February 2019
Outside the main municipal building in the Ukrainian capital of
Kyiv, just a few minutes’ walk from Independence Square, Serhii
Filimonov and a dozen of his friends and colleagues are unfurling a
banner. It’s a cold winter morning. Grey clumps of snow are piled
up on the pavement and the rain is falling harder with each passing
minute. Filimonov and his group are here to picket the municipality
over a potential real-estate agreement that would hand a large
chunk of public land to a local oligarch in what they say is a
corrupt deal. They plan to reconvene a few hours later at a
historical monument in the city to protest the recent killing of a
female activist, Kateryna Handziuk.
Handziuk, an advisor to the mayor of Kherson, a city in the
south of Ukraine, had become known for exposing local corruption.
Her regular Facebook posts didn’t discriminate: police officers,
government officials and well-known businessmen were all exposed
for their alleged wrongdoing. On 31st July 2018, Handziuk was
approached by a man who poured a litre of sulphuric acid over her.
She received burns covering a third of her body and underwent 11
operations. She died of her injuries five months later. She was 33
years old.
No one has yet been jailed for her killing.
“We don’t like the events surrounding the investigation into
Handziuk,” says Filimonov, a well-built man in his mid twenties
dressed in the expensive sportswear associated with the ‘football
casual’ subculture. The young men who have joined him are dressed
much the same, many with tattoos just about visible as they snake
up over their throats or poke out beneath their jacket sleeves.
Filimonov’s left arm is protected in a brace, his hand bandaged.
He says he will keep campaigning until Ukraine’s president, Petro
Poroshenko, intervenes to ensure that those guilty of Handziuk’s
murder are brought to justice.
This is how Filimonov fills his days, in a carousel of direct
action against what he views as the corrupt elite who have operated
with impunity for decades and are protected by a captive judiciary.
But Filimonov isn’t a liberal activist. He is a football ultra,
part of a network of organised, hardcore fans known for their
colourful choreographies and pyrotechnic displays in the stands. He
is the leader of Dynamo Kyiv’s most notorious “firm” (an
active hooligan faction within an ultras group), the “Rodychi”
(The Relatives), notorious for organising fights with other
football supporters, often held in forests and fields far from the
prying eyes of the police.
Serhii Filimonov (second from left) stands alongside Andriy
Biletsky (left) and other ultras after being released on bail from
a district court in Kyiv on 10th September 2016. Photo: Zuma Press,
Inc / Alamy Live News
Filimonov is also head of the Kyiv division of the National
Corps, a political party that is part of an ongoing normalisation
of the far right in Ukrainian politics. The National Corps and
similar groups are using new tactics that make them hard to pin
down, cutting across national barriers and ideological lines as
they protest against Petro Poroshenko, their biggest enemy after
Vladimir Putin. Poroshenko, an oligarch who made his fortune from
chocolate, was elected as the country’s first president after the
Euromaidan uprising which deposed Viktor Yanukovych. He has
overseen a disastrous war in the east while the economy has
flatlined. His popularity is in the basement and he is lying third
in the polls ahead of the presidential elections, due to start in a
month.
Such is Ukraine’s disillusionment with politics that an actor
is leading the polls: Volodymyr Zelensky, a man with zero political
experience and an unclear agenda. In the Ukrainian series Servant
of the People, Zelensky played Vasyl, a teacher who accidentally
became president after a secretly recorded video of him railing
against corruption went viral. For Ukrainians jaded by years of
corruption and war, Ukraine’s answer to Martin Sheen (who played
the US president Jed Bartlet in The West Wing) seemed as good a bet
as anyone. Filimonov has been busy organising protests at
Poroshenko’s campaign rallies, but today he has more immediate
concerns. He nods towards a nearby police officer who is listening
to our conversation. “This is the head of local police; he is
listening to us,” he says. “We are being watched by
spies.”
The remains of the day
Today is the fifth anniversary of the bloodiest day of the
Euromaidan uprising, but Maidan Nezalezhnosti, or Independence
Square, is almost empty.
The revolution began in late 2013 when hundreds of thousands of
Ukrainians took to the streets to protest against Viktor
Yanukovych. The then-president had promised to sign an association
agreement with the EU, a signal to the countryâs young population
that Ukraine was seeking a future with closer ties to the west. But
Russia opposed the move, as President Putin feared that another key
trading partner and strategic asset could be lost to his
February 2019
Outside the main municipal building in the Ukrainian capital of
Kyiv, just a few minutes’ walk from Independence Square, Serhii
Filimonov and a dozen of his friends and colleagues are unfurling a
banner. It’s a cold winter morning. Grey clumps of snow are piled
up on the pavement and the rain is falling harder with each passing
minute. Filimonov and his group are here to picket the municipality
over a potential real-estate agreement that would hand a large
chunk of public land to a local oligarch in what they say is a
corrupt deal. They plan to reconvene a few hours later at a
historical monument in the city to protest the recent killing of a
female activist, Kateryna Handziuk.
