From his window, Maksym Styuflyaev witnessed Russian troops marching down his street.
In 2022, he watched it unfold again – this time in a village in the Kharkiv region, eight years after fleeing the same scene in his native city.
“[Locals] believed that the war would end quickly, but gradually these illusions were dispelled,” Styuflyaev recalled the initial days of Russia’s 2014 invasion, when the so-called “little green men” – pro-Russian militia without insignia – began popping up in eastern Ukraine and unofficially marked Moscow’s invasion of Ukraine.
As Western officials thousands of miles away urge Kyiv to withdraw from Ukraine’s Donbas – the resource-rich Donetsk and Luhansk regions – Styuflyaev, who has lived under Russian occupation, says handing it to Moscow would betray the thousands who have managed to escape that fate so far.
“There I saw how the war gradually but steadily destroys people's ordinary lives and their mental state.”
Memories of home
Styuflyaev, now 39 years old, came from the industrial heartland of Ukraine.
“I was born in Donbas, specifically in the city of Lutuhyne, Luhansk region. It is not far from Luhansk, less than an hour by car. Until 2014, I lived at 20 Druzhby Street,” he told Kyiv Post.
By early 2025, nearly the entirety of Ukraine’s Luhansk region had been under Russian occupation.
But being mostly confined to his own home for much of his life due to cerebral palsy, most of Styuflyaev’s memories came through his window.
“My relationship with my hometown has always been somewhat specific… I can’t say that I miss it very much or have ever missed it,” he said.
“I have had cerebral palsy since birth and can move around either on crutches or in a wheelchair. Because of this, I spent most of my time at home and had little contact with the outside world,” he continued. “I didn’t study at a regular school – teachers came to my house.”
“Of course, this affected my relationship with the city, because love for one’s hometown usually comes through direct contact and emotional experience: favorite streets or places, first love, etc.”
“I have nothing or almost nothing to do with Lutuhyne.”
But the memory of the first Russian occupation was vivid.
“Even on our street in 2014 I saw armed Russians, clearly not our locals,” he said – a 2014 report by The Guardian reported the sighting of a Russian armored personnel carrier in Styuflyaev’s hometown, flanked by self-proclaimed mercenaries who told the publication they came from Russia, fighting for an unspecified employer.
When the war arrived, any sense of normalcy eventually gave way to its brutal realities, Styuflyaev said.
“The most vivid memory from the first occupation is a few days and nights spent in the basement together with other residents of the house,” he said.
“There I saw how the war gradually but steadily destroys people’s ordinary lives and their mental state,” he continued. “That is, in the first days people still tried to live a normal life, even celebrated the birth of a child right in the basement.”
“They believed that the war would end quickly, but gradually these illusions were dispelled.”
“I couldn’t afford to collect all the books from scratch again.”
The first escape
In 2014, Styuflyaev and his family fled Lutuhyne to Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second-largest city, to stay with Styuflyaev’s sister. The family later bought a house in Kozacha Lopan, a village in the Kharkiv region.
“Because Russia tried to hide its participation then, it was much easier to leave the occupied territories in 2014 than later,” he said, adding that moving between Ukraine and Russia was also easier back then as the two were not formally at war.
“The Russians also encouraged the departure of women and children to Russia. And people with disabilities as well,” he added.
When active fighting reached Lutuhyne in 2014, Styuflyaev left the city for Kharkiv within days with his family.
Fleeing Lutuhyne in haste, much was left behind – but during a brief lull in the fighting, Styuflyaev’s mother returned home to rescue his rare books on the ancient Maya, vital to his work as one of just four specialists in Ukraine.
“Personally, I was most concerned about saving my working library. I had quite a few valuable and expensive English-language books on Maya history,” he said.
“This literature was purchased over several years, and I couldn’t afford to collect all the books from scratch again,” he added.
Kozacha Lopan and the second occupation
In 2022, war returned to Styuflyaev’s doorstep as Moscow launched its full-scale invasion – this time with Russian troops, armored vehicles, and artillery, not just the “little green men.”
Kozacha Lopan is just 7 kilometers (around 4 miles) from the Russian border, and it sits on a major artery towards the Russian border, making it a strategic target for Russian troops and was immediately occupied on Feb. 24, 2022 – the day Russia’s full-scale invasion started.
Life under Russian occupation in Kozacha Lopan, by Styuflyaev’s account, was also far harsher – this time, it was nearly impossible to escape to Kyiv-controlled territories, with Russian troops regularly raiding local houses in search of partisans.
“The occupiers allowed [Ukrainians] to enter Russia and immediately looted the homes of those who left, but it was very difficult to leave Russia for Ukraine, and in our case, almost impossible,” he said.
Connection with the outside world was practically cut off as communications were jammed, and the lack of electricity under occupation meant Styuflyaev and his family had to scrape by – and keep their head down in fear of retaliation from Russian troops.
“There was no electricity for the first three months. Then they turned on the electricity, but there was no gas, and we had to cook food in the yard on a fire,” he said.
The active fighting also posed another risk.
“Around 5 a.m., we had to spend two hours in our basement every morning, because at that time the occupiers were shelling the village, destroying the houses of civilians,” he said.
Styuflyaev also said dissidents were targeted by Russian troops.
“For example, one elderly woman refused to give an interview to a Russian propaganda TV channel, and during such shelling, her house was burned down,” he added.
“Therefore, my father and I constantly warned my mother not to argue with anyone on the street or demonstrate her pro-Ukrainian position.”
“After their liberation in Kozacha Lopan, an entire torture chamber was discovered.”
Styuflyaev’s house was also raided – with a close call.
“It was also very scary because at any moment armed Russian soldiers could come with a search or inspection – they were constantly looking for spotters, that is, people who would transmit the coordinates of their location to the Ukrainian army,” he said.
