Vitaly and Bogdan Osipov sought safety from Russia’s invasion in Germany, but they’ve been waiting for Yuliia Hetman, Vitaly’s partner and Bogdan’s mother, for nearly two years. Their separation is now due to a European Union database, not the war. The Osipovs are among many Ukrainians trapped by the EU’s security systems. Ukrainians who were imprisoned in areas seized by Russian forces or transferred to Russia during the conflict are flagged in the EU’s Schengen Information System as potential public threats.
Hetman was serving a sentence for a violent crime in Mariupol when the war broke out. Her sentence was completed under Russian control. She’s left occupied Mariupol but can’t join her family in Germany, halted at the Polish border by a German-issued alert restricting her from entering much of Europe. “These people survived war, abduction, and abuse,” stated Hanna Skrypka from Protection of Prisoners of Ukraine. “They are victims, not threats.”
An investigation discovered that Ukraine provided Europol the names of over 3,738 former prisoners from Russian-occupied areas. Though Ukraine claims no individuals were flagged in the Schengen system at their request, the shared information has led to entry bans, dividing families and leaving ex-prisoners trapped.
Ukrainian authorities explain they never asked for such alerts. Lawyer Thijs Reuten warns against automatically seeing Ukrainians from occupied territories as threats. He wants to know how individuals get removed from these lists.
Hetman was three years into her sentence when Mariupol’s women’s penal colony was cut off by the war. With the invasion’s start, prisoners lost communication access. As shelling began, the staff fled, and conditions worsened. Russian forces exerted harsh control when the city fell, imposing forced labor and strict rules.
Vitaly and Bogdan hid in a basement near Mariupol, surviving on canned food, unaware of Hetman’s fate. After about six months, Vitaly and his son fled through Russia and Belarus. Before leaving, they braved shelling to visit Hetman. Hetman completed her sentence in September 2023 and planned to join her family. But at the Polish border, she was denied entry due to an alert in the EU’s Schengen Information System.
Europe’s freedom of movement depends on the Schengen Information System. This system allows border-control and law-enforcement sharing during checks. While entry refusals at borders are decided by each Schengen state, alerts might be from another member country, complicating understanding of how names get listed.
Hetman’s name was reportedly flagged from information shared early in 2023 about prisoners from Russian-occupied areas. The alert came from Germany, but the Federal Criminal Police claimed no special treatment for former detainees. Polish officials confirm they refuse entry based on alerts, not providing reasoning at borders.
The fragmented process shows information flows across nations, but decisions remain national and opaque. Evidence from five cases shows former Ukrainian prisoners face bans without issues about their documents.
Skrypka notes a small number of former prisoners with valid passports entered Schengen in early 2023, but after Ukraine’s information-sharing with Europol, at least ten others were blocked. Europol confirmed receiving operational data from Ukraine under an agreement but didn’t clarify the role in Schengen alerts.
The Schengen system’s reliance on national cooperation and information exchange means decisions are hard to track. Human rights advocates argue automatic bans on formerly detained Ukrainians lack individualized assessment and rely on general suspicion.
Even as some attempt to navigate around various obstacles, ex-prisoners face blocked movements. For instance, Vasyl Soldatov, aiming to unite with his wife in the Czech Republic, learned of his entry ban from Germany while in Crimea.
Such bans are alarming for those trying to return through legal paths, especially via Russia’s western borders, impacting even people merely in transit. These challenges highlight the pressing need for a reassessment of how systems categorize Ukrainians affected by war.
Vitaly works long hours to sustain himself and his son, often worrying about leaving Bogdan alone. They haven’t seen Yuliia since 2022, and the system’s complexities have left them in limbo. Understanding these nuances, Thijs Reuten stresses the necessity of special handling for these unique situations, advocating to prevent long separations during wartime.
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