The Azov Battalion: Extremists defending Mariupol

T. Belman. When reading stories of alleged Russian atrocities in the city of Mariupol, it is best to remember that that city is the headquarters of the Azov Regiment. It controls the city.

“In the summer of 2014, the modest forces of Azov participated in the recapture of Mariupol from pro-Russian separatists. It has operated as a regiment since fall 2014 and according to media reports, it had around 1,000 fighters before the Russian invasion of Ukraine, as well as artillery and tanks.”

“Ukrainian authorities on Sunday said the Russian military bombed an art school in which about 400 people had taken refuge” according to a ToI post.

https://www.thegatewaypundit.com/2022/03/shocking-citizens-claim-ukrainian-nazi-azov-battalion-setting-offensive-positions-civilian-areas-using-women-children-human-shields-videos/

The school was being used to protect the soldiers of the Azov Battalion and it was for this reason that Russia bombed it. Furthermore the Azov Battalion was preventing citizens from leaving the city in order to protect themselves. They are preventing the city from surrendering.. The civilians are being held hostage by them

TASS reports: Neo-Nazis rob Mariupol residents, kill those who resist them — Russian official

Here’s a look at survivors who just managed to escape Mariupol you won’t see on CNN or NBC.  They break down in tears describing how Azov Nazis hold the city’s population hostage; ‘executed the convoys of civilians who tried to evacuate’ to Russia.

https://rumble.com/vwp2d1-ukrainian-family-that-managed-to-escape-from-the-city-of-mariupol.html

So do not be quick to believe what you are told. Reserve judgment until more is known.

The Upcoming neo-Nazi Concert in Ukraine That No One Is Talking About

KIEV — A venue that has staged a number of popular music acts over the years is playing host to something considerably less mainstream this Saturday: On the anniversary of the date Nazi Germany invaded the Soviet Union in 1941, a popular club in the Ukrainian capital will be hosting a neo-Nazi concert.

 Mariupol is defended by the Azov Battalion, an ultranationalist militia with ties to extremists across Europe.

By Roman Goncharenko, DW

[..]

The city of Mariupol, which has a population of 500,000, is primarily being defended by the Azov Battalion. This is one of the places, along with Ukraine’s capital, Kyiv, and the country’s second-largest city, Kharkiv, where Russia is conducting its war particularly brutally. Since early March, the city has been under siege and subjected to heavy bombardment. There is no electricity, little water and scarce food supplies.

Mariupol: Azov’s headquarters

Mariupol is also where the Azov Battalion, which is part of the Ukrainian National Guard and thus subordinate to the Interior Ministry, has set up its headquarters. Its fighters are well trained, but the unit is composed of nationalists and far-right radicals. Its very existence is one of the pretexts Russia has used for its war against Ukraine.

Initially, Azov was a volunteer militia that formed in the city of Berdyansk to support the Ukrainian army in its fight against pro-Russia separatists in eastern Ukraine. Some of its fighters came from the small but active far-right group Pravyi sektor (Right Sector), whose core members were from eastern Ukraine and spoke Russian. Originally, they had even advocated the unity of East Slavic peoples: Russians, Belarusians and Ukrainians. Some were soccer ultras, others were active in nationalist circles. Such associations would be described as “free comradeships,” or organized neo-Nazi groups, in Germany, Andreas Umland from the Stockholm Center for Eastern European Studies, told DW.

Far-right connotations

Umland said Azov had drawn early attention by using the the Nazi Wolfsangel symbol as its emblem. “The Wolfsangel has far-right connotations, it is a pagan symbol that the SS also used,” said Umland. “But it is not considered a fascist symbol by the population in Ukraine.”

The Azov Regiment wants the symbol from the Nazi era to be understood as stylized versions of the letters N and I, standing for “national idea.”

