Mankurts in the Kremlin’s Service: How Ethnic Ukrainians of the Far East Betrayed Their Own People
- Володимир Дубовський
- Sep 19
- 7 min read
Once, our ancestors — Ukrainians driven by poverty, famine, and the yoke of the tsar — moved to the lands of the Zelenyi Klyn (Green Ukraine) with the hope of a free life. Here they built villages, sowed grain, passed on their language, faith, and songs to their children. It was a hope that somewhere, in a land between taiga and hills, they could preserve what had been taken from them back home — freedom, land, the Ukrainian soul.
But decades of Soviet rule, and later the Putinist empire, did their work: the free Ukrainians were turned into mankurts. From people who once kept carols and ancestral legends alive, they became faceless «russians», their memory erased to the core. The process was not swift, but it was thorough — carried out through schools, the army, party meetings, television, and, finally, war.
Mankurt — is a person cut off completely from their roots, language, and memory. Without kin, without history, without conscience.
«Mankurt is not just someone who has forgotten who he is. It is a person whom the system has turned into a weapon against his own people», — Chingiz Aitmatov
Today we can see it clearly: the descendants of Ukrainians living in the Far East have not only renounced their origins, but have become active participants in the destruction of Ukraine.
They are not merely silent bystanders — they have turned into soldiers and propagandists of the very empire that has, throughout history, sought to erase the very notion of Ukrainianness.
The Mankurt Governor: Oleg Kozhemyako
The surname Kozhemyako is distinctly Ukrainian, common in the Chernihiv region and Polissia. He himself was born in the village of Chernihivka in Primorsky Krai — one of those Ukrainian settlements where the native Ukrainian language once resounded and the memory of freedom was preserved. It was a land where the Cossack tradition met the harsh nature of the Far East. Yet, over time, all that remained of this memory were surnames.
«Post-Soviet elites are often the descendants of those who were once assimilated and then became the agents of a new colonialism», — Yaroslav Hrytsak
Today, Kozhemyako serves as the governor of Primorsky Krai, actively engaged in mobilization, the dispatch of «humanitarian aid» to the occupiers, and propaganda for the so-called «special operation».
In 2022, he visited Mariupol, effectively taking part in its capture.
In 2023, he returned to the occupied city, recording propaganda videos about its «reconstruction» — concealing the fact that Mariupol had been razed to the ground by the russian army.
Vera Shcherbina — a Vice-Governor Without Memory
The surname Shcherbina is typical of Ukrainians from Poltava and Cherkasy regions. She was born in the Skovorodino district of Amur Oblast, where a significant part of the population in the 19th–20th centuries were settlers from Ukraine. She worked in the administrations of Primorsky Krai, Kamchatka, and Sakhalin. A bureaucratic career built in service to the system has completely erased any trace of identity.
«Mankurtization is one of the empire’s most powerful tools. To turn the colonized into a loyal bureaucrat means to erase collective memory», — Tamara Eidelman
During the war, she coordinated the logistics of shipments to the occupied territories. These «humanitarian cargos» came accompanied by medals from occupation authorities, Z insignia, and packages stamped «From Primorye — to the front line». A Ukrainian surname beneath these documents is no longer even ironic. It is a diagnosis.
Other Political Figures with Ukrainian Roots
Oleg Kozhemyako and Vera Shcherbina are not isolated cases. In the Far East there are numerous officials whose surnames, origins, or biographies point to Ukrainian ancestry. Some of them once openly acknowledged their ethnicity and even emphasized cultural ties with Ukraine. But with the onset of russia’s aggression, they either fell silent or sided with the regime — some quietly, others with rhetoric worthy of a state television broadcast. Their stories illustrate how the system erases memory and displaces identity in the name of obedience and career advancement.
«The paradox is that the descendants of those who were repressed and assimilated often become the empire’s mouthpieces», — Ivan Preobrazhensky
Ihor Chemeris — deputy of the Legislative Assembly of Primorsky Krai of the VII convocation, and formerly a vice-governor of Primorsky Krai. The surname «Chemeris» originates from Ukraine, widespread in the Chernihiv, Poltava, and Sumy regions. Chemeris was born in the city of Berdychiv, Zhytomyr Oblast, Ukraine, and later moved to the Far East.
Despite his roots, Chemeris actively supports federal policies. Since the beginning of russia’s invasion of Ukraine, he has spoken of the need to «strengthen patriotic spirit,» overseen military events in the region, and visited mobilized soldiers from Primorsky Krai in Kherson Oblast.
Yuriy Hryshan — the current mayor of Magadan. The surname «Hryshan» is common among Ukrainians, especially in the Chernihiv and Poltava regions. In the past, Hryshan openly acknowledged his Ukrainian roots and cultural ties with Ukraine. However, after 2022, he fully aligned himself with the Kremlin’s agenda: participating in events supporting the «special operation,» making statements about the «unity of the people» and the need to «support the front». Hryshan’s case exemplifies how even publicly recognized ethnicity can be forsaken in favor of political loyalty.
