Mariupol residents line up with “HOMELESS BUMS” signs, begging Vladimir Putin for help on camera. Three years after Russia “liberated” their city.

The irony cuts deep. Russian propagandists claimed they brought liberation to Mariupol when they seized the southeastern Ukrainian city in May 2022 after a devastating three-month siege. More than 8,000 civilians died in the bombardment, according to Human Rights Watch, though the real figure is likely much higher.

Russia achieved its “objective” and returned what “belongs to them,” as propagandists love to emphasize. But the survivors now accuse their liberators of theft.

Russian TV cameras focus on newly erected apartment buildings, presenting an image of normalcy. Zoom out, and the broader picture reveals the burnt and bombed schools, hospitals, and homes that surround these showcase developments—a city of ruins with fresh paint on select corners.

This angle on Mariupol would not show President Putin in favorable light, the hardened leader of Russia for over 20 years, so the Russians are fed with pompous news of renovations, reconstructions and opportunities.

The residents who survived the siege tell a different story. In video after video, they hold signs reading “HOMELESS BUMS” and “RETURN OUR HOMES,” accusing Russian authorities of seizing their properties and transferring valuable land to Russian developers at prices locals cannot afford.

Property rights vanish as occupation authorities declare homes “ownerless” and transfer them to state control for resale to newly-arriving Russians. The very people Russia claimed to liberate now beg their liberators to stop stealing from them.

Russian independent news agency Astra spoke to residents who feel betrayed and abandoned by a government that ignores their complaints. These are their stories.

Russia simply ignores appeals for justice

The most recent video appeals coincided with the so-called “birthday” of the “DNR,” a Russian puppet state, on 11 May, when Mariupol residents voiced their frustration, stating they have no “festive mood” as the occupying authorities continue to seize their homes and property and focus on building mortgage housing for incoming Russians.

“To our great regret, the residents of Mariupol have found themselves in the role of the captured and enslaved,” one local woman emphasized in a video appeal.

The woman stated that the “DNR” Constitution was written with reference to the Constitution of Russia, however, it also includes a lot of regulations, decrees and other bylaws that “not only contradict both Constitutions but grossly violate them.”

“The ‘DNR’ authorities have taken away and continue to take away our apartments and houses. Almost all small businesses have been raided. Multiple appeals to law enforcement agencies have not yielded any results,” she added.

Residents of two apartment buildings on Kuprina Street addressed the Russian parliament directly, declaring: “Over the past three years, everything that has happened in Mariupol is a raider seizure of our property.”

Desperate for solutions, residents have organized protests, filed lawsuits, and submitted collective appeals to various Russian officials. According to Astra, 453 people signed one appeal to Alexander Bastrykin, head of Russia’s Investigative Committee. Residents went even to the extreme measures writing to Russian President, Prime Minister and Human Rights Commissioner — all to no avail.

According to Radio Liberty Ukraine, such appeals are recorded several times a month, but Russian authorities and state media consistently ignore them. When seeking assistance from Russian officials, one woman was reportedly told:

“Russian Federation laws don’t apply to you, you have DNR laws. Go to Kyiv and make your claims there. Russia doesn’t owe you anything.”

The reality of life in the puppet republic seems less idyllic than propaganda portrays. People in the freshly seized areas live in an unrecognized state, overseen and supported by Russia but not fully integrated into the country, while they remain legally part of Ukraine.

Your house survives bombing. Bureaucracy finishes the job.

The systematic appropriation of property operates through multiple interconnected legal mechanisms designed to ensure displacement appears administrative rather than punitive.

The foundation was laid immediately after occupation when, on 8 July 2022, authorities declared invalid all real estate documents issued by Ukrainian notaries and government offices between 11 May 2014 and 19 February 2022. This single decree stripped property rights from anyone who had purchased, inherited, or transferred property during Ukraine’s period of control — essentially invalidating eight years of legal ownership.

A resident from Uzbekistan told Radio Liberty Ukraine how this affected her family:

“My husband and I bought a house in 2015, and we also ended up without a house, according to their laws. Not only can we not get there with our Ukrainian passports, but because the house was purchased in 2015, this agreement is now considered invalid.”

