Detained at 17: How Artur Panov Survived a Russian Prison and Returned Home

Every ordinary moment felt extraordinary. Riding the metro, walking along Khreshchatyk, standing on the Maidan — these simple acts of freedom struck Artur Panov as gifts. Only two weeks after his release in September 2019, the 21-year-old Ukrainian still recovered in Kyiv’s Feofania Clinical Hospital. A short trip outside already felt like a vacation.

“It feels like I’m back in civilization. I saw people. That’s already a kind of happiness,” he said. Looking over the city from above, he added, “The view is very beautiful.” The contrast with the cramped cell he had left behind could not have been sharper. In that cell, everything had been packed into a tiny space: a bed, a table, a bench, a window, a toilet and a washbasin.

Panov’s story is one of the lesser-known among Ukraine’s political prisoners held in Russia. Detained at just 17, sentenced to eight years on terrorism charges he always denied, he returned home at 21 determined to reclaim the life that had been interrupted.

Growing Up as War Arrived

Artur Panov was born on 24 February 1998 in Krasnodon (now Sorokyne), a small mining town in Luhansk region. The place is famous for the Soviet-era Young Guard memorials. He finished school as the war in Donbas erupted in 2014. By then he already held a clear pro-Ukrainian position.

He watched local administrations seized, Russian flags raised and self-proclaimed “republics” declared. He saw the process as external interference rather than a genuine local uprising. Many residents, he later recalled, had been drawn in through a mix of pressure, promises and the distribution of social cards that became necessary for basic services. Stability disappeared. What remained felt to him like a criminal territory where laws no longer applied in any ordinary sense.

In 2015, after the fighting in his area had somewhat stabilised, Panov enrolled at Luhansk Taras Shevchenko National University to study international relations. He lasted only about six months. Leaving the occupied territory for government-controlled Ukraine was complicated. Crossing the contact line required lengthy SBU permits. Many people instead chose the longer route through Russian territory. Panov bought a ticket and travelled via Rostov-on-Don, intending to reach Kyiv. He spent roughly a week in the Russian city.

Arrest and Charges

In early December 2015, Russian authorities detained him. He was 17. Investigators accused him of preparing a terrorist attack, illegally manufacturing and possessing explosives, and publicly justifying terrorism. According to the Russian version, he had planned to place an explosive device at a public site such as a train station or park.

Panov rejected the terrorism framing. “I was not going to kill civilians and place explosives in a train station, as they claimed. They had to prove that I was planning not sabotage, but a terrorist act,” he said after his release. He maintained that the case was fabricated and that he had effectively been kidnapped. Ukrainian officials and human rights monitors later described him as a political prisoner. Russian courts treated the matter as a straightforward criminal terrorism case.

The proceedings dragged on. In August 2017 the North Caucasus District Military Court sentenced him to eight years in a general-regime colony. A co-defendant, a local resident accused of assisting him, received a longer term. Panov served roughly half the sentence before the 2019 exchange.

Inside the System

Prison life was marked by cold, isolation and medical neglect. Guards could remove his mattress without explanation, leaving him to sleep on an iron bunk. In February 2016 the heating failed during severe cold. His kidneys became inflamed. The pain was so intense he could barely stand. Medical staff refused to examine him properly, accusing him of faking illness.

Desperate for attention, Panov took a drastic step. “I cut my arm so they would see it on the video camera. I dismantled a razor and cut my arm with the blade. I have three scars. I had no other choice,” he later explained. The act forced some response, but the scars remained.

He went on hunger strike several times, demanding to be extradited to Ukraine. He argued that as a Ukrainian citizen detained in the context of an international conflict he should be treated under rules closer to those governing prisoners of war. Russian judges rejected the argument, insisting the case fell under ordinary Russian criminal law.

Isolation was nearly total for long periods. Even conversations with Ukrainian consuls were restricted; speaking Ukrainian was sometimes forbidden. At one point false reports circulated that he had died of heart failure in custody. Ukrainian diplomats publicly confirmed he was alive. The rumour had originated from an anonymous online post with no verifiable source.

Before the war Panov had written poetry. In prison he turned to prose and began an autobiographical manuscript covering life before the conflict, the war years and his experiences in the Russian system. The authorities later destroyed the text. After release he spoke of trying to reconstruct it from memory.

The Exchange

On 27 August 2019 the process of his return began. He was moved from a colony in Kemerovo to Moscow and then prepared for the large-scale prisoner exchange of 7 September. That day, 35 people were swapped in each direction. Panov later recalled that he was among the first Ukrainians loaded onto the bus. Oleg Sentsov boarded after him.

Emotions ran high. “I could not believe that it was finally over. My heart was beating like crazy. Very, very fast. The feeling when the plane was landing in Kyiv was beyond words. It was amazing!” At Boryspil Airport his mother was waiting. She had travelled from the still-occupied part of Luhansk region. “Mom cried a lot… There were no words, there was laughter despite the tears.”

Reclaiming a Future

Two weeks later, still undergoing medical checks, Panov already looked ahead. “Now I feel more or less well. I am ready for great things, work, and study. I want to connect my life with military affairs. I do not want this to be purely military. I also want a focus on politics.” He spoke of studying and of giving the destroyed manuscript a second life.

His case never attracted the same international attention as higher-profile prisoners. For years his name appeared only sporadically in Ukrainian media. Human rights lists sometimes overlooked him. Yet the facts were clear: a teenager from occupied territory had been taken into the Russian prison system, tried on terrorism charges, and held for nearly four years before being returned in a political exchange.

Panov’s account is consistent with a broader pattern of Ukrainian citizens detained in Russia on security-related charges during the years of hybrid conflict that preceded the full-scale invasion. Whether one accepts the Russian court’s findings or the Ukrainian characterisation of political persecution, the human cost is not in dispute. A young man lost critical years of education, health and ordinary development. He returned scarred, both physically and otherwise, yet still speaking of plans rather than only of grievance.

In the weeks after his release he moved carefully between hospital, short outings and conversations with journalists. The simple act of seeing people on the street still registered as happiness. The view of Kyiv from above still looked beautiful. Freedom, after years of iron bunks, withheld medical care and isolation, had a concrete texture.

Artur Panov’s story does not end with the exchange. It continues in the quiet work of recovery, study and the attempt to turn four lost years into something that can still serve a future he intends to shape himself.

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