Vocational students visit a pre-trial detention centre

On the eve of the New Year and Christmas holidays, students from the Vocational School of Service and Design paid a visit to the Kherson pre-trial detention centre (SIZO). However, they were not meeting with those under arrest or investigation, but rather with the convicts serving their sentences there.
There are not many of them—only 25 people. They live, in effect, in a semi-basement (unfortunately, because the SIZO grounds are not 'stretchy', there simply is no more room), and they are referred to as the 'maintenance staff'. In reality, the maintenance of the entire SIZO complex rests on their shoulders: repairing utilities, plastering and painting, preparing and distributing food, and delivering care packages. They bake the bread themselves. And with their own hands, they built a small church on the grounds of the detention centre, complete with a real dome and cross.
Andrey Nedbaylo, a psychologist and public figure, decided to organise this meeting between his charges—the vocational students—and these convicts after he inspected the conditions at the SIZO as a member of the city’s monitoring commission. At that time, he spoke with the maintenance staff himself, asking if they would be willing to share their experiences with the students. His own charges are orphans. They have had a difficult upbringing, far removed from a typical childhood. Life has taught them not to trust anyone—neither teachers nor relatives. It is important for them to see for themselves and to be convinced by their own observations. These are intelligent, sensible lads with a great deal of potential. They could achieve much in this life, but as Andrey says, only if they do not succumb to drink or end up behind bars: at present, they enjoy 'showing off' and give little thought to the consequences of their actions. And life in the dormitory on the Beryslav Highway, which is 'notorious' both in the city and beyond, does little to encourage good upbringing...
The meeting was set for what proved to be the most unfortunate day: the city was snowed in, and public transport had ceased running. A quarantine was declared in all educational institutions, including the vocational school, and the students had scattered—some to their homes, others to visit relatives or friends. Nevertheless, by two o'clock in the afternoon, everyone who intended to go had gathered at the gates of the SIZO, with a cake and juice in hand.
When they were talking in the recreation room, a ginger, black and white beauty suddenly walked in. They say such three-coloured cats bring happiness. One of the convicts, Vladimir, recounted how, in the summer, when they were airing out the room, two kittens—brother and sister—jumped onto their windowsill. The brother would sleep right on the ledge and run away as soon as they entered the room. But the sister, whom they later named Tigra, would climb inside and sleep on the top bunk. He quietly began to feed and tame her. Now she feels like the mistress of the place. And although keeping animals inside the SIZO is forbidden (and plants do not survive, as the soil in the pots is constantly being 'turned over' during searches), the staff understand that an affectionate, purring creature is a soothing balm for the soul and heart. And so, they 'turn a blind eye' to Tigra occasionally popping inside for a visit.
Vladimir* has been living here for two years; he was convicted of murder. Or rather, for inflicting bodily harm that resulted in death: he had a disagreement with a fellow villager, the man grabbed an axe, but Vladimir proved the stronger—he took the weapon away and 'gave him a beating' in return. By morning, they had come for him; the neighbour, it turned out, had died from his injuries. Another of those we spoke with, Stanislav, received a four-year sentence. As he admits himself, it was essentially for 'having a screw loose' and a mobile phone. In the evening, after a disco, they were walking with a friend. He saw an acquaintance ahead of him with whom they had had a major row the day before. They caught up with him, knocked him down, and hit him a couple of times, when suddenly Stanislav realised that this was a completely different lad—'a mistake had been made'. He nudged his friend, saying, 'let's bolt, it's not him,' and ran off. But his friend lingered for a moment, and during that time, he 'cleaned out' the lad’s pockets and took his mobile phone. A couple of months later, the police came for Stanislav: through the mobile phone, and the 'chain' of various owners, they tracked down the seller—his friend—who then 'cracked'. And the charge was no small matter: robbery, by prior conspiracy, resulting in bodily harm...
During the meeting itself, the students were essentially silent, asking few questions. But once they stepped outside the SIZO, they sighed with immense relief and began to talk. One of them admitted that inside, there was a sort of oppressive atmosphere, vastly different from freedom. Even though it seemed to be the same sky, the same hum of the city. And the punishment cell left an indelible impression on everyone...
The very fact that the teenagers had visited the SIZO spread among their peers very quickly. What the lads had heard and seen with their own eyes became a genuinely popular 'myth'—no one believed it was possible. Andrey Nedbaylo said that he, too, was honestly doubtful: his charges did not have passports, only certificates stamped by the school. After all, a pre-trial detention centre is a high-security facility, and it is not only difficult to get out of, but also impossible to enter just like that, off the street. Nevertheless, the visit took place, thanks to the fact that the facility’s management was accommodating. And that is excellent, because as Andrey says, after the visit to the SIZO, the lads changed significantly for the better: 'The desire not to end up there has been firmly reinforced'.

* Names have been changed for ethical reasons.