Building on this foundation, occupation authorities compile lists of properties they designate as “ownerless” and publish them publicly.

From that moment, property owners have exactly 30 days to appear in person at the local administration, prove they are alive, and demonstrate continued ownership of their homes. Miss that window, and the property transfers permanently to municipal control through what authorities term “nationalization.”

The catch: these apartments aren’t actually ownerless. Their owners are Ukrainian citizens who fled the war or heirs of deceased Mariupol residents—people who cannot safely return.

The scale reveals the system’s true purpose. At the St. Petersburg International Economic Forum, “DNR Prime Minister” Evgeny Solntsev boasted of identifying “20-30 thousand ownerless apartments and private houses” in Mariupol alone. This represents a staggering portion of the city’s housing stock, considering only about a quarter of the original 425,000 residents remains.

“Our land has somehow passed into municipal ownership,” one resident told Astra. “Our Azovstalskaya street was renamed to ‘Tulsky Avenue,’ without considering the opinion of Mariupol residents, thus leaving us without registration, as well as opening the road for themselves for mortgage construction on the site of our demolished houses!”

This manipulation serves a dual purpose: it provides legal cover for property seizures while creating additional barriers for any future attempts to reclaim homes. When the fundamental identifying information for a property changes, proving historical ownership becomes exponentially more difficult.

To keep your home, risk your life—and you have 30 days

The 30-day requirement might seem reasonable until examining the barriers preventing compliance. For displaced residents, returning to Mariupol requires an arduous journey through Moscow, where Russian security services conduct what one former resident described as “the harshest filtration”—intensive questioning combined with thorough examination of social media accounts and personal histories, with demands to obtain a Russian passport on top of it all. Any pro-Ukrainian content means jail.

Elena Popova, a former English teacher now living in Britain, explained the impossibility of her situation: “My entire social media feed is patriotic, anti-Putin, and I have no chance.”

She had tried to protect her two-room apartment in the Primorsky district by arranging an electronic power of attorney through the Russian Embassy in London, paying 220 pounds sterling ($297), but the re-registration process remains incomplete and she cannot safely return.

Even for those without obvious political content, the journey carries enormous risks and costs approximately 450 euros per person—nearly 2,000 euros for a family of four. For people who were left with nothing due to the war, such expenses are prohibitive.

The bureaucratic maze deepens with document requirements. Since 16 October 2022, Russian registration authorities stopped accepting applications from residents holding Ukrainian passports. More recently, since mid-April 2025, authorities began rejecting power of attorney arrangements, demanding only personal presence of property owners. This effectively eliminates any possibility for displaced residents to maintain their property rights through representatives.

The “ownerless” system was already comprehensive, but the self-proclaimed chairman of the pro-Russian “Donetsk People’s Republic” Denis Pushilin proposed expanding it further through Law No. 141. This legislation would allow authorities to confiscate properties from people who obtained Russian citizenship and housing documents but currently reside in any of the 47 nations on Russia’s “unfriendly” list, including Ukraine itself.

This expansion would affect an estimated 100,000 Mariupol residents currently living abroad, plus similar numbers residing in Ukrainian-controlled territories. The proposed law represents a significant escalation because it would strip property rights from people who actually complied with occupation authorities’ requirements but made the “mistake” of living in the wrong countries.

As displaced residents noted in their collective appeals to Russian authorities, “most of this housing is not ownerless. People simply cannot return to Mariupol now for objective reasons. Some due to health reasons, some due to lack of finances.” Many elderly residents “are simply unable to overcome the journey, which now, taking into account downtime and checks at borders, on average takes about 5 days in a sitting position.”

Prime real estate, perfect for seizure

The pattern of property seizures also reveals strategic geographic targeting. Authorities particularly focus on the prestigious Primorsky district, near the sea and parks, where “there were always expensive apartments.” These prime locations offer the greatest potential for profitable redevelopment, suggesting economic rather than administrