The Kursk Curse: Russians in Ukrainian Controlled Territory Reveal the Terrifying Truths of Indoctrination

Wobbling over a damaged road, a Ukrainian military armoured vehicle crossed the Russian border and headed to Sudzha, a small town in the Ukraine-controlled part of the Kursk region.

The Ukrainian offensive in the Kursk region, the first instance of foreign troops landing on Russian soil since WWII, began on 6 August 2024 and quickly proved successful. By 6 September, after one month of fighting, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy reported that the Ukrainian Armed Forces had gained control of 1,300 square kilometres of Russian territory.

The ride did not differ much from any road trip along the frontline: burned and abandoned cars amidst sunflower fields, piles of concrete rubble with exposed iron rods, and crumbled churches, houses, bridges, and checkpoints.

Ukraine’s Sumy region, adjacent to Russia’s Kursk region, used to be a so-called “grey zone,” an area of contested control where neither Ukrainian nor Russian forces had full dominance.

Ukrainian forces launched a ground operation in the Kursk region and have now established control. Ironically, Ukraine seized the initiative from Russian President Vladimir Putin, who had openly discussed plans to establish a “sanitary” or  “buffer zone”, a demilitarized area, on Ukrainian territory along the border. The decision to advance on Kursk was also driven by the lack of long-range weaponry, according to Zelenskyy.

Sudzha, a small town with a population of 8,000, is a typical small provincial town of strategic importance. Located 10 km from the border, it hosts the Lgov-Belgorod railway, which supports Russian forces near Kharkiv, bypassing roads to aid Russian operations along Ukraine’s border. The Gazprom gas measuring station, only 600 meters from the Ukrainian border, is also located here, along with a substation that once connected the Kursk Nuclear Power Plant to the Ukrainian grid.

Moving in short spurts to avoid being spotted by Russian drones, our crew ran by a burning building, fire still smouldering and black smoke rising, the aftermath of a Russian guided aerial bomb (KAB) or an artillery attack. Metal shards from missiles jutted from the asphalt amidst shrapnel and debris. A rooster crowed after each explosion.

During the Ukrainian offensive, only the community centre and local administration buildings were damaged, as they housed Russian military forces, said Vadym Misnik, a spokesperson for the Ukrainian Armed Forces in an interview with Byline Times. According to him, the Russian military inflicted most of the town’s destruction in the last two weeks, with over 300 shelling incidents. Russian troops, positioned only 20 km away, attack their own territory with zeal. Up to 25 guided aerial bombs (KABs) hit the area daily. Missiles, artillery, and multiple launch rocket systems (MLRS) are also deployed.

The major threat comes from drones, according to Misnik. As in other frontline regions, drone attacks on civilians have become a key strategy to terrorise civilians. Drones operate in pairs: reconnaissance drones, such as Mavic, Lancet or Zala, are followed by FPV “kamikaze” drones. Reconnaissance drones carry re-transmitters, allowing attack drones with additional batteries to travel up to 40 km from their operators.

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The Elderly: “Stalin Stopped Too Early”

According to Misnik, a Russian drone demolished the monument to Vladimir Lenin, the communist ideologist and founder of the USSR, at the central square of Sudzha. Behind the community centre, another Russian drone damaged a WWII memorial. The eternal flame was out, and the star surrounding it was in pieces, but the granite plaques bearing the names of fallen soldiers remained intact. Wreaths in the colours of the Russian flag—white, blue, and red—adorned the site. Three memorial plaques further down the street commemorated Russian soldiers killed in the Chechen war, during the full-scale invasion of Ukraine and, notably, on the Russian submarine Kursk that sank almost a quarter of a century ago. 

In August 2000, explosions killed all 118 Kursk crew members, exposing flaws in Russia’s naval response and testing Putin’s first year of presidency. As Ukrainian forces expand their foothold and the world watches the operation, the very word “Kursk” challenges Putin’s strategies.

The Ukrainians have left much of the omnipresent expression of Russian bellicose fervour, war propaganda, and nationalistic imagery untouched, but they recognise the importance of information warfare. Instead of removing the Soviet-era bacchanalia, they provided Sudzha’s residents with a sobering view of the Russian army’s war crimes in Ukraine. Photos of the Russian-caused devastation in Irpin, Bucha, Borodyanka, and other towns were displayed on the remnants of the Lenin monument and the plywood covering the shattered windows of a local school, creating multi-layered images of destruction.

