Empty Beds
The Tale of 19,546 Abducted Ukrainian Children
19,546+
Ukrainian Children
Abducted by Russia
I could only imagine these parents’ grief and anguish as they stared at their child’s empty bed, not knowing where they were and if they would ever hold them again and read them their favorite bedtime story. I’ve no familial ties to Ukraine, but this is a tragedy and a warning about what may happen to more children should Russia not be stopped.
Since the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine by Russia, 19,546 children have been taken to Russia or Russian-occupied territory without the consent of family or guardians. They are forbidden to speak Ukrainian, and their names and dates of birth are routinely changed by Russian authorities as part of “Russification” intended to erase their Ukrainian identity. This is a war crime that meets the U.N. definition of genocide. When I heard this, I was moved to return to Ukraine to bring back these stories in another public artwork, almost a sequel to the large photo mural I displayed last year of the civilian car cemetery in Irpin.
Shown here are the beds of the “lucky” ones, the ones who have escaped from Russian-occupied areas. They left family, schoolmates, and teachers behind, carrying only what could be carried in a backpack, perhaps a favorite stuffed animal. Some took journeys lasting a week. They now live outside Kyiv in the Hope and Healing Center of Save Ukraine, awaiting more permanent housing, or in Hansen Village, a new charitable housing development where they may live rent-free for 5 years. Some of the children are still terrified upon hearing the air raid sirens that are all too frequent.— Phil Buehler, Artist
My name is Diana. I am 7 years old.
I no longer have a home. The war took everything.
Mama says we used to live in a village by the river. She says it was a beautiful place. But then the war came. Russian soldiers fired at our house. The noise was so loud. I was so scared.
Then the water came.
It swallowed everything—our home, my toys, my school.
We moved to another village, but Russian soldiers were there too. They came to our house with guns.
“Become Russian,” they said.
But Mama said, “No.”
They kept coming back. Each time, they were angrier. I always hid. I knew they were trying to take something.
One night, Mama said, “We have to go.”
We took only a few things. I was scared. What if they found us? What if we couldn’t run fast enough?
But we made it. When we crossed into Ukraine, Mama said, “We’re safe now.”
But I still hear the voices of Russian soldiers. I still dream of our house sinking into the water.
And I wonder—if we hadn’t escaped, would they have taken me too?
My name is Rostislav.
When I was 16 years old, Russian soldiers took me from my home. I lived peacefully in a small village in Kherson with my mother and grandmother. But then the war came. My once strong grandmother grew weak with fear, and eventually, she passed away. Soon after, my mother was taken. She never came back.
One morning, armed men pounded on the door. “You don’t belong here,” they said, and they took me away. They called it a “school,” but it was a prison. We were forced to sing their national anthem, to learn their version of history. If we refused, we were locked in dark rooms. They took away our Ukrainian IDs and told us, “You have no identity anymore.”
For months, I repeated in my head: I am Rostislav. I am Ukrainian.
And one day, I decided to escape. I can’t say how. There are still others trying to flee, and I won’t put them in danger. But I ran.
When I reached Ukrainian-liberated territory, relief nearly made me collapse. But my mother wasn’t there. Even now, I don’t know where she is, or if she’s safe.
Abduction takes everything—your home, your name, your family.
If my mother can hear this, I want her to know:
I am alive. And I am still searching for you.
And to the children still in captivity—never stop believing in freedom.
Pavlo, age 14 and Ivan, age 10
After their mother was killed in the war and without knowing their father, Pavlo and Ivan were taken in by their 21-year-old brother, Maksym, who works at a grocery store. Living under Russian occupation in Kherson, the siblings fled in March 2024. Over six harrowing days, they journeyed through Crimea, Mariupol, Russia, and Belarus before safely reentering Ukraine.
My name is Vlada. I am 3 years old.
I don’t remember our home, but I remember Mama.
Mama says we had a house, a village, and a normal life before the Russian soldiers took us away.
Mama was a teacher. She taught about Ukraine. But the Russian soldiers didn’t like that. They told her to forget. They tried to take everything away.
We had to run. It was dangerous. The soldiers were watching, and they made Mama cry. We passed through places we didn’t know, questioned by people we didn’t know. Mama held me tight and whispered, “We have to keep going.”