Andriy Biletsky, the 42-year-old founder of Azov, is a history graduate of the National University of Kharkiv. He was active in Ukraine’s far-right scene for years. In the summer of 2014, the modest forces of Azov participated in the recapture of Mariupol from pro-Russian separatists. It has operated as a regiment since fall 2014 and according to media reports, it had around 1,000 fighters before the Russian invasion of Ukraine, as well as artillery and tanks.

The Ukrainian government decided to incorporate the ultra-nationalists into state structures in 2014.

In 2015 and 2016, a movement emerged that formed the political arm of Azov. Biletsky resigned as a commander and created the National Corps party with former fighters. However, it had little electoral success. Biletsky did enter parliament via direct mandate but was not reelected in 2019. He is reportedly currently fighting on the front near Kyiv.

Contacts with far-right movements

In 2019, there was an attempt by US Congress to designate the regiment as a “terrorist organization” but this did not happen. Nevertheless, for years, Azov has maintained contacts with far-right movements abroad, including in Germany according to the German government’s answer to a question related to this issue by the Left Party parliamentary group.

Umland said a legend had grown around Azov because of Russian propaganda. He said that volunteer fighters, including Azov, had been accused of looting and improper behavior in 2014.

“Normally, we consider right-wing extremism to be dangerous, something that can lead to war,” Umland said. But in Ukraine, it is the other way around, he argued. The war had led to the rise and transformation of marginal comradeships into a political movement. But their influence on society is overrated, he said. For most Ukrainians, they are combatants fighting an overbearing aggressor.

This article was originally written in German. It has been altered to include the author’s name.

March 21, 2022 | 7 Comments »

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7 Comments / 7 Comments

  1. @Adam Dalgliesh

    Why wasn’t your heart breaking for the dead Donbass children even once in the last 8 years?

    Because they deserved to die?

  2. Bellingcat reported back in 2019 that the Azov batallion had new (as of then) leaders who disassociated the organizations neo-Nazi past and condemned Nazism and fascism. The organization then recruited numerous new members who had no connection with Nazi or fascist groups. Bellingcat opined that ‘probably ‘ the majority of Azov members now (as of 2019) were not Nazis or Nazi sympathizers.

  3. Bellingcat, a site which monitors the Ukraine war very closely with Daily reports, does not mention anything about Rykovsky.

    Bellingcat has reported extensively in the past on violence and atrocities committed by extreme rightwing groups in Ukraine, including the “Tradition and Order” group which is alleged to have kidnapped and tortured Rykovsky. I believe they would report this alleged crime if it has actually occurred.

    It does have an article about “Russian disinformation,” which claims that the Russian media services have been publishing many fake photos of Ukrainian forces committing atrocities in Miriuopol. Some of the photos are photoshopped. Others were taken at other times and places and falsely labelled as having been photographed during the recent fighting in Miirupol. Some actually show Russian forces committing atrocities in Mariupol and falsely describes them as Ukrainian forces.

    “There’s none so blind as those who will not see”
    –Eng;ish proverb.

