence—could be repeated.

Pavlo, however, believes the war must end, even if it means not returning home. “The greatest value is human life,” he says, “but what will it mean for those who died if the outcome betrays their cause?”

In occupied Ukraine, fear rules the streets, but resilience simmers just beneath the surface.