Ukrainian security services accused Mamun and his younger brother Dmytro, who fled to Russia in 2022, of coordinating a Russian missile attack last October on a cafe hosting a funeral party in Hruzha, their hometown, killing 59 people – about a fifth of the population. Population.
Last week, Ukrainian authorities also charged Mamun's younger brother with treason for voluntarily working with Russian forces when they occupied Horozha and the surrounding area.
Two years after Russia's invasion of Ukraine, this case illustrates the many obstacles Ukrainian officials face as they attempt to prosecute alleged traitors and seek justice for apparent war crimes, particularly in front-line villages where loyalties are often mixed and residents live under constant danger of invasion. Russian. Reoccupation.
It also illustrates the difficult task of rebuilding a traumatized society where the truth depends on who you ask.
With the Mamoun brothers now in Russia, it is unlikely that either of them will face prosecution. Even being named as the alleged informants behind the attack caused division in Horosa, causing closure for some and discomfort for others. It also raised a fear among some residents that if Russian forces returned, their brothers might return as well – speaking out against them now could have a price later.
In Horosa, where many residents said half the population held pro-Russian views, the October attack reopened wounds and suspicions that festered during months of occupation in early 2022.
“The village is divided,” said Lyuba Pletenka, 61, who lives opposite the site of the raid.
In interviews, residents described how relatives and friends with whom they once shared their lives now suspected each other of Russian sympathies or continued cooperation. Locals avoid gathering in crowds. Feelings of jealousy emerged regarding the distribution of aid. Accusations have emerged that with several village leaders killed in the raid, pro-Russian residents have now taken charge.
Some in Harouza are reluctant to believe that the Mamoun brothers were behind the attack. Others feel vindicated now that the men they once reviled for working with the Russians during the occupation have been officially labeled as traitors.
There are still rumors circulating that it might have been someone else, or that a GPS was placed on a trash can in the café to help direct the strike, or that the Russians launched the missile because they saw too many active cell phones in one place .
Ukraine's state security service, the SBU, said the attack was orchestrated by the brothers, who maintained contact with their former neighbors via messaging apps and learned of the funeral of Andriy Kozyr, a soldier who had been killed at the beginning of the war and was being detained. She was reburied at home. They then allegedly exchanged coordinates with Russian forces, who targeted the café where the funeral ceremony was held with an Iskander missile, killing most of Kozir's friends and relatives. Russia later falsely claimed that the raid targeted a gathering of high-level forces.
“The brothers definitely worked for Russia. They tortured some people here,” Pletenka said. “I’m 100 percent sure” they were behind the attack, she said. She also believes they are linked to the imprisonment of her son, a Ukrainian soldier who was held as a prisoner of war during the occupation.
Others aren't so sure.
“I knew the brothers were working for the Russians,” said Lyuba Savchenko, 64, whose sister, cousins and friends were killed in the raid. But she added: “I'm not the one to blame anyone.”
Valery Kozyr, 62, whose daughter Olha and son-in-law Anatoly Pantaliev said: “In my mind I realize that they might have done it, but my heart does not want to believe it.” They were killed along with Anatoly's parents, Valery and Irina, in the raid. (Although Valery shares a last name, he is not related to Andrei Kozyr, the soldier whose funeral was the target.)
“If they did that, they were friendly with the people they killed,” Valery said. “They looked them in the eye and put a knife in their back.”
Valery and his wife Lyuba are now caring for three of their orphaned grandchildren: Nastya, 10, Dima, 15, and Darina, 17. They also help coordinate the distribution of humanitarian aid – a task once carried out by neighbors who died in the disaster. He hits.
But the tragedy of their family did not protect them from doubts about their loyalty. Several neighbors said that Russian supporters were among those killed in the attack and that Valery and Lyuba helped Russian forces during the occupation.
When Ukrainian forces advanced on the then-occupied city of Hruza in September 2022, Valeriy and Lyuba were among the residents who fled to the other side — heading north across the Russian border. In a lengthy interview with The Washington Post, neither initially disclosed that they had fled to Russia or that they had a fourth adult grandson who also evacuated to Russia in 2022 but did not return.
In Horosa, such transgressions are now enough to fuel dangerous mistrust – even against those who have lost relatives at Russia's hands.
Some neighbors suggested that the couple were now covering up their ties to Russia and their grandson, allegations that Valerie strongly denied. He said he had already been interviewed by State Security agents and was cleared of any wrongdoing. He said that when he briefly traveled to Russia, he was only thinking of fleeing the front line. He said he did not mention his grandson, who is in Russia, to visiting journalists, because he did not want to “obscure the tragedy my children suffered.”
“Even in friendly communities, everyone will speculate and feel like Sherlock Holmes,” he said.
Valentina Cozier, who also lives in the village and is the aunt of the soldier who was buried on the day of the raid, remains unconvinced.
“If you are not responsible for any mistakes, why would you run to Russia and hide?” she asked. “A lot of people in the village say: They had four grandchildren, and then they had three.”
Valentina Anatoly's husband. Her first daughter. His 8-year-old grandson, Ivan, was killed in the October raid, along with several other relatives. Her first child, her 14-year-old grandson Vlad, now lives with her. He said his life had become “boring and sad.”
In their living room, where the coffee table is now a shrine to the dead, Vlad searches a closet containing his mother's belongings — including her wallet and a damaged phone, which were found at the site of the hit.
He said he blames “people who were cooperative and still talking to people in Russia” for her death.
Family tragedy has sharpened Valentina's sword against would-be traitors. She said that if Russian forces returned, she would flee, because she knew that “people in the village would point the finger” at those who helped Ukraine after the liberation.
She said that before the war, Harouz was not “politically divided.” The Pantalievs, sons-in-law of Valery and Lyuba's daughter, were her daughter's godparents.
But soon after Russian forces took control of the area, “you could say people had a change of heart.” After the October strike, mistrust worsened. She said she was now “angry that pro-Russians are running the show.”
One morning, Valery and Lyuba stood at the community centre, distributing boxes of humanitarian aid delivered to the village every month – the only time the neighbors gathered now.
Amidst the crowd of residents chatting as they waited for boxes of cooking oil and sugar, distrust festered.
Pletenka said people who supported Russia were now “the first to arrive at the humanitarian aid station.”
Grief is now what binds the people of Haroza together.
“No one goes to the streets,” said Dima Berezhanets, 16, who visited the center with a sled to haul his belongings home. He lives near the site of the strike and lost his neighbors in the attack. “People may feel frightened and shocked by this experience.”
“The people who were the heart of the community were killed,” Valery said.
Like their grandchildren, “the town is now an orphan,” Lyuba added.
