donata monti

He was tortured so severely that for two weeks he could not even remember who he was. His comrades had to carry him and feed him with a spoon. Yet, even before that—naked, blindfolded, and enduring blows from boots and rubber-soled shoes—he would smile. Deliberately. It was this smile that deeply unsettled his torturers and thwarted their plans. Pavlo Shatokhin, known by the call sign "Shakh," was a Marine. He defended Mariupol, providing cover for the Azov fighters, and eventually broke out of the Azovstal steel plant alongside his comrades. Then came the "brutal" captivity—Olenivka, in the barracks. The food was served so hot it was impossible to eat; the water reeked of a swamp. Taking bread out of the mess hall was strictly forbidden. One of the guards, nicknamed "Kirusha," tortured two Ukrainians to death. Then came an even worse ordeal: captivity in Taganrog, at the Russian detention center in Kamishin. What they called "processing" was, in reality, a gauntlet of torture. Blindfolded and with his hands bound, a prisoner would be shoved through a line of guards. Pavlo suffered a broken rib, and his internal organs were severely damaged. Then, he was given five minutes to undress for a search—a process involving "slashing" and the tearing away of skin—followed by being forced to crawl through the mud while a stun gun was applied to his damp back. Later, in a cell, eight guards demanded he sing the Russian national anthem. He refused. For this, he was dragged out and beaten so viciously that he lost consciousness. This happened the very next day. For two weeks, Pavlo was in a vegetative state. His fellow prisoners fed him with a spoon and carried him in their arms to the medical center. They tortured him systematically—using electric shock devices and plastic pipes with iron keys attached to the ends, striking his legs so severely that he required surgery. They used a rubber mallet, striking him on the head with the handle—a grim joke among the prisoners: "We’ll end up looking like dragons." In that place, a "banya" (bath) didn't mean washing; it meant a beating. Yet, through it all, there was resistance. In their cell, turning away from the security cameras, the men would place their hands over their hearts and silently sing the Ukrainian national anthem. Pavlo recalls: "They were furious because I smiled at them. Driven by adrenaline, I would start shouting and smiling. Sometimes, it even helped me endure the things I had to face afterward." During more than three years of captivity, he received only one letter—from his sister. It contained just seven words, which he turned into a mantra, reading it every single day. He says: "When they turned on the radio and we heard about the Kursk region, it gave us an incredible boost. It meant that Ukraine still exists, that Ukraine is in control and is striking back with a powerful blow." When he was finally released, he weighed 54 kilograms—having lost nearly 80 kilograms during his imprisonment. His sister didn't recognize him in the video; she only knew it was him by his gestures, his eyes, and a scar. Pavlo underwent several surgeries and rehabilitation in Ukraine, Lithuania, and Latvia—and has since returned to duty. He remains an officer in the maritime security forces. And keep smiling.