Handziuk, an advisor to the mayor of Kherson, a city in the
south of Ukraine, had become known for exposing local corruption.
Her regular Facebook posts didn’t discriminate: police officers,
government officials and well-known businessmen were all exposed
for their alleged wrongdoing. On 31st July 2018, Handziuk was
approached by a man who poured a litre of sulphuric acid over her.
She received burns covering a third of her body and underwent 11
operations. She died of her injuries five months later. She was 33
years old.
No one has yet been jailed for her killing.
“We don’t like the events surrounding the investigation into
Handziuk,” says Filimonov, a well-built man in his mid twenties
dressed in the expensive sportswear associated with the ‘football
casual’ subculture. The young men who have joined him are dressed
much the same, many with tattoos just about visible as they snake
up over their throats or poke out beneath their jacket sleeves.
Filimonov’s left arm is protected in a brace, his hand bandaged.
He says he will keep campaigning until Ukraine’s president, Petro
Poroshenko, intervenes to ensure that those guilty of Handziuk’s
murder are brought to justice.
This is how Filimonov fills his days, in a carousel of direct
action against what he views as the corrupt elite who have operated
with impunity for decades and are protected by a captive judiciary.
But Filimonov isn’t a liberal activist. He is a football ultra,
part of a network of organised, hardcore fans known for their
colourful choreographies and pyrotechnic displays in the stands. He
is the leader of Dynamo Kyiv’s most notorious “firm” (an
active hooligan faction within an ultras group), the “Rodychi”
(The Relatives), notorious for organising fights with other
football supporters, often held in forests and fields far from the
prying eyes of the police.
Serhii Filimonov (second from left) stands alongside Andriy
Biletsky (left) and other ultras after being released on bail from
a district court in Kyiv on 10th September 2016. Photo: Zuma Press,
Inc / Alamy Live News
Filimonov is also head of the Kyiv division of the National
Corps, a political party that is part of an ongoing normalisation
of the far right in Ukrainian politics. The National Corps and
similar groups are using new tactics that make them hard to pin
down, cutting across national barriers and ideological lines as
they protest against Petro Poroshenko, their biggest enemy after
Vladimir Putin. Poroshenko, an oligarch who made his fortune from
chocolate, was elected as the country’s first president after the
Euromaidan uprising which deposed Viktor Yanukovych. He has
overseen a disastrous war in the east while the economy has
flatlined. His popularity is in the basement and he is lying third
in the polls ahead of the presidential elections, due to start in a
month.
Such is Ukraine’s disillusionment with politics that an actor
is leading the polls: Volodymyr Zelensky, a man with zero political
experience and an unclear agenda. In the Ukrainian series Servant
of the People, Zelensky played Vasyl, a teacher who accidentally
became president after a secretly recorded video of him railing
against corruption went viral. For Ukrainians jaded by years of
corruption and war, Ukraine’s answer to Martin Sheen (who played
the US president Jed Bartlet in The West Wing) seemed as good a bet
as anyone. Filimonov has been busy organising protests at
Poroshenko’s campaign rallies, but today he has more immediate
concerns. He nods towards a nearby police officer who is listening
to our conversation. “This is the head of local police; he is
listening to us,” he says. “We are being watched by
spies.”
The remains of the day
Today is the fifth anniversary of the bloodiest day of the
Euromaidan uprising, but Maidan Nezalezhnosti, or Independence
Square, is almost empty.
The revolution began in late 2013 when hundreds of thousands of
Ukrainians took to the streets to protest against Viktor
Yanukovych. The then-president had promised to sign an association
agreement with the EU, a signal to the countryâs young population
that Ukraine was seeking a future with closer ties to the west. But
Russia opposed the move, as President Putin feared that another key
trading partner and strategic asset could be lost to his EU rivals.
Yanukovych pulled out of signing the documents under intense
pressure from Moscow and major protests erupted across Ukraine in
the weeks that followed, with the biggest taking place in
Independence Square.
On 18th February 2014 the stand-off escalated as snipers began
killing protesters in Kyiv. Over the next three days, 100 people
were killed, the majority on 20th February, the bloodiest day of
the revolution. The dead have since been named the âheavenly
hundredâ. A makeshift memorial snakes up one path next to
Independence Square, a long line of temporary shrines each
featuring a photo of one of the killed protesters: on the
anniversary this year, 100 beams of light were projected into the
sky to commemorate them. On 22nd February 2014 Yanukovych fled the
capital, headed to his native eastern Ukraine and crossed the
border into Russia, where he sought refuge.
