Russia's 'digital concentration camp' in occupied Ukraine is further cutting families off from each other

Prefer on Google by Polina Moroziuk Disruptions to messaging platforms, particularly Telegram, are making it increasingly difficult for Ukrainians to stay in touch with their loved ones in Russian-occupied territories. (Karolina Gulshani / The Kyiv Independent) Editor's note: The names of the people with relatives left in the Russian-occupied territories have been changed for security reasons. Communication between residents of Russian-occupied areas of Ukraine and their relatives in Ukrainian-controlled territory is becoming increasingly difficult as Moscow tightens control over internet access and restricts messaging platforms. For many, Telegram remains the primary way to stay in touch. But connections have grown unreliable, with users reporting failed calls, delayed messages, and repeated outages. Residents in Ukrainian-controlled areas say they are struggling to reach loved ones across the front line, as disruptions to the platform appear to coincide with broader efforts by Russian authorities to limit access. "This was basically the only channel of communication with relatives," Maria, whose family lives in Russian-occupied Donetsk, told the Kyiv Independent on April 15. "Basically, they ban it and then restore it again." Since the early months of the full-scale invasion, Russia has sought to control digital infrastructure in occupied territories, rerouting internet traffic through Russian systems and limiting access to foreign platforms. In recent months, these efforts have intensified . Messaging apps have been among the main targets. WhatsApp and Instagram are already heavily restricted and often unusable. Platforms such as Viber, Signal, Discord, and Facebook Messenger have been largely blocked, with sporadic functionality even when accessed via VPNs. As restrictions have tightened, users say now even Telegram communication has become less reliable – and, in some cases, one-sided. "At the moment, the only way we can communicate is if they call me. I can't call them," says Maria. In March, reports circulated that Russian authorities planned to fully block Telegram from April 1.  Russian officials and pro-government media have increasingly portrayed Telegram as a security risk, accusing it of spreading banned information, enabling criminal activity, and exposing users to foreign intelligence. In parallel, authorities have promoted domestic alternatives, including the state-backed MAX messenger, as safer platforms. In this photo illustration the MAX app logo is displayed on a mobile phone screen in front of a Russian flag in Moscow, Russia, on February 9, 2026. (Sefa Karacan/Anadolu via Getty Images) While a complete shutdown of Telegram has not materialized, access has become unstable, with services intermittently working or failing depending on location. "If Telegram is removed, communication will become impossible. I don't know what we'll do then," Maria adds. In occupied parts of Zaporizhzhia Oblast, Telegram still appears to function when accessed through VPNs, though reliability remains inconsistent. Olena, who stays in contact with her parents in Russian-occupied areas of the region, said communication is still possible, but tightly constrained. "People are already preparing for Telegram to disappear," she says, adding that relatives began installing VPNs and alternative messaging apps in advance, often with the help of local vendors. Even where communication remains possible, it is tightly limited and carries significant risk. Residents say phones are regularly checked at checkpoints, and any sign of Ukrainian identity – messages, donations, contacts, or even images – can lead to questioning or detention. "We only talk about everyday things. Nothing political, because everything is monitored," Olena said. A map showing Russian-occupied parts of Ukraine as of 2025. (The Kyiv Independent) read also These people just escaped Russian-occupied Ukraine — but some say they need to go back Editor’s note: The names of those coming from Russian-occupied territories have been changed for security reasons. On the Ukraine-Belarus border, the wind cuts to the bone. Olena, a retiree from the Russian-occupied part of Zaporizhzhia Oblast, has just crossed the Volyn humanitarian corridor after nearly four years of living in fear. Dressed in the thickest, warmest overcoat she owns, Olena is still shivering from the cold. Yet she still vividly recalls the summer heat and drought in her nati The Kyiv Independent Yuliia Taradiuk From blacklists to 'digital concentration camp' Rather than simply blocking individual websites, Russian authorities are restructuring how internet traffic is routed and filtered. "They don't change the cables – they change the routing," Mykyta Knysh, a cybersecurity specialist, told the Kyiv Independent. Across occupied territories, internet traffic is redirected through Russian-controlled infrastructure, where it can be monitored and filtered before reaching users. Earlier censorship relied on blacklists that blocked selected websites, platforms, and services. Now, the Russian system is shifting toward