“Ukraine has already won”. Defiant statement by a Russian teenager sentenced to 2 years 8 months for anti‑war remarks and Schevchenko poetry

Petrogradsky district court in Saint Petersburg has sentenced 19-year-old Darya Kozyreva to two years and eight months in prison for “discrediting” the Russian army, after she spent more than a year in pre-trial detention for pasting a poem by Taras Shevchenko onto a statue of the Ukrainian poet and giving an anti-war interview. Prosecutors had sought a six-year sentence. Mediazona presents her defiant final statement in court.

The case against Darya Kozyreva began after she marked the anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion by pasting a quote from Taras Shevchenko’s “My Testament”on the Ukrainian poet’s statue in St Petersburg: “Oh bury me, then rise ye up. And break your heavy chains. And water with the tyrants’ blood. The freedom you have gained” (translation by John Weir).

In August, prosecutors added a second charge, also for “discrediting” the army—this time over an anti-war interview she gave to Sever.Realii.

Kozyreva told the court Shevchenko was her favourite poet and said her actions were driven by a need to “calm [her] own conscience”. She remained in custody until February, when she was released under a partial restriction order.

Darya Kozyreva begins her closing statement. She opens with a quote from Taras Shevchenko’s poem “To Osnovyanenko”,in Ukrainian:

“Except the enemy who mocks...
Laugh, then, ferocious foe,
But not too loudly, for our fame
Will never be laid low.
It will not perish, but proclaim...”

“Your Honour! The proceedings are in Russian—could we have that in Russian?” Prosecutor Russkikh interrupts, rising from his seat. “I take it this is some kind of poem?”

“Yes,” Kozyreva replies with a smile.

“Could you recite it in Russian? Our court procedures are conducted in Russian.

After a short pause, Kozyreva goes on—still in Ukrainian:

“Our epic and our ancient song
For ever shall remain,
And that is where our glory lies,
The glory of Ukraine.”

She continues:

“If Taras Hryhorovych [Shevchenko] were somehow transported into our time, I suppose I’m expected to say he’d be quietly stunned. But he wouldn’t be. Not at all. He’d recognise it instantly. Muscovy is at it again.

Of course, the war didn’t start in 2022. Even in the narrowest sense, the proper starting point is 2014. It was the same Russians then—the same ones responsible for every drop of spilled blood. In the broader view, though, the war didn’t start in 2014 either. It’s been going on for centuries.

There’s a striking feature in Russian history: no matter who holds power—whether tsars or communists—their regime seems governed by a kind of religion that forbids them from simply leaving Ukraine alone. The rulers might wear different outfits, but they’re all cut from the same cloth.

You’d think that after so many centuries they might have grasped the obvious: just let us go. Yes, Moscow has won battles—many battles—but it has never secured a final victory. And it never will. The Ukrainian people won’t allow it. They’ve had enough.

But those who love occupation never understood that. They’re not as clever as they think. No one ever gave them the right to define Ukraine’s past or future. They fail to see that Ukrainians don’t need any “big brother”, and certainly not the fantasy of a so-called “unified Russian popular trinity.”

Ukraine is a free country, a free nation. It will decide its own future. If someone repeats the occupier’s narratives, they’ll be hated hated. And don’t even try to blame Ukrainian nationalism. It’s all well-deserved.

If anyone tries to invade Ukraine, they will be fought. And it may well hurt. I sincerely hope Russians will come to understand these basic truths. Ukraine, once again, is a free nation. It will choose its own path. Who to call a friend or a brother, and who to name as a bitter enemy. It will determine how to treat its history. And most certainly, it will choose which language to speak.

I know these should be obvious things. But they’re not. It’s clear that Putin can’t get his head around the fact that Ukraine is a sovereign nation. Then again, there’s a lot he can’t seem to grasp—like, human rights or democratic principles.

Even those who oppose Putin’s regime don’t always understand this. They don’t always realise that Ukraine, having paid for its sovereignty in blood, will determine its own future. I still want to believe that when democracy finally reaches Russia, sooner or later, this attitude will change. I want to believe in a beautiful future where Russia lets go of all imperial ambition, whether overt and bloodthirsty or hidden deep in the human psyche. God bless. Truly.”

Kozyreva then begins recounting how, over the centuries, Ukraine has fought for its independence. Judge Ovrakh interrupts her repeatedly, asking her to stick to the case.

“In Shevchenko’s time, shackles were a grim reality. That’s why you won’t find in his work any rallying cries to ‘fight the Muscovites’. It wasn’t the right time. Nor the right kind of hope.

His patriotic poetry is a lament. A lament for Ukraine’s bitter fate. A lament for the forgotten glory of the Cossacks. A lament for the mistakes and defeats that cost Ukraine its freedom.

But he believed, truly, that one day, Ukraine’s glory would return. That the ghosts of its great hetmans would rise again. That the country would finally cast off the enemy’s chains. He couldn’t know when. He couldn’t know that within half-century, the Ukrainian People’s Republic would emerge on the map. […]

Sadly, the Bolsheviks won. And that was a tragedy—not only for Ukrainians, but for many nations. Ukraine was left in the hands of a brutal executioner for another 70 years.”

“I have to interrupt again,” the judge interjects, visibly weary. “This isn’t a history class.”

“Let’s speak of the present. The shackles have long been cast off, and no one will put them on Ukraine again. Our people bled for their freedom over centuries. They will not surrender it now. Ukrainians remember, vividly, how their ancestors fought.

And the only question is: does our neighbour to the east remember too? The communists are gone, thankfully. The tsars, long gone. But the imperial habits seem to linger.

Yes, as I’ve said, Putin still cannot grasp the concept of Ukrainian sovereignty. What he wants, really, is a meek and submissive Malorossia, or ‘Little Russia’. Ideally, a province with no will of its own. A place that obeys his every word, speaks a foreign tongue, and slowly forgets its own. Somewhere along the way, he miscalculated.

He simply couldn’t believe that his ‘Little Russia’ dream was gone, forever. Ukrainians won’t let their country be turned into that. Putin tried, relentlessly. In 2014, he annexed Crimea. He fuelled war in Donbas, all with the same aim.

And in 2022, he decided it was time to finish the job. On paper, it was a neat plan. A blitzkrieg, Kyiv in three days. But three years haven’t been enough—and three decades wouldn’t be, either.

The invaders were kicked out of Kyiv’s outskirts, forced to flee from Kharkiv, pushed from Kherson. They didn’t just fail to reach the capital—they still don’t fully control even the areas they claim in Donbas. Yes, part of Ukrainian land remains occupied. And yes, it may stay that way for a long time. It’s sad to admit, but alas.

Still, Moscow hasn’t conquered Ukraine. The heroic Ukrainian people stood up to defend their homeland. And at the cost of countless lives, they held their ground. The national flag still flies over Kyiv, and it always will. Even in early 2022, when the enemy was driven from the capital, they were already empty-handed.

I still dream that Ukraine will reclaim every inch of its territory: Donbas, Crimea, all of it. And I believe that one day, it will. History will judge, and judge fairly. But Ukraine has already won. It has won. That’s all.”