  4. From AP via Yahoo News

    20 days in Mariupol: The team that documented city’s agony
    Mon, March 21, 2022, 6:02 AM
    Associated Press videographer Mstyslav Chernov reads news on his phone three days before the start of Russian invasion in Volnovakha, Ukraine, Monday, Feb. 21, 2022. On the evening of Feb. 23, Chernov headed to Mariupol with colleague Evgeniy Maloletka. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)
    Associated Press videographer Mstyslav Chernov walks amid smoke rising from an air defense base in the aftermath of a Russian strike in Mariupol, Ukraine, Thursday, Feb. 24, 2022. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)
    People hide in a shelter during Russian shelling, in Mariupol, Ukraine, Thursday, Feb. 24, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Associated Press photographer Evgeniy Maloletka points at the smoke rising after an airstrike on a maternity hospital, in Mariupol, Ukraine, Wednesday, March 9, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Associated Press photographer Evgeniy Maloletka takes a photo of the lifeless body of a girl, killed from shelling of a residential area, at the city hospital of Mariupol, eastern Ukraine, Sunday, Feb. 27, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    People prepare for the night in the improvised bomb shelter in a sports center, in Mariupol, Ukraine, late Sunday, Feb. 27, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A fire burns at an apartment building after it was hit by shelling in Mariupol, Ukraine, Friday, March 11, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Associated Press photographer Evgeniy Maloletka helps a paramedic to transport a woman injured during shelling in Mariupol, eastern Ukraine, Wednesday, March 2, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A car escaping from shelling drives past a crashed vehicle in Mariupol, Ukraine, Friday, March 4, 2022 (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Ambulance paramedics transfer a woman wounded by shelling to a hospital in Mariupol, Ukraine, Wednesday, March 2, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    This shows the city of Mariupol, Ukraine, Thursday, Feb. 24, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A woman whose husband was killed in the shelling cries on the floor of a corridor in a hospital in Mariupol, eastern Ukraine Friday, March 11, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Dead bodies are placed into a mass grave on the outskirts of Mariupol, Ukraine, Wednesday, March 9, 2022, as people cannot bury their dead because of heavy shelling by Russian forces. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Associated Press photographer Evgeniy Maloletka stands amid rubble of an airstrike on Pryazovskyi State Technical University on Thursday, March 10, 2022, in Mariupol, Ukraine. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A Ukrainian serviceman and a civilian carry a wounded man who was injured by shelling in a hospital in Mariupol, Ukraine, Thursday, March 3, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Medical workers treat a man, wounded by shelling, in a hospital in Mariupol, Ukraine, Friday, March 4, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A woman holds a child in an improvised bomb shelter in Mariupol, Ukraine, Monday, March 7, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    Seen through partially drawn curtains a house burns after shelling in Mariupol, Ukraine, Saturday, March 12, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    People hide in an improvised bomb shelter in Mariupol, Ukraine, Saturday, March 12, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A Ukrainian serviceman guards his position in Mariupol, Ukraine, Saturday, March 12, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A doctor shows bodies of children killed by shelling at No. 3 hospital in Mariupol, Ukraine, Tuesday, March 15, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
    A car damaged by shelling that was used by Associated Press journalists to escape from the Mariupol blockade sits parked in Ukraine, Thursday, March 17, 2022. (AP Photo/Mstyslav Chernov)
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    Russia Ukraine War Mariupol First Person

    Associated Press videographer Mstyslav Chernov reads news on his phone three days before the start of Russian invasion in Volnovakha, Ukraine, Monday, Feb. 21, 2022. On the evening of Feb. 23, Chernov headed to Mariupol with colleague Evgeniy Maloletka. (AP Photo/Evgeniy Maloletka)
    ASSOCIATED PRESS

    MARIUPOL, Ukraine (AP) — The Russians were hunting us down. They had a list of names, including ours, and they were closing in.

    We were the only international journalists left in the Ukrainian city, and we had been documenting its siege by Russian troops for more than two weeks. We were reporting inside the hospital when gunmen began stalking the corridors. Surgeons gave us white scrubs to wear as camouflage.

    Suddenly at dawn, a dozen soldiers burst in: “Where are the journalists, for fuck’s sake?”

    I looked at their armbands, blue for Ukraine, and tried to calculate the odds that they were Russians in disguise. I stepped forward to identify myself. “We’re here to get you out,” they said.

    The walls of the surgery shook from artillery and machine gun fire outside, and it seemed safer to stay inside. But the Ukrainian soldiers were under orders to take us with them.

    Video: Mariupol residents suffer continued bombardment

    Something Went Wrong

    Unfortunately, an error occurred. To try again, refresh the browser.
    PP-400-602

    ___

    Mstyslav Chernov is a video journalist for The Associated Press. This is his account of the siege of Mariupol, as documented with photographer Evgeniy Maloletka and told to correspondent Lori Hinnant.

