Yaroslav Suzanskyi, 18, was 16 when he accepted a Telegram advertisement promising 165 dollars for a simple task. He instead set fire to a railway relay cabinet and was later sentenced to five years in prison. His case is one of eight similar prosecutions of minors in the Kremenchuk juvenile correctional colony, where more than 300 Ukrainian youths have been detained on charges linked to Russian recruitment efforts.

The Washington Post observed that many of the children involved come from impoverished backgrounds and are enticed with modest payments to carry out sabotage against their own country. After torching the relay cabinet, Suzanskyi received a second offer of 60,000 hryvnias — approximately 1,430 dollars — to handle an explosive device. He was instructed to leave a taped box containing wires at a hotel in the Kyiv suburbs, then travel by taxi to a library where Ukrainian intelligence intercepted him before he could complete the mission.

Suzanskyi’s involvement began after his father and stepfather were drafted into the military, leaving his mother to support three children. A bureaucratic error halted child‑support payments, and the family fell behind on bills. With only about five dollars remaining in December 2024, he responded to the Telegram ad.

Across Ukraine, 13 minors are currently serving sentences related to Russia‑linked offenses, including five girls, according to the Justice Ministry. More than 300 juveniles have been detained on similar charges, with some receiving probation and others still under investigation. A United Nations report last year cited credible allegations that Russian forces used Ukrainian children in occupied territories to conduct surveillance, transmit military information, or carry out sabotage and arson targeting military objects or public property.

Russia denies these allegations and has accused Ukrainian intelligence of recruiting Russian minors for sabotage within Russia. Oleksii Babakov, now 17, spent eight months under Russian occupation in Vovchansk before being relocated to Kharkiv and eventually to Poland. There, he encountered a Telegram advertisement promising up to 3,000 dollars a month for recruiting other young people. He initially believed the work involved making explosive devices, later learning he was also expected to plant them. At 15, he placed a device in a trash bin outside a Kharkiv police station and walked away. No injuries occurred, and he later expressed relief that the blast caused no harm.

From Poland, Babakov observed news reports about individuals he had recruited, including another 15‑year‑old girl who left an explosive device outside a different police station, also causing no casualties. Ukrainian authorities eventually located Babakov in Poland and deported him back to Ukraine, where he and Vikentii — identified only by his first name for safety reasons — met again in a pretrial detention center and are now serving sentences together in Kremenchuk. Both were convicted of terrorist‑related offenses, with Babakov receiving a four‑year term and Vikentii a three‑year term.

Maksym Parshyn, 17, hails from Slovyansk in the Donetsk region. His mother suffers from schizophrenia, and his family has faced financial hardship. After struggling to find legitimate employment due to his age, he turned to Telegram for work, initially loading firewood and later engaging in illegal call‑center scams. He accepted 300 dollars from an anonymous handler to set fire to a railway relay cabinet, later refusing a subsequent request to burn vehicles used by military recruiters, and eventually accepting 3,000 dollars to spray‑paint graffiti on a recruitment office. He later filmed a friend setting fire to a post office. Parshyn said he did not realize the operation was linked to Russian intelligence until after his detention. He spent roughly a year in pretrial detention before receiving a four‑year sentence.

Deputy Justice Minister Yevhen Pikalov explained that the detained youths were motivated by financial need rather than ideological loyalty. “They did not do it with the motive of destroying the Ukrainian state,” he said. “They didn’t do it because they love Russia. $500 on Telegram, that’s it.”

In the colony, personal phones are prohibited; staff retain the boys’ SIM cards, and all communications are monitored. Computers and tablets are supervised, and social media platforms are blocked. During free time, the detainees engage in sports, reading, television, or PlayStation. Family‑provided or earned money can be spent at the colony shop. Air‑raid alerts frequently interrupt classes, and blast waves from nearby missile attacks have damaged the facility three times, though no injuries were reported.

During a visit on July 20, staff had repurposed a table‑tennis room for Ukraine’s university entrance exam preparation, and chess and checkers boards were set up for recreational use. The youths spend their days navigating a routine overshadowed by Russian airstrikes, with limited personal belongings and supervised access to technology.

After turning 18, detainees may remain in the juvenile facility for education and rehabilitation until age 22 or be transferred to adult prisons. Pikalov noted that rehabilitation assessments consider each individual’s risk profile rather than the nature of the offense. Babakov hopes for a “clean slate,” while Parshyn expressed a desire to embrace his family upon release.

Suzanskyi’s next step involves enrolling in an online agronomy degree. In June, he transferred to a more restrictive medium‑security prison for adult men, stating his intention to “try adult life” and avoid returning to incarceration. With 3½ years remaining on his sentence, he worries about the safety of his family as Russian attacks intensify. “I’m afraid there simply won’t be any relatives left by the time I get out,” he said.