Now, we are far away. Mama says, “We are safe here.” But at night, she still cries. And I still wake up when I hear voices—afraid they will take us away again.
Mama says one day we can go home.
But I don’t know if home is still there.
My name is Yulia. I am 5 years old.
My big sister, Nastya, was gone for a long time. Mama was always crying.
“Nastya is trapped in Russia. She can’t come home,” she said.
Mama never stopped trying to bring Nastya back. But they didn’t want to let her go.
They told us, “Ukraine is dangerous. There’s no electricity, no schools.”
But that was a lie. Mama knew. So she never gave up.
I didn’t understand why Nastya couldn’t come home.
“Why?” I asked Mama.
But she only held me tight.
I just wanted to see my sister again.
And then one day, Nastya came back.
She looked different. She was quiet.
She hugged me so tightly, like she thought we would never meet again.
Mama says, “There are still many children who haven’t come home.”
I don’t fully understand what that means. But I know how painful it is when someone you love is taken away.
And I hope that one day, no one has to wait like I did.
My name is Bohdana. I am 5 years old.
I cannot speak, but I can hear.
I cannot walk, but I can feel.
I lived in Novonatalivka with my mama and papa. But then the Russian soldiers came. They made loud noises, broke things, and scared my mama. They told her to send me to kindergarten. But there were weapons there. Mama refused. Then they said they would take me away.
Papa lost his job because he refused to work for the Russian soldiers. Mama got sick, but the hospital wouldn’t help her. I was always afraid. Every time I saw a Russian soldier, I screamed. At night, I had bad dreams and cried. People said I was too loud. But how can I stop being afraid?
One day, we left our home. We drove for a long time. And then, we arrived in Kyiv.
For the first time, I slept without nightmares.
For the first time, I ate without fear.
Mama says that when the war ends, we can go home.
But for now, we are safe. And that is enough.
Tatyana, age 13 and Valery, age 10
Tatyana and Valery, along with their 17-year-old brother Mykola, are under the guardianship of their aunt. Their evacuation from the Russian-occupied Kherson region spanned six months and included a harrowing 12-day journey. Despite the prolonged ordeal, the siblings remain resilient, supported by their family as they navigate the challenges of displacement and strive for a safer future.
My name is Anastasia Chyvilyova.
When I was 16 years old, the war took everything from me. I was living in Kherson, but when the occupation began, I was sent to relatives in Henichesk. They told me I would be safe there, but they were wrong. Russian soldiers were everywhere—watching, controlling, and taking whatever they wanted. Among the things they took were children.
I was one of them.
They told me, “You can’t stay here,” and ordered me to go somewhere else. But it wasn’t that I went somewhere—I was taken. In fear and confusion, I was ripped away from my life. My name, my nationality—everything was stolen. All that was left for me was to obey and remain silent.
But I escaped. I can’t say how. The people who helped me are still risking their lives to save others. All I can say is that, after long days of terror, I finally reached Kyiv. I was safe. But I was alone.
When my mother found out I was pregnant, she abandoned me. And after 9 months, I gave birth to my daughter. Her name is Hanna.
She is my reason to keep living. Every time I hold her, I make a vow: she will never know the fear I lived through. No one will take her away from me. She will live freely.
They tried to erase me. But they failed.
And now, I will protect Hanna.
Painting by an unknown child
Found in a bombed-out apartment in Borodyanka, Ukraine.
About Phil Buehler
An American photographer and artist with no familial ties to Ukraine. Understanding that this is a tragedy that moves everyone, he traveled to Ukraine this past September to bring back their stories before the 2024 Presidential Election.
These charitable groups supported this project and are helping bring back these children and restore their lives. Please contribute to their efforts to return these children to their families.
Support Children in Ukraine
Bird of Light Ukraine supports Ukrainian children freed from Russian captivity and is piloting childcare reforms to transition disabled children from institutions to family-based care. We endeavor to bring light into the darkest places in the darkest times.
Bring Kids Back UA is an initiative by Ukrainian President Zelensky to identify and locate these children, raise international awareness and rally support to pressure Russia to return these children. IG: @bringkidsback_ua
Save Ukraine works to rescue children and families affected by the war, providing a safe haven for those returning from Russia and frontline combat zones.
Ukraine Child Rights Network was established to consolidate efforts and improve coordination among civil society organizations in Ukraine, enhancing their influence on state child care policy.