    ___

    We ran into the street, abandoning the doctors who had sheltered us, the pregnant women who had been shelled and the people who slept in the hallways because they had nowhere else to go. I felt terrible leaving them all behind.

    Nine minutes, maybe 10, an eternity through roads and bombed-out apartment buildings. As shells crashed nearby, we dropped to the ground. Time was measured from one shell to the next, our bodies tense and breath held. Shockwave after shockwave jolted my chest, and my hands went cold.

    We reached an entryway, and armored cars whisked us to a darkened basement. Only then did we learn from a policeman why the Ukrainians had risked the lives of soldiers to extract us from the hospital.

    “If they catch you, they will get you on camera and they will make you say that everything you filmed is a lie,” he said. “All your efforts and everything you have done in Mariupol will be in vain.”

    The officer, who had once begged us to show the world his dying city, now pleaded with us to go. He nudged us toward the thousands of battered cars preparing to leave Mariupol.

    It was March 15. We had no idea if we would make it out alive.

    ____

    As a teenager growing up in Ukraine in the city of Kharkiv, just 20 miles from the Russian border, I learned how to handle a gun as part of the school curriculum. It seemed pointless. Ukraine, I reasoned, was surrounded by friends.

    I have since covered wars in Iraq, Afghanistan and the disputed territory of Nagorno Karabakh, trying to show the world the devastation first-hand. But when the Americans and then the Europeans evacuated their embassy staffs from the city of Kyiv this winter, and when I pored over maps of the Russian troop build-up just across from my hometown, my only thought was, “My poor country.”

    In the first few days of the war, the Russians bombed the enormous Freedom Square in Kharkiv, where I had hung out until my 20s.

    I knew Russian forces would see the eastern port city of Mariupol as a strategic prize because of its location on the Sea of Azov. So on the evening of Feb. 23, I headed there with my long-time colleague Evgeniy Maloletka, a Ukrainian photographer for The Associated Press, in his white Volkswagen van.

    On the way, we started worrying about spare tires, and found online a man nearby willing to sell to us in the middle of the night. We explained to him and to a cashier at the all-night grocery store that we were preparing for war. They looked at us like we were crazy.

    We pulled into Mariupol at 3:30 a.m. The war started an hour later.

    About a quarter of Mariupol’s 430,000 residents left in those first days, while they still could. But few people believed a war was coming, and by the time most realized their mistake, it was too late.

    One bomb at a time, the Russians cut electricity, water, food supplies and finally, crucially, the cell phone, radio and television towers. The few other journalists in the city got out before the last connections were gone and a full blockade settled in.

    The absence of information in a blockade accomplishes two goals.

    Chaos is the first. People don’t know what’s going on, and they panic. At first I couldn’t understand why Mariupol fell apart so quickly. Now I know it was because of the lack of communication.

    Impunity is the second goal. With no information coming out of a city, no pictures of demolished buildings and dying children, the Russian forces could do whatever they wanted. If not for us, there would be nothing.

    That’s why we took such risks to be able to send the world what we saw, and that’s what made Russia angry enough to hunt us down.

    I have never, ever felt that breaking the silence was so important.

    ___

    The deaths came fast. On Feb. 27, we watched as a doctor tried to save a little girl hit by shrapnel. She died.

    A second child died, then a third. Ambulances stopped picking up the wounded because people couldn’t call them without a signal, and they couldn’t navigate the bombed-out streets.

    The doctors pleaded with us to film families bringing in their own dead and wounded, and let us use their dwindling generator power for our cameras. No one knows what’s going on in our city, they said.

    Shelling hit the hospital and the houses around. It shattered the windows of our van, blew a hole into its side and punctured a tire. Sometimes we would run out to film a burning house and then run back amid the explosions.

    There was still one place in the city to get a steady connection, outside a looted grocery store on Budivel’nykiv Avenue. Once a day, we drove there and crouched beneath the stairs to upload photos and video to the world. The stairs wouldn’t have done much to protect us, but it felt safer than being out in the open.

