A friend asked if I was interested. And that's how it started.
Two Colombian veterans, Alexander Ante and José Medina, now sit in a Russian prison serving 13-year sentences — casualties not of the battlefield but of the legal architecture Moscow has built around the Ukraine conflict. Their path from combat in Ukraine to a cell in Russian-controlled Donetsk passed through an unexpected trap in Caracas, where a routine layover became an extradition. Their story is a quiet reminder that modern wars cast shadows far beyond their borders, ensnaring ordinary men who crossed into extraordinary circumstances and found no government willing to speak for them on the way out.
- Two Colombian ex-soldiers vanished during a Caracas layover in July 2024, their families left without answers for weeks as they were quietly transferred into Russian custody.
- Venezuela, acting as a geopolitical ally of Moscow, detained the men for carrying Ukrainian military gear and handed them over — a transaction that transformed a flight home into a one-way passage to prison.
- Russia's courts in occupied Donetsk convicted both men under mercenary laws that carry up to 15 years, treating foreign volunteers for Ukraine not as soldiers but as criminals by definition.
- The Colombian government has issued no statement, mounted no diplomatic effort, and offered no public acknowledgment that two of its citizens are imprisoned in Russia — leaving families to navigate the silence alone.
- With sentences of 13 years each, Ante and Medina will be well into their sixties before they are free, their lives suspended by a war they chose to enter and tried, too late, to leave.
Alexander Ante, 37, and José Medina, 48 — both former members of the Colombian military — are now serving 13-year sentences in a Russian prison after being convicted of mercenary activity by a Moscow-administered court in occupied Donetsk. The verdict, announced through the Russian prosecutor's office in late August 2024, came after more than a month during which their families had no idea where they were or what had happened to them.
The two men had been fighting in Ukraine since late 2023, drawn in through informal networks — Ante later recounted that a friend already serving there had simply asked if he wanted to join. They were paid $3,000 a month. After nearly a year of combat, they decided to go home. The route from Madrid to Popayán included a layover in Caracas, and it was there that everything unraveled. Venezuelan authorities detained them for carrying Ukrainian military uniforms and equipment. Russia, a close ally of Caracas, requested extradition. Venezuela complied.
Once in Russian custody, the men faced charges that Moscow has applied broadly to all foreign fighters serving Ukraine since the 2022 invasion — mercenary activity, punishable by up to 15 years under Russian law. The court found them guilty and sentenced each to 13 years, a penalty that will keep them imprisoned well into old age.
Back in Colombia, their families have spent over a year in uncertainty. One relative managed to confirm through Caracas police that Medina was being held in Venezuela, but the Colombian government has remained entirely silent — no diplomatic intervention, no official statement, no public acknowledgment of two citizens imprisoned in a foreign country. Ante and Medina remain in Russian territory, their fates a stark illustration of how far the war in Ukraine has reached, and how little protection awaits those who find themselves caught inside it.
Two Colombian former soldiers—Alexander Ante, 37, and José Medina, 48—are now serving 13-year sentences in a Russian prison, convicted of fighting as mercenaries for Ukraine in a conflict that has consumed three years and shows no sign of ending. A court administered by Moscow in the occupied Ukrainian city of Donetsk handed down the verdict, which was announced in late August 2024 through the Russian prosecutor's office via Telegram. The men had been missing for over a month before that announcement, their families left in the dark about their whereabouts and fate.
Their journey to a Russian cell began in July 2024, when both men disappeared during a layover in Caracas, Venezuela, while traveling from Madrid back to their home in Popayán, Colombia. They had been fighting in Ukraine since late 2023, recruited through informal networks—Ante later explained that a friend from the Colombian military who was already in Ukraine had simply asked if he was interested in joining. The monthly pay was $3,000. When they decided to return home after nearly a year of combat, the stopover in Venezuela became a trap. Venezuelan authorities detained them, ostensibly because they were carrying Ukrainian military uniforms and gear. Russia, as an ally of Venezuela's government, requested their extradition, and Venezuela complied.
The men were transferred to Russian custody, where they faced charges of mercenary activity—a classification Moscow has applied systematically to all foreign fighters serving Ukraine since the 2022 invasion began. Under Russian law, such charges carry a potential sentence of up to 15 years. The court found sufficient evidence to convict both men, though the final sentence came in at 13 years each, still a crushing penalty that will keep them imprisoned well into their sixties.
Their families in Colombia have endured a year of uncertainty and separation. One relative of Medina who lived in Venezuela managed to confirm through Caracas police that he was being held there, but the broader Colombian government has remained silent on the matter. There has been no official statement from Bogotá regarding the detention or conviction of its two citizens, no diplomatic intervention, no public acknowledgment of their plight. The men remain in Russian territory, their sentences a stark illustration of how the Ukraine conflict has ensnared people far beyond the borders of the two nations at war.
The convictions reflect Moscow's uncompromising stance toward foreign combatants. Since 2022, Russia has treated anyone fighting for Ukraine as a mercenary rather than a legitimate soldier, a legal distinction that carries severe consequences. The sentences handed down to Ante and Medina are not anomalies but part of a broader pattern of Russian prosecution of international volunteers and fighters. For the two Colombians, the consequence is years of imprisonment in a foreign country, separated from their families, their lives effectively suspended by a war they chose to enter and then tried to leave.
Citas Notables
A friend from the Colombian military who was in Ukraine asked if I was interested, and that's how the process began.— Alexander Ante, on his recruitment
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
How does someone from Popayán end up fighting in Ukraine in the first place?
Through a friend. Ante said a Colombian soldier he knew was already there and asked if he wanted to come. It wasn't a formal recruitment—it was a conversation that led to a decision, and then $3,000 a month made it real.
And they fought for nearly a year before trying to go home?
Yes. They served from late 2023 through mid-2024. Then they decided to leave, to go back to their families. That's when everything fell apart.
Why did Venezuela matter in this story?
Because they were just passing through. A stopover in Caracas on the way home. But they were carrying Ukrainian military uniforms, and Venezuela is aligned with Russia. So Venezuela detained them, and Russia asked for them back. It was a handoff.
Did anyone in Colombia try to help them?
The families did what they could. One relative in Venezuela managed to confirm through police that Medina was being held. But the Colombian government never said anything publicly. No statement, no intervention.
What does Russia actually mean when it calls them mercenaries?
It's a legal category that carries up to 15 years in prison. Russia applies it to all foreign fighters for Ukraine—it's how they justify treating them as criminals rather than soldiers. It's a way of delegitimizing the entire foreign volunteer effort.
So 13 years is actually a lighter sentence than they could have received?
Technically yes. The maximum was 15. But 13 years still means they'll be in their sixties when they get out, if they get out. It's not mercy—it's just slightly less severe.