Everything I built, I had to leave behind. Now the state claims it.
Em territórios que a guerra transformou em zonas de ambiguidade jurídica, a Rússia formalizou o que antes era espoliação informal: uma lei federal agora permite transferir a cidadãos russos cerca de 550 mil imóveis ucranianos classificados como 'sem dono' nas áreas ocupadas. Para os deslocados como Ljudmyla, que fugiram sob bombas e deixaram para trás uma vida construída tijolo a tijolo, o Estado que os expulsou agora exige seu retorno para que possam provar que ainda existem como proprietários. É a lógica da ocupação elevada à categoria de norma: o abandono forçado convertido em renúncia legal.
- A Rússia transformou a espoliação de guerra em burocracia: uma lei federal de 2025 permite confiscar imóveis ucranianos deixados vazios por mais de um ano e transferi-los a cidadãos russos.
- Cerca de 550 mil propriedades foram classificadas como 'sem dono' pelas autoridades de ocupação, incluindo quase 13 mil unidades residenciais só em Mariupol.
- Para reaver seus imóveis, ucranianos precisam viajar pessoalmente às zonas ocupadas — um trajeto que pode terminar em detenção, recrutamento militar forçado ou desaparecimento.
- Obter o passaporte russo exigido para o registro pode acionar obrigação de servir no exército que destruiu as casas que esses cidadãos tentam recuperar.
- Mecanismos internacionais de compensação existem no papel, mas prazos e valores seguem indefinidos, deixando centenas de milhares de deslocados sem horizonte claro de reparação.
Ljudmyla não vai voltar. Os riscos são concretos demais: enfrentar as autoridades de ocupação, arriscar a liberdade, talvez a vida. O que ela construiu — seu apartamento, seu negócio, os anos depositados em um lugar — foi bombardeado ou abandonado na fuga. Agora, o Estado que a expulsou reivindica oficialmente o que ficou para trás.
A prática de confiscar imóveis ucranianos nas áreas ocupadas remonta a 2014, mas ganhou forma legal progressiva. Em 2021, as autoridades da autoproclamada República Popular de Donetsk começaram a classificar apartamentos vazios como 'sem dono'. Em 2024, a definição se expandiu: qualquer imóvel desocupado há mais de um ano, com despesas em atraso e sem registro russo, podia ser reclassificado. No fim de 2025, a Rússia consolidou tudo isso em lei federal, abrindo caminho para transferir essas propriedades a cidadãos russos.
A escala impressiona. Em agosto de 2025, o chefe do órgão russo de registro de imóveis declarou que cerca de 550 mil propriedades ucranianas nas áreas ocupadas se enquadram na categoria 'sem dono'. Para sair dessa lista, o imóvel precisa ser re-registrado no cadastro russo — o que, na prática, exige passaporte russo, presença física na zona ocupada e sujeição ao processo de 'filtração' das autoridades russas.
A viagem é uma armadilha. Ucranianos com passaporte nacional só podem entrar pelas zonas ocupadas via aeroporto de Sheremetyevo, em Moscou, onde qualquer detalhe — uma resposta, um arquivo no celular — pode resultar em detenção. Quem consegue entrar ainda precisa solicitar cidadania russa para registrar o imóvel, o que pode gerar obrigação de servir no exército russo. Ativistas de direitos humanos desaconselham explicitamente essa tentativa.
O governo ucraniano não classifica a obtenção do passaporte russo como colaboracionismo quando feita para proteger vida e patrimônio. Mas advogados que atuam na região veem o mecanismo como algo mais calculado: uma ferramenta para converter ucranianos em cidadãos russos e identificar os considerados desleais, cujos bens podem então ser confiscados.
Existe um Registro Internacional de Danos à Ucrânia, criado pelo Conselho da Europa em 2023, e programas domésticos ucranianos oferecem alguma compensação a deslocados. Mas os valores e prazos seguem incertos. Para a maioria, a escolha permanece cruel: abandonar o que construíram ou arriscar tudo para tentar recuperá-lo.
Ljudmyla will not go back to register her apartment with the occupation authorities. The risks are too stark: she does not want to face the occupiers again, does not want to gamble with her life, and is not even certain they would let her through the door. What she built over years—her business, her home, the accumulated weight of a life in one place—was either bombed or left behind when she fled. Now, under new Russian law, the state is moving to claim it officially.