“One day they came, and I was sitting reading a book on the history of Ukraine. And the entire library in my bookcase is either professional literature on Maya, or books on the history of Ukraine, or Ukrainian literary classics,” he said.
“Well, I think now if they see what books I have, they will immediately take the whole family to the basement. It was very scary. But they only glanced at the bookcase with an indifferent eye for a second.”
Styuflyaev said he felt lucky as he knew what would happen if they decided to snatch him for his pro-Ukrainian stance – judging by what had happened to his acquaintances.
“You can say that I was lucky, because several of my acquaintances who openly supported Ukraine were tortured, and after their liberation in Kozacha Lopan, an entire torture chamber was discovered,” he said.
Russian torture chambers in Ukraine have been well-documented – some in the form of filtration camps, and after Kozacha Lopan’s liberation during Kyiv’s counteroffensive in late 2022, torture chambers were discovered in the village – bedrolls on concrete floors behind metal bars, toilets made of discarded plastic bottles, as seen in a report by Espreso TV.
New beginning in Kharkiv, and an old academic debate
Despite its liberation, Kozacha Lopan remains under constant Russian attacks – and Styuflyaev joined his sister in Kharkiv alongside his parents.
“My sister immediately came to pick us up as soon as it became possible, now we all live together in her apartment,” he told Kyiv Post.
Kharkiv – Ukraine’s second-largest city – sits just 30 kilometers (20 miles) from the Russian border and is subject to constant Russian attacks, often with little to no warning time due to its proximity to the border. Despite this, Ukrainian defenses have held, keeping the city under Kyiv’s control.
The city also marks a peculiar coincidence with Styuflyaev’s professional life, as it is the hometown of Yuri Knorozov (1922-1999), the Soviet linguist and epigrapher famous for cracking the Maya script.
As Russia’s war in Ukraine rages on, the debate over Knorozov’s national identity continues to reflect the intertwined, troubled past of the two nations in the academic world.
“Ukrainian Maya scholars are now asking our Western colleagues to label Knorozov as a ‘Soviet’ rather than a ‘Russian’ researcher,” he said. “At the same time, I am perfectly aware that Russian scholars will always consider Knorozov their own, and I am completely calm and understanding about this.”
“They have their reasons for this, I cannot and have never sought to convince them otherwise. But Ukrainians also have every right to consider Knorozov their own, because he was born and formed as a personality in Ukraine,” he added.
“And after all, without Knorozov, Ukrainian Maya studies simply would not exist today.”
He said it’s an age-old issue, deciding whether a famous figure belongs to one country or another – and rather than fixating on that, Styuflyaev said it’s better to focus on what actually happened.
“I would rather draw attention to the fact that at one time the Soviet authorities did a great deal to make Knorozov’s life extremely difficult. He was not even allowed to communicate normally with Western colleagues or attend international conferences, which, of course, did not contribute to his development as a scientist,” he said.
“War forces you to cast aside any fear.”
Ironically, Russia’s war and life under Russian occupation have pushed Styuflyaev’s own development as a Maya specialist, as the war shows that life is too short for hesitation.
“Before the full-scale invasion, I had been researching Maya history for many years, but I did it unofficially, rather as an amateur. Immediately after the liberation, in October, I enrolled in a master’s degree at the Kharkiv National University, thereby beginning a full-fledged scientific activity and career,” he said.
“War forces you to cast aside any fear, to start implementing what you have planned here and now, because you understand that you may never have another time, another chance.”
The future of the Donbas
When asked about the proposed referendum for Ukrainians to decide whether the country should withdraw from the Donbas region, Styuflyaev said he would “vote categorically against” it.
“This cannot even be compared to the horror that one experiences under occupation.”
He likened the move to a betrayal of those who still live in parts of the Donetsk region that Russia has failed to capture militarily since 2014, and said giving up the Donbas would only embolden Russia for future invasions.
“Today, life in the free territory of Ukraine is also not sweet: constant shelling of peaceful cities, lack of light and heating. But this cannot even be compared to the horror that one experiences under occupation,” he said.
Styuflyaev said he believes the region is merely a stepping stone for Moscow as its ultimate goal remains Ukraine itself – and beyond.
“Having conquered Ukraine, the Russian army will firmly establish itself on the borders of the EU and NATO and will be able to intimidate the West with a new war and put forward their conditions from here much more effectively, which is what they really need,” he continued – echoing warnings from European states that Russia is set to invade Europe by 2028-29.
He cited Nazi Germany’s 1938 Sudetenland annexation as a warning about concessions: The West forced Czechoslovakia to give up its industrial region to appease Hitler, only to invoke the bloodiest war in Europe to date.
“As a historian, I see an obvious analogy here with the Sudetenland in 1938… when the Czechoslovak army withdrew from the fortified border, Czechoslovakia itself very quickly ceased to exist, and WWII broke out in Europe,” he added.
Russia’s habit of ignoring official treaties should be another warning, he said.
“No agreements will stop Russia – in 2014, we had a treaty of friendship and mutual recognition of borders, ratified by Russia, and the Budapest Memorandum. Then there were the Minsk agreements. This did not help avoid war,” Styuflyaev added, referring to the multiple documents where Russia had vowed to guarantee Ukraine’s territorial integrity over the past three decades.
But war or not, Styuflyaev said he does not see himself returning to Lutuhyne – though he said his mother dreams of one day returning to her garden in Kozacha Lopan.
“Mom dreams of returning to Kozacha Lopan, because there is a garden there and in general it is better for older people to live in a village than in a big city,” he said.
“I wouldn’t mind staying in Kharkiv. Let the war end first, and then we’ll see.”