a whitelist model , in which only government-approved platforms and services remain accessible. Knysh described this approach as a "digital concentration camp," where access to information is tightly controlled, and alternatives are systematically cut off. "Imagine a building where you could enter through any door – and now there's only one door left, leading to Moscow," Knysh explains. Tools used to bypass restrictions are also coming under pressure. VPNs, long a workaround for censorship, are increasingly restricted . On March 30th, Russia's digital development minister, Maksut Shadayev, said that the government would work to "reduce the use of VPNs." "If your VPN isn't on the whitelist, it just won't connect," Knysh adds. Alongside these controls, Russia operates SORM (System for Operative Investigative Activities), a state-mandated interception framework that gives security services direct access to data flowing through telecom and internet providers. In practice, SORM enables authorities to monitor traffic at the provider level, which can be combined with subscriber data, IP records, and platform information to associate online activity with specific individuals. As Knysh explains, "If someone connects without a VPN, the system can see everything – who they are, what they access." While encryption can limit visibility into content, metadata, including who users communicate with, when, and from where, remains accessible. Even attempts to bypass restrictions can carry risks. In tightly controlled environments, such as Russian-occupied territories, the use of VPNs or anonymization tools may itself be flagged by security services. Locals fear this scrutiny may lead to questioning or detention, even in the absence of engagement with Ukrainian or pro-Ukrainian content. Russian servicemen stand guard in Melitopol, Zaporizhzhia region, on July 14, 2022, amid the ongoing Russian military action in Ukraine. (OLGA MALTSEVA/AFP via Getty Images) As a result, residents in Russian-occupied territories adapt their behavior to avoid drawing attention. Olena explains that digital security has become a top priority in her family. Their conversations on Telegram are routinely deleted to remove anything that could raise suspicion. "Everything gets deleted. Calls are deleted too. Only neutral things remain," she says. She said this habit emerged in the first weeks after Russia's full-scale invasion, as people realized even private exchanges could be dangerous. Messages are now typically removed after being read as a precaution against potential checks by authorities. What remains is deliberately mundane: brief exchanges about meals, photos of pets, or holiday greetings sent to maintain the appearance of normal communication. Maintaining that balance is difficult, she added, especially for older relatives, who must navigate constant caution while trying to preserve a sense of everyday life. For Moscow, tightening control over internet access is not only about censorship, but about shaping information and behavior. "The Kremlin sees control over information as a tool of regime survival," Ryhor Nizhnikau, a Russia expert at the Finnish Institute of International Affairs, said. A woman uses her smartphone as she walks on the Moskvoretsky bridge past a cell tower in central Moscow on March 17, 2026. (Igor IVANKO / AFP via Getty Images) In occupied territories, this approach is more aggressive. Authorities are attempting what Nizhnikau described as "forced social engineering," reshaping what people see, read, and communicate in order to align them with Russian narratives and reduce Ukrainian influence. Restricting communication is central to this effort. By limiting access to Ukrainian media and disrupting personal connections, authorities reduce both the flow of information and the ability to maintain ties across the front line. More broadly, the strategy reflects lessons drawn from countries such as Iran and Belarus, where online platforms have been used to mobilize anti-government protests. Preventing similar forms of coordination, Nizhnikau said, is a key priority for the Kremlin. Despite public dissatisfaction and the economic costs of restricting digital access, the policy is unlikely to be reversed. According to Nizhnikau, the main constraint has been technical capacity: building the infrastructure required to control a decentralized internet. The authorities, he said, are willing to tolerate discontent as long as it does not translate into organized collective action. As long as opposition remains fragmented, tightening control carries few political risks. "This is a long-term project," Nizhnikau said. "It will only get worse." Hi, this is Polina, the author of this story. Reporting on Russian-occupied territories is not easy, as journalists cannot safely travel there and report from the ground due to the risk of detention or being killed, and much of what happens remains out of sight. This story is based on conversations with people trying to stay in touch with their families across that divide. Please share this article so that more people can better understand what life under occupation looks like, and consider supporting our reporting .