An anti-government protester standing next to burning rubble in
Kyivâs Independence Square on 19th February 2014, one of the
deadliest days of the Euromaidan revolt. Photo: Brendan Hoffman /
Getty Images
The protestersâ victory was won with the help of large numbers
of organised football supporters â the ultras â who joined with
activists in the square. Almost all were from far-right ultra
groups steeped in a culture of violence and which regularly clashed
with one another inside and outside football grounds.
The ultras converged on Maidan and buried their enmity. Former
hated rivals joined the same side and, crucially, brought with them
the experience of fighting with the police. They gained the respect
of even the most liberal protesters for being the muscle of the
revolution. They were idolised by far-right politicians. âLet us
applaud the heroic soccer fans of Dnipro Cherkasy, Kapaty Lviv and
Vorskla Poltova!â said Oleh Tyahnybok, the leader of the
nationalist, far-right Svoboda party at the time. âThis is where
solidarity starts. This is where patriotism starts.â
When Russia annexed Crimea in retaliation for the overthrow of
president Yanukovych and fuelled a war in the east by backing
pro-Russian separatists, thousands of ordinary Ukrainians
volunteered to help their countryâs woefully underprepared and
underfunded military. One battalion of volunteers, Azov, was
commanded by a former political prisoner under Yanukovych, Andriy
Biletsky. Biletsky had founded the National Socialist Assembly, a
coalition of extreme nationalist, radical right and neo-Nazi
groups. His aim, according to a 2014 manifesto, was to âlead the
white races of the world in a final crusade⦠against Semite-led
Untermenschenâ. (He has since denied that he ever espoused
antisemitic views).
Azov commander Andriy Biletsky at an oath ceremony for his
battalion members in Kyiv, 19th October 2014. Photo: Genya Savilov
/ AFP / Getty Images
The bulk of Azov soldiers were drawn from members of Ukraineâs
ultra groups: Filimonov was one of the first to sign up. They
proved to be a fearsome unit and famously retook the strategically
vital port city of Mariupol from Russian-backed forces in June
2014. A film, The Ultras, was made and shown on prime-time TV
showing how the ultras had triumphed at Mariupol and made a
courageous stand at Donetskâs shattered airport.
In 2016 Andriy Biletsky was chosen to be the leader of Azovâs
new political wing, the National Corps, and Filimonov was chosen as
the head organiser for Kyiv. As quiet as Maidan is on the fifth
anniversary of a day freighted with national memories, gazebos have
been set up for some of the candidates for the upcoming
presidential election. Although it isnât fielding a candidate,
the National Corps has its own tent with young men and women
handing out leaflets with two pictures on them â of Biletsky and,
underneath, of Filimonov.
From hooligan to veteran
Filimonovâs office has a brand new reinforced steel door with
an electronic security keypad. In the corner is a cabinet designed
to house shotguns and ammunition. When I arrive, I find Filimonov
sitting behind his large wooden desk examining his injured left
arm. âThey were beating us so hard,â he says. The week before,
on Valentineâs Day, Filimonov had travelled to Athens to watch
his team, Dynamo Kyiv, play Olympiakos in a Europa League match but
had a run-in with Greeceâs notoriously baton-happy police. âI
almost lost my consciousness,â he says of the violence he
encountered. âI have never been beaten so hard before. My finger
could even be amputated.â
We are talking in the new HQ of Filimonovâs apparently
thriving security business, which he runs in-between organising and
training for football fights and leading the National Corpsâ Kyiv
division. As we talk, dozens of men pass through, all veterans from
Azov who have now found employment after their tour of duty
finished.
I was told I must go first into the building and kill
everyoneâ
Filimonov explains how he got here. As a young kid he was into
wrestling. âWhenever you are good at sports you will eventually
get a proposal to try yourself in a fight in âokolofutbolaâ,â
he says. âOkolofutbolaâ means âaround footballâ in Russian,
and is used to describe the pre-arranged hooligan fights that take
place before matches. He enjoyed the fighting and was good at it,
quickly rising to head his own group named after Stepan Bandera, a
Ukrainian ultra-nationalist leader from World War II with a
complicated legacy: nationalists regard him as a hero for trying to
establish an independent state; others point to the fact that he
collaborated with the Nazis and was responsible for the massacre of
Poles and Jews.
When the Euromaidan uprising began, old football rivalries
withered. âJust before Maidan I was jumped by 20 anti-fascist
fans from Arsenal Kyiv. I was more than angry,â Filimonov
recalls. Arsenal Kyiv is the only leading club in Ukraine with
left-wing ultras. âWhen Maidan started, I saw the same guys
there! But I said this was not the time [for revenge]. So, I shook
their hands. We have these ideological and club differences but we
shook hands. Maidan was not left-wing or right-wing, Nazi or
commie, or whatever. This was the war against Yanukovych.â
The days leading up to the bloody denouement of the Maidan
uprising were chaotic. The ultras, says Filimonov, took to the
front lines âto give people at Maidan a feeling of security and
understanding that they are being guarded. They wonât fight
physically, right? But it gives them the feeling that they have
back-up and people willing to give up their lives for this noble
cause.â
As the police attempted to take back the square, Filimonov and
about 40 of his fellow ultras ended up being pushed back and
cornered. They decided to flee to the Canadian embassy as one of
their group had a Canadian passport. After easily pushing past the
security, they sheltered there for two days. They even considered
applying for asylum in Canada where they could train, regroup and
return to fight another day.