Near a school-turned-shelter, a few local men in their late sixties were cutting plywood and agreed to talk about the war. The word “war”, however, was met with surprise and anxiety. In Russia, since 24 February 2022, the term “war” has been banned, and using it is a criminal offence. Instead, Russian citizens call it the “SVO” (Special Military Operation).

Oleg, a life-long Sudzha resident, described the SVO—war—as “a humanitarian mission to restore Donbas” and avoided sharing his opinion on Putin, though he admitted to having one. When asked if he was afraid, he laughed nervously and said, “I don’t want to say it.” He said that the war was “absolutely unexpected”.

His friend Anatoly said residents were hiding in the basement during the shelling. He claimed he did not know who was bombing Sudzha. Asked about the cause of the war, he said Russian TV shows made it hard to understand it. He had heard of Mariupol and Bucha but was unsure of what happened there. Both men noted that Ukrainian soldiers treated them well, providing food and water.

Inside, Maria, 90, said that she was in her house alone for a month before moving to the shelter, without water, food, or a telephone connection. While feeding her fifteen chickens she often heard bombs exploding. She believed that Ukraine was at war with Russia because the ethnic Russians in Donbas were not allowed to speak Russian. Maria added that Putin first promised he wasn’t going to “shoot at people.”

On the second floor, more elderly residents sat on beds, appearing idle, depressed, and lost. Lydia, in her 80s, said she never imagined the war would reach Sudzha. She knew the war began in 2014 and believed that “Ukrainian troops attacked Luhansk,” though it was unclear if she knew that Luhansk was a Ukrainian city. She was convinced that it was Ukraine that attacked Russia in 2022, with Europe and America helping to drag unwilling Russia into the war. According to her, Putin wanted peace but had to fight as “all fifty-five countries” in Europe wanted to rob him. Lydia concluded by stating that Stalin “stopped too early”.

“Europe should think twice—or else there would be little joy left in Europe,” she said. 

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The Young: “Putin, What are You Doing?” 

While the older generation largely believed in Putin’s “peaceful agenda” and could no longer discern reality from the Kremlin TV shows, demonstrating the state of denial and cognitive dissonance, young residents seemed to be less assured by the state-controlled narratives. 

Olga, 23, who worked as an administrative assistant before Sudzha became a frontline town, underwent a dramatic transformation last month.

“We did hear about the SVO, the special military operation, but didn’t know much. Some men joined the army, but still, we didn’t think anything would happen in our town,” she said.

After Olga’s family managed to evacuate at the start of the Ukrainian offensive, she was left alone as she had missed the only two buses provided by the Russian military. She was terrified by Russian TV’s portrayal of Ukrainians as violent invaders who would kill, rape, and loot, and expected the worst. Being left behind by the local authorities, she hoped that Putin would arrange for the Red Cross to evacuate civilians from Sudzha. As this did not happen, her opinion of Putin changed. Olga moved to the shelter to hide from attacks. 

“At night, we hide in the basement from Russian shelling. I understand that we are being attacked by Russia. Why would Ukrainians shell themselves? I think Russia is trying to get rid of witnesses, those who say there was no evacuation,” she said. “Going outside is scary due to the drones dropping explosives. The day before, one drone was buzzing around very close but then it fell.” 

Olga found her time in the shelter “enjoyable” and even “fun,” with table games and humanitarian aid provided by the Ukrainians. She realised that much of what she had been told was misinformation. Many locals did not have a TV or an Internet connection, and the Ukrainian military showed them videos of the destruction of Bucha, Mariupol, and other cities in Ukraine. Olga’s perspective shifted after watching the videos.

“Putin, what are you doing? Leave peaceful people alone!” she said. “He’s attacking civilians. He needs to stop and return the territories. Ukraine is small, and Russia is already so big. Why? He’s robbing and can’t get enough.”