Russia has been seizing Ukrainian properties in occupied territories since 2014, but the process has accelerated and hardened into formal legal machinery. In 2021, occupation authorities in the self-proclaimed Donetsk People's Republic began classifying abandoned apartments as "ownerless"—a designation that allowed them to be sold or confiscated through occupation courts. By 2024, the definition had expanded: any property left vacant for more than a year, with unpaid expenses and no owner registered in Russian records, could be reclassified. The occupation authorities justified this by claiming that abandonment threatened the properties themselves. At the end of 2025, Russia codified the practice into federal law, making it possible to transfer these properties to Russian citizens.
The scale is staggering. In August 2025, Oleg Skufinsky, the head of Russia's property registration authority, stated that approximately 550,000 Ukrainian properties in occupied areas now fall into the "ownerless" category. In Mariupol alone, nearly 13,000 residential units appear on lists published by occupation authorities online. A property can only be removed from these lists by being re-registered in the Russian property registry.
On paper, Russian law does not require Russian citizenship to complete such a transfer. In practice, according to sources with connections to Donetsk occupation authorities, it is impossible without a Russian passport. Meanwhile, Russia has set an expiration date of July 1, 2026, for the validity of Ukrainian property documents and has made the process of claiming ownership far more difficult. Previously, Ukrainians could authorize a representative through Russian consulates abroad. Now, owners must appear in person at a registry office in the occupied territory—meaning they must travel there themselves.
That journey is dangerous. Human rights activists warn Ukrainians against traveling to Russian-occupied zones. Those holding Ukrainian passports can only enter through a checkpoint at Moscow's Sheremetyevo Airport, where Russian authorities conduct what they call "filtration." Anything can trigger suspicion—an answer to a question, files on a phone. At best, entry is denied. At worst, there is arrest with unpredictable consequences. Onysija Senjuk, an activist with the Ukrainian human rights center ZMINA, notes that those who do enter must then apply for a Russian passport to register their property. That application carries its own weight: obtaining Russian citizenship can trigger an obligation to serve in the Russian military.
The Kyiv government does not classify applying for a Russian passport as collaboration when done to protect life, property, and safety—a position explained by Anatolij Kolesnikov, a lawyer with the East SOS foundation, which provides assistance to civilians in eastern Ukraine. But Kolesnikov sees the registration requirement as something darker: a mechanism to convert Ukrainian citizens into Russian ones, and to identify those deemed disloyal to Russia so their assets can be seized. He views this as a clear violation of Ukrainian and international law.
Ukrainians have begun registering their losses with the International Register of Damage to Ukraine, established by the Council of Europe in May 2023 as a first step toward an international compensation mechanism for victims of Russian aggression. But when and how much compensation will be paid remains unclear. Ukraine itself has created several domestic compensation programs for property owners in occupied areas, including payments for damaged or destroyed homes. Internally displaced persons who fought in the war or were wounded receive a separate compensation of 2 million hryvnias—roughly 225,000 Brazilian reais—even if their properties in occupied zones were not damaged. Yet for most, recovery remains uncertain, and the choice before them is stark: abandon what they built, or risk everything to reclaim it.
Citas Notables
I don't want to see the occupiers. I've been there and I know what these people are like. And I don't want to risk my life over nervousness.— Ljudmyla, Ukrainian property owner
Russia is trying to transform Ukrainian citizens into Russian ones and identify those deemed disloyal to confiscate their assets. This is a clear violation of Ukrainian and international law.— Anatolij Kolesnikov, lawyer with East SOS foundation
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why would Russia go through the trouble of formalizing this? They already control the territory.
Because occupation without legal cover is temporary. Formalizing it in federal law makes it permanent—it transforms seized property into legitimate Russian assets that can be bought, sold, inherited. It's the difference between theft and ownership.
And the 550,000 properties—how many of those are actually occupied by Russians now?
That's the thing. Many are probably empty. The point isn't to house Russians immediately. It's to create a legal mechanism that makes it nearly impossible for Ukrainians to ever reclaim them, even after the war ends.
So by setting that deadline—July 2026—Russia is forcing a choice.
Exactly. Either Ukrainians go back into occupied territory, expose themselves to arrest and conscription, and obtain a Russian passport. Or they lose their claim entirely. It's coercion dressed as procedure.
What about the compensation programs? Could that actually work?
Maybe someday. But the international register has no enforcement mechanism yet. Ukraine's domestic programs help, but they're not full replacement. A 2 million hryvnia payment doesn't rebuild a life someone spent decades constructing.
Is there any way out of this for someone like Ljudmyla?
Not a good one. She can register the loss internationally and hope for future compensation. She can try to prove ownership through Ukrainian documents before the deadline. But the system is designed so that every option carries unbearable risk or requires her to become Russian.