An instructor for the ultra-nationalist volunteer Azov battalion
runs training exercises in Kyiv on 1st March 2015. Photo: Yury
Kirnichny / AFP / Getty Images
The protesters eventually won the day and after Yanukovych fled
east; Filimonov left the embassy and began planning for what he
believed was the inevitable war to come. He travelled to
Dnipropetrovsk in central Ukraine with a group of like-minded
Dynamo fans. There he met with ultras from Dnipro, a team that had
a friendship with Dynamo. Around 50 of his group volunteered for
Azov. Their first taste of action was in Mariupol.
âDuring the training I only had five bullets. I had a
supermarket security uniform,â Filimonov says. I ask him about
the mission he was assigned. âThe storming group,â he says.
âI was told I must go first into the building and kill
everyone.â The liberation of Mariupol in June 2014 made Azovâs
name. After a string of humiliating defeats for the Ukrainian army,
it proved that the Russian-backed forces (and Russian troops
themselves) could be stopped.
Filimonovâs military career would end two months later at
post-revolution Ukraineâs military nadir: the Battle of Ilovaisk.
As many as 1,000 servicemen were killed when a botched raid on the
city was followed by a botched retreat, hampered by malfunctioning
equipment, poor planning and bad weather. Filimonov was caught in
an ambush by pro-Russian forces. âOur commander said we should
try to escape but not everyone will survive,â he says. âWe
should run and not stop when someone falls, because it will be our
death too.â He was badly wounded by a grenade and invalided out
of the battalion.
Playing down the right wing
Filimonov doesnât look or sound like a stereotypical fascist.
He is young, articulate, charismatic and handsome. He doesnât use
overtly racist language. Instead he talks about corruption and
bringing oligarchs to justice. His Instagram account is a carefully
curated mix of football casual fashion, family-man snaps with his
wife and young son and topless shots of him working out or training
recruits on how to handle a machine gun. Other photos show him in
jail or standing trial, something that happens regularly after he
undertakes what he calls âcivic actionâ.
As a result of their role in Maidan, and also because of their
position as veterans, Filimonov and his ultras have a new, elevated
status in Ukraine. Where once they were seen as irrelevant, almost
comical characters, they are now feted as revolutionary heroes.
âThe majority of Ukrainian liberals are in a close relationship
with radical nationalists,â says Professor Volodymyr Ishchenko, a
sociologist at Kyivâs Polytechnic Institute. âThey legitimate
them, they tolerate and justify their violence. This is one of the
biggest problems with civil society.â
Serhii Filimonov with fellow members of the National Corps in
2016. Photo: Zuma Press, Inc / Alamy Live News
The National Corps burst onto the scene as a new political force
in October 2016 when thousands marched through Kyiv in balaclavas
and military fatigues carrying flaming torches. They chanted
âDeath to enemies!â and âGlory to the nation!â as Andriy
Biletsky was voted in as party leader on a four-year term. At the
same time a new force, the National Militia, emerged as the
militant street wing of the party. âWhen the authorities are
impotent and cannot solve issues of vital importance for society,
then simple, ordinary people are forced to take responsibility upon
themselves,â Biletsky told Ukrainian media when asked why a
political party needed its own militia.
The group is thought to be under the patronage of Ukraineâs
interior minister, Arsen Avakov, who has long ties to the
ultra-nationalist movement. It was Avakovâs decision to
incorporate Azov into the regular armyâs National Guard.
âAlthough presented as a means to defuse the ultra-nationalist
battalion, [this move] led to its explosive growth and branching
out into the National Corps political party and increasingly
assertive National Militia street movement,â wrote journalist
Oleksiy Kuzmenko in an investigation for news website
Bellingcat.
Since Euromaidan there has been a roll call of violent events
involving emboldened far-right and openly neo-Nazi groups.
According to Kuzmenkoâs Bellingcat investigation, âthe National
Corps and National Militia threatened a Ukrainian Roma community
near Kyiv and later razed the abandoned campsite, streaming the
event on Facebook Live.â There have since been other attacks on
Roma camps, as well as on LGBT events and marches celebrating
womenâs rights. These involved a host of organisations from the
same far-right eco-systems: groups such as C14, Right Sector and
Tradition and Order. In all cases the police did little to..