Olga decided to evacuate to Ukraine, seeing little reason to stay in Russia, but although the Ukrainian military compiled lists of civilians requesting evacuation both to Russia and Ukraine, Russian authorities had yet to respond, leaving residents in limbo and exposed to daily attacks.

Yulia, 17, who spoke fluent English, said she never watched TV and got all her information from TikTok and YouTube. She knew about the destruction of cities such as Mariupol and the attacks on Kharkiv, Sumy, and all over Ukraine. Yulia wasn’t convinced by Putin’s claim that the war was about “freedom” for Luhansk and Donetsk and wanted it to end.

Another young resident, speaking anonymously, said, “Many know the war is about grabbing land and are anti-Putin. But no one will tell you their real thoughts. It’s dangerous. The Russians will be back, and they may kill us.”

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Children: Indoctrination Starts 

Even though the younger Russians showed growing scepticism of the state-imposed belief system, a visit to a private kindergarten and elementary school in Sudzha showed how the Kremlin shapes the future.

A few pink and blue baby sheets fluttered in the wind on a clothesline, in front of a boiler room’s smokestack painted in the red, blue, and white of the Russian flag. The modern building of the school was damaged by a Russian drone, and the burned-out engine and scattered parts still lay on the ground near the entrance.

Inside, the nursery looked unremarkable: stuffed squirrels, cartoon murals, crayons, colourful ABC books, and toy carts filled with plastic tomatoes and apples. A hand-painted samovar and calendars featuring snow-covered fir trees added local flavour. But a chilling walk through the abandoned classrooms and bedrooms revealed all-pervading Orwellian propaganda aimed at forming the minds of children as young as 3-5 years old.

One poster, a part of a series promoting “traditional family values,” proclaimed, “Motherland starts with the family.” Happy fathers and mothers surrounded by multiple children reminded that 2024 was the “Year of Family,” celebrating occasions such as “The Day of Russian Mothers” and “The Day of Russian Fathers,” the latter instituted by Putin’s decree. Another poster highlighted the “All-Russian Day of Family, Love, and Faithfulness,” linked to a Russian Orthodox holiday.

A large mural of balalaikas, matryoshka dolls, bunnies, a howling wolf, and a Russian Orthodox church read, “Here is the beginning of my Motherland.” Next to it was a bookshelf, with books such as I Feel Free Strolling in Russia alongside a framed photograph of a MiG-29 fighter jet, with posters My Russia and My Smaller Motherland across the hall.

A portrait of Putin lay on the floor, squinting at the ceiling, with Russian flags scattered nearby. In the supply closet, next to Christmas decorations, a floor-to-ceiling poster dedicated to Victory Day in WWII was painted in the classic Soviet style. It featured a red star with the hammer and sickle, a St. George’s ribbon trailing in the background, carnations arranged beside it, and a faded map of Ukraine in the corner, with Mariupol inscribed on it.

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Rewriting Reality 

Sudzha used to be home to a now-defunct TV tower that broadcast Kremlin propaganda into Ukraine. Fake memories were created and used to shape the national identity of the Russian citizens and erase Ukrainian self-identification. Though the Sudzha TV tower has stopped working, Russia’s multi-billion dollar propaganda machine continues to grind, repackaging history and facts into brainwashing materials. 

When Ukraine launched its offensive on Kursk, Kremlin-backed media first responded with panic, then swiftly normalised the presence of Ukrainian troops on Russian soil. Putin downplayed the losses, reaffirming the decade-old narrative of “liberating” Donbas and framing the loss of over 100 settlements as a distraction tactic from the ongoing Donbas offensive. 

Yet even as Ukrainian forces halted a Russian advance near Pokrovsk in Donbas, the reality is unlikely to influence the majority of the Russian public drowning in misinformation and submerged in a sea of state-controlled narratives.

Conditioned by years of engineered narratives, they are no longer capable of understanding the reality of the war. They see an “SVO”, a special military operation, a perpetual defence of Russian “values” and statehood. Interviewing generations of Sudzha residents, it becomes crystal clear that in Russia a state-engineered collective mind fuels the war machine to fulfil the fantasies of the leader. 

The ghost of the Kursk submarine, a graveyard beneath the sea, resurfaces to haunt Putin, yet holds no meaning for Russians too deeply brainwashed to see the true cost of his war.