Volodymyr Pechenyi — former mayor of Magadan and governor of Magadan Oblast.
Of Ukrainian descent, Pechenyi previously did not hide his roots and even gave interviews in Ukrainian. However, after 2014, and especially following the 2022 invasion, he aligned himself with the Kremlin’s actions, advocating for «unity» and the «fight against external threats».
Valeriy Limarenko — governor of Sakhalin Oblast, bears a surname common in the Poltava and Sumy regions. Before the war, he actively cooperated with the military-industrial complex; after 2022, he oversaw Sakhalin’s involvement in sending military equipment and «humanitarian aid» to Donbas. He made statements supporting the «special operation» and referenced the «fight against nazism» in Ukraine.
Pavel Storozhuk — acting Minister of Agriculture and Food of Khabarovsk Krai, bears a surname of Ukrainian origin, common in central and southern regions of Ukraine. In the past, he mentioned his family’s rural traditions connected to Ukrainian settlers. During the Soviet era, freed Ukrainians — former prisoners of Stalin’s camps, including members of the OUN-UPA and their supporters — were also sent to the settlement of Provideniya and other areas of Chukotka and Magadan Oblast. After 2022, Pavel Anatolyevich actively engaged in implementing tasks set by the federal center, including food supply under the mobilization economy. He also supported actions in favor of the «special military operation,» demonstrating full loyalty to the official course.
All of these people are cogs and gears in a vast, cynical machine where memory is considered a weakness, and renouncing one’s roots is the key to career advancement. For all of them, it is easier to say: «I am not Ukrainian. I am simply a russian official.»
Thousands More — Silent, and Often Betraying
Thousands of ethnic Ukrainians in the Far East feel that their roots are not russian.
Yet most remain silent. Some are afraid. Some are waiting. Some long ago betrayed their own roots.
«Empires do not kill with weapons. They kill with oblivion», — Edward Said
The price of silence has been lives. Losses of the Russian Armed Forces (data from Mediazona, Gruz 200, Potery.net, and others):
Amur Oblast: 285–650
Jewish Autonomous Oblast: 64–210
Khabarovsk Krai: 460–843
Sakhalin Oblast: 232–410
Primorsky Krai: 653–1240
Kamchatka Krai: 154–220
Magadan Oblast: 62–111
These are not just numbers. They are the descendants of those who once sang «Oi u luzi chervona kalyna» on the banks of the Amur, Ussuri, and the Pacific Ocean. Today, they die for a foreign power, for russia.
Mankurtism Within the Family: The Author’s Personal Story
I am not writing this article with cold, analytical detachment. I am writing it because I witnessed firsthand how the machine of mankurtization works — right within my own family.
In 2014, during the first battles for Bakhmut, when this Ukrainian city was captured by Girkin-Strelkov’s forces, my grandmother — an ethnic Ukrainian born in the Far East — called her cousin, who at that time lived in the city under occupation. I heard that conversation.
My grandmother tried to convince her cousin that there was Nazism in Ukraine, that everything happening was «American propaganda,» and that they themselves were russian, because they «were born in russia». Part of the conversation, however, was in Ukrainian — their native language since childhood.
This is mankurtization — when a person may even speak the language of their ancestors, yet effectively refuses to acknowledge their ancestors’ ethnicity as part of their own identity.
A week later, I got a tattoo of a map of Ukraine with the trident — so I would never forget the blood that runs through me.
Yes, I made mistakes. I was naive. I followed the wrong people. I trusted the wrong people. But I have not forgotten my great-grandmother’s lullabies. I have not forgotten the stories of my grandfather, deported from Chernihivshchyna. I have not forgotten the sacrifices and the pain that stand behind my surname, behind my family, behind my lineage.
I may speak russian most of the time. But I think in Ukrainian. I feel in Ukrainian. I believe as my ancestors believed.
And as long as this is alive — I am free. I am Ukrainian.
Mankurtization Is a Crime. And a Challenge.
Every Ukrainian in the Far East is a descendant of a strong, free people. But without memory, this heritage will disappear.
«Memory is an act of resistance. Forgetting is an act of submission», — Timothy Snyder
We, Far Eastern Ukrainians, are often, in truth, alone. From russia, we see only contempt and hatred, an attempt to assimilate us or even destroy us. It is painful to admit, but even from some Ukrainians in Ukraine, we sometimes hear rejection — we are called «not Ukrainian», sometimes even «moskali».
But no matter how hard, no matter how painful — know that you are not alone.
Some remain in the Far East under the «russian world». Some are in prisons. Some are in exile. Our present differs, and often our past as well. But we are Far Eastern Ukrainians. And I believe that together we can build a shared future.
A future in which our children can proudly and fearlessly say: «I am Ukrainian!». A future in which in our villages and cities, the native language will sound again. Where it will not be mocked. Where it will not be punished. But will be respected — as the voice of a living people reclaiming the right to freedom and dignity.
Now is our moment. To speak. To write. To remind. And to reclaim the right to be Far Eastern Ukrainians.
We exist. We existed. And we will exist.— «Ми — є. Ми були. І будемо.»
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