    The signal vanished by March 3. We tried to send our video from the 7th-floor windows of the hospital. It was from there that we saw the last shreds of the solid middle-class city of Mariupol come apart.

    The Port City superstore was being looted, and we headed that way through artillery and machine gunfire. Dozens of people ran and pushed shopping carts loaded with electronics, food, clothes.

    A shell exploded on the roof of the store, throwing me to the ground outside. I tensed, awaiting a second hit, and cursed myself a hundred times because my camera wasn’t on to record it.

    And there it was, another shell hitting the apartment building next to me with a terrible whoosh. I shrank behind a corner for cover.

    A teenager passed by rolling an office chair loaded with electronics, boxes tumbling off the sides. “My friends were there and the shell hit 10 meters from us,” he told me. “I have no idea what happened to them.”

    We raced back to the hospital. Within 20 minutes, the injured came in, some of them scooped into shopping carts.

    For several days, the only link we had to the outside world was through a satellite phone. And the only spot where that phone worked was out in the open, right next to a shell crater. I would sit down, make myself small and try to catch the connection.

    Everybody was asking, please tell us when the war will be over. I had no answer.

    Every single day, there would be a rumor that the Ukrainian army was going to come to break through the siege. But no one came.

    ___

    By this time I had witnessed deaths at the hospital, corpses in the streets, dozens of bodies shoved into a mass grave. I had seen so much death that I was filming almost without taking it in.

    On March 9, twin airstrikes shredded the plastic taped over our van’s windows. I saw the fireball just a heartbeat before pain pierced my inner ear, my skin, my face.

    We watched smoke rise from a maternity hospital. When we arrived, emergency workers were still pulling bloodied pregnant women from the ruins.

    Our batteries were almost out of juice, and we had no connection to send the images. Curfew was minutes away. A police officer overheard us talking about how to get news of the hospital bombing out.

    “This will change the course of the war,” he said. He took us to a power source and an internet connection.

    We had recorded so many dead people and dead children, an endless line. I didn’t understand why he thought still more deaths could change anything.

    I was wrong.

    In the dark, we sent the images by lining up three mobile phones with the video file split into three parts to speed the process up. It took hours, well beyond curfew. The shelling continued, but the officers assigned to escort us through the city waited patiently.

    Then our link to the world outside Mariupol was again severed.

    We went back to an empty hotel basement with an aquarium now filled with dead goldfish. In our isolation, we knew nothing about a growing Russian disinformation campaign to discredit our work.

    The Russian Embassy in London put out two tweets calling the AP photos fake and claiming a pregnant woman was an actress. The Russian ambassador held up copies of the photos at a U.N. Security Council meeting and repeated lies about the attack on the maternity hospital.

    In the meantime, in Mariupol, we were inundated with people asking us for the latest news from the war. So many people came to me and said, please film me so my family outside the city will know I’m alive.

    By this time, no Ukrainian radio or TV signal was working in Mariupol. The only radio you could catch broadcast twisted Russian lies — that Ukrainians were holding Mariupol hostage, shooting at buildings, developing chemical weapons. The propaganda was so strong that some people we talked to believed it despite the evidence of their own eyes.

    The message was constantly repeated, in Soviet style: Mariupol is surrounded. Surrender your weapons.

    On March 11, in a brief call without details, our editor asked if we could find the women who survived the maternity hospital airstrike to prove their existence. I realized the footage must have been powerful enough to provoke a response from the Russian government.

    We found them at a hospital on the front line, some with babies and others in labor. We also learned that one woman had lost her baby and then her own life.

    We went up to the 7th floor to send the video from the tenuous Internet link. From there, I watched as tank after tank rolled up alongside the hospital compound, each marked with the letter Z that had become the Russian emblem for the war.

