In the shadow of Russia’s ongoing war in Ukraine, a chilling and largely overlooked policy has quietly taken shape. Facing mounting losses on the battlefield, Russian authorities are now extending recruitment efforts beyond convicted criminals, offering accused individuals an unprecedented choice: fight in Ukraine or face a trial and possible imprisonment. This new legislation passed in March 2024, has flipped Russia’s justice system on its head, blurring the lines between crime and patriotism, punishment and reward, justice and desperation. It has sent shockwaves through Russia’s legal system and created a moral dilemma, offering a grim reminder of how far the Kremlin is willing to go to reinforce its dwindling military ranks.
A Policy Born of Desperation
As casualties mount and the war in Ukraine drags on, Russia’s need to replenish its front lines has become more urgent. The recruitment of convicted prisoners was already well-documented, with groups like the Wagner mercenary group initially leading the effort. But as the war stretched into its second year and Russian troops faced an increasingly fortified Ukrainian defense, even this unorthodox method of recruitment began to falter. To maintain the necessary manpower, the Russian government has broadened its scope, targeting not only convicted criminals but also those awaiting trial or charged with various offenses.
In exchange for enlisting in the military, accused individuals can have their cases indefinitely postponed and potentially dismissed when the war ends. This new strategy, while controversial, is indicative of a larger, more troubling trend—Russia’s growing willingness to sacrifice its citizens for the sake of military expediency.
Michael Kofman, a military analyst at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, sums up the Kremlin’s cold calculus: “The government likely assumes that these are people they can lose, that nobody will miss, and that they will not have a substantial, negative effect on the overall economy.”
This emerging trend not only reflects the growing desperation within Russia’s military ranks, but it also raises serious questions about the lengths to which a government can go to maintain its grip on power, even at the cost of its own legal and moral systems.
War Instead of Justice
For many of those accused, the decision to join the military rather than face trial is far from a straightforward one. A leaked recording obtained by the BBC sheds light on the pressure tactics used by authorities to coerce accused individuals into signing up. In one instance, an investigator is heard encouraging a woman to persuade her husband, who was already sentenced to three years for theft, to enlist instead of facing an additional six years for another crime. The investigator’s casual tone betrays the systemic nature of this policy. “If his request is approved, he will go to war, and we will close the case,” he explains matter-of-factly.
This practice has not only upended the lives of those accused of crimes but has also fundamentally altered the relationship between the Russian state and its citizens. In this new system, guilt or innocence becomes a secondary concern; what matters is the state’s ability to continue the war effort. And for those caught in the crosshairs, it is a cruel choice: risk death on the front lines or endure the uncertainty of a drawn-out legal process that could end in imprisonment.
Consider the case of 18-year-old Yaroslav Lipavsky, who chose to enlist after being accused of inflicting “serious harm to health by a group of persons by prior agreement.” Faced with the possibility of a criminal conviction, Lipavsky saw enlisting as a way to avoid prison and provide for his pregnant girlfriend. Within a week of being deployed to Ukraine, he was killed in action, becoming one of the war’s youngest casualties. His death, while tragic, is emblematic of a broader trend—a generation of young Russians coerced into fighting a war they barely understand, for crimes they may or may not have committed.
A New Normal for Russia’s Legal System?
The introduction of this policy marks a seismic shift in the way Russia’s legal system operates. Olga Romanova, the director of Russia Behind Bars, an NGO that provides legal assistance to detainees, describes how the policy has turned the legal system on its head: “Police can now catch a man over a corpse of someone he has just killed. They tighten the handcuffs, and then the killer says: ‘Oh wait, I want to go on a special military operation,’ and they close the criminal case.”
What was once an extraordinary loophole for convicted criminals has now become a widespread policy applied to anyone facing criminal charges. Lawyers across Russia have confirmed that this has become the new normal, with prosecution and defense alike legally obligated to inform their clients of the option to go to war. For many accused individuals, particularly those without the resources to fight their cases in court, this so-called option can feel more like coercion.
The broadening of the policy to include pre-trial detainees also reflects a legal system in crisis. Russia’s courts, which have long been criticized for their lack of independence and transparency, are now being used as tools of war, with justice deferred indefinitely for those willing to risk their lives on the battlefield.
The ripple effects of this policy are not just felt by the accused. Family members are also drawn into this grim calculus. Andrey Perlov, a 62-year-old former Olympic gold medalist, has been detained for more than six months on embezzlement charges, which he and his family deny. His daughter, Alina, describes how her father has been pressured to enlist in the war effort in exchange for his charges being dropped. Despite his refusal, the pressure continues. “He tries to keep himself cheerful,” Alina says, “but if this goes on, they will break him.”
The Human Cost
The human cost of this policy is staggering. In addition to the lives lost on the battlefield, the policy has profound psychological and social consequences for those who are coerced into enlisting. For those who survive, the trauma of war is compounded by the uncertainty of their legal status. Will their cases be truly dismissed at the end of the war, as promised? Or will they face new charges upon their return?
Moreover, the policy further entrenches a culture of impunity within Russia. By allowing accused criminals to avoid trial in exchange for military service, the state is sending a clear message: loyalty to the regime is more important than adherence to the rule of law. This not only undermines public trust in the justice system but also creates a perverse incentive for individuals to commit crimes, knowing that they can evade punishment by signing up for military service.
This policy also places an enormous burden on Russia’s military. Many of the recruits, particularly those with no prior military experience, are ill-prepared for the realities of combat. The Wagner group’s recruitment of prisoners resulted in staggering casualties, with up to 200 inmates killed in action each day at the height of the Battle of Bakhmut. Now that the Ministry of Defence has taken over recruitment, the losses continue to mount. Payment records analyzed by the BBC and Russian media outlet Mediazona show that over 17,000 prisoners were killed in Ukraine between July 2022 and June 2023 alone.
A War Without End?
As Russia’s war in Ukraine grinds on, this policy of recruiting accused criminals represents a grim new chapter in the conflict. It reflects a regime that is increasingly willing to sacrifice its citizens in pursuit of military victory, regardless of the legal or ethical implications. It also highlights the extent to which the war has permeated every facet of Russian society, from the legal system to the military to the family unit.
For those caught in this new legal-military complex, the future is uncertain. Some may return home, their cases dismissed, but many more will not. The Kremlin’s decision to offer accused criminals the choice of war over justice may provide a temporary solution to its manpower problem, but it comes at a steep cost: the erosion of Russia’s already fragile legal system, the loss of thousands of lives, and the deepening of a conflict that shows no signs of ending anytime soon.
In the end, this policy serves as a stark reminder that in times of war, even the most fundamental principles of justice and humanity can be sacrificed in the name of victory. As Russia continues to push its citizens—convicted or not—onto the battlefield, the question remains: how long can such a system endure before it collapses under the weight of its own moral contradictions?