When Refusal Is Not an Option
Father Dmytrii Krasnobayev first entered a high-security correctional facility in January 2012—as a guest. He had no idea that he would find his calling there. Recalling that day, he says:
"When the doors closed, it became clear—I had to stay."
From that moment on, his life became inseparably linked to the prisoners. He is not just a priest—he is someone who gives hope.
A Chance for Those Who Were Forgotten
Over the years, Father Dmytrii has listened to hundreds of stories from people who were betrayed, abandoned, and forgotten. In prison, they lost everything—their homes, families, and faith. They were convinced that the world beyond the barbed wire had turned its back on them forever.
But one day, one of the inmates would quietly whisper:
"Write a letter to Father Dmytrii. He will help. Or call him. Here’s the number."
And so, prisoners call with requests. They write letters. They ask for the simplest things: soap, toothpaste, warm clothes. Sometimes these letters were written with a trembling hand. There was no anger in them, only fear and despair. People did not ask for luxuries—just the basics: socks, tea, a small amount of money for a phone call.
Father Dmytrii gathered parcels, found ways to get medicine, bought food. No one wanted to take on this burden. But he did it—because he couldn’t do otherwise.
Prison as the Ultimate Loneliness
*"Prison is the ultimate depth of loneliness. A person behind bars ceases to be part of society. They become just a 'convict.' It doesn’t matter what happened, it doesn’t matter if they have changed. No one is waiting for them.
After five years behind bars, a person loses the ability to live among others. They are afraid to walk down the street, to enter a store, to make decisions. They don’t know how to ask for help because they don’t believe anyone will help them. They don’t even know how.
And so, they commit another crime—because they know that in prison, at least, they will get bread and a roof over their head."*
For some, prison becomes the final stop. They cannot bear it. In such moments, Father Dmytrii looks into the empty eyes of a person who sees no reason to live. And he pulls them back.
How? He doesn’t always know. But he does it.
Because if he turns away—that person will be gone.
War Changed Everything
The war has made the situation even worse. Many prisoners no longer have homes—their houses were bombed. Their relatives fled abroad, and there is no way to contact them.
Upon release, a former inmate steps outside with only one document—a release certificate. No money. No food. No clothing. Nowhere to go.
What should they do? Where can they find support? Where should they go?
There is no answer. The only thing the system offers is another prison.
"The system does not rehabilitate; it breaks people. They come out with empty pockets and empty eyes. They don’t know where to go. They fear every glance, every cold word. They are used to a cruel world and expect nothing good from it."
When There Is No Help
In America, there are organizations that help former inmates. Some provide housing, others assist with documents, and others help with employment.
In Ukraine, there is nothing.
Here, there isn’t even cotton in the prison infirmary.
Prisoners work 14-hour days for 120 hryvnias a month. They are robbed, humiliated, and drained of their last strength. They are released full of hatred. They could be reintegrated into society, but no one cares. No one considers that without support, these people will end up behind bars again. That they will become a threat—not only to themselves but to others. No one wants to take responsibility for this problem.
The Last Line of Defense
Father Dmytrii is trying to change the system, but he doesn’t know how much time he has left.
The money to pay utility bills is gone. Debts are growing. There is no vehicle to transport aid. His apartment has become his home, warehouse, and office all at once.
He helps because he cannot do otherwise.
"If not me—then no one."
He does everything he can, but he understands: faith alone is not enough. Resources are needed. Support is needed. Society’s understanding is needed.
*"Odigitria is the only place where prisoners can turn. Today—while I’m alive. But what about tomorrow? Who will take over this mission?
I don’t know.
My dream is to create a system that will not die with me.
So that after me, there is not just a memory, but work that can save thousands of lives.
I don’t make plans for years—only for tomorrow.
But as long as I have strength, I will do what needs to be done.
Because if not me—then no one."*
Author: Yuliia Horodetska