    We were surrounded: Dozens of doctors, hundreds of patients, and us.

    ___

    The Ukrainian soldiers who had been protecting the hospital had vanished. And the path to our van, with our food, water and equipment, was covered by a Russian sniper who had already struck a medic venturing outside.

    Hours passed in darkness, as we listened to the explosions outside. That’s when the soldiers came to get us, shouting in Ukrainian.

    It didn’t feel like a rescue. It felt like we were just being moved from one danger to another. By this time, nowhere in Mariupol was safe, and there was no relief. You could die at any moment.

    I felt amazingly grateful to the soldiers, but also numb. And ashamed that I was leaving.

    We crammed into a Hyundai with a family of three and pulled into a 5-kilometer-long traffic jam out of the city. Around 30,000 people made it out of Mariupol that day — so many that Russian soldiers had no time to look closely into cars with windows covered with flapping bits of plastic.

    People were nervous. They were fighting, screaming at each other. Every minute there was an airplane or airstrike. The ground shook.

    We crossed 15 Russian checkpoints. At each, the mother sitting in the front of our car would pray furiously, loud enough for us to hear.

    As we drove through them — the third, the tenth, the 15th, all manned with soldiers with heavy weapons — my hopes that Mariupol was going to survive were fading. I understood that just to reach the city, the Ukrainian army would have to break through so much ground. And it wasn’t going to happen.

    At sunset, we came to a bridge destroyed by the Ukrainians to stop the Russian advance. A Red Cross convoy of about 20 cars was stuck there already. We all turned off the road together into fields and back lanes.

    The guards at checkpoint No. 15 spoke Russian in the rough accent of the Caucasus. They ordered the whole convoy to cut the headlights to conceal the arms and equipment parked on the roadside. I could barely make out the white Z painted on the vehicles.

    As we pulled up to the sixteenth checkpoint, we heard voices. Ukrainian voices. I felt an overwhelming relief. The mother in the front of the car burst into tears. We were out.

    We were the last journalists in Mariupol. Now there are none.

    We are still flooded by messages from people wanting to learn the fate of loved ones we photographed and filmed. They write to us desperately and intimately, as though we are not strangers, as though we can help them.

    When a Russian airstrike hit a theater where hundreds of people had taken shelter late last week, I could pinpoint exactly where we should go to learn about survivors, to hear firsthand what it was like to be trapped for endless hours beneath piles of rubble. I know that building and the destroyed homes around it. I know people who are trapped underneath it.

    And on Sunday, Ukrainian authorities said Russia had bombed an art school with about 400 people in it in Mariupol.

    But we can no longer get there.

    ___

    This account was related by Chernov to Associated Press reporter Lori Hinnant, who wrote from Paris. Vasylisa Stepanenko contributed to the report.

    ___

    Follow the AP’s coverage of the war at https://apnews.com/hub/russia-ukraine

  5. I read yesterday that the battle around Mariupol had Russian forces moving into the city, going street by street, clearing it. Following this I read from Felix and Reader that Zelensky had outlawed the opposition and his excuse was Marshal Law. Later, Sundance reported the media had been unified with only one voice. The rapid escalation of events is very telling. The loss of the reported 60K forces at Mariupol will greatly diminish the Ukrainian nationals in their efforts, and it includes the Azov and Aidar battalions among others who were cherished as their most successful fighting force, apart from their atrocities that have been documented by BBC over the years. Once Mariupol falls, things will be very different for the Ukrianian nationals and this escalation seems to support this view is not unknown to them.

  6. Mariupol is very important to Russia. It used to be part of the two provinces that broke away in 2014 but was lost to the Nazis. The recovery of this city would give the two provinces access to the sea and would give
    Russia a land bridge to Crimean.

    From what I gather , the Nazis know they are going to lose the city and so are themselves bombing it and killing the residents. Then they blame Russia. The Nazis are preventing people from exiting the city and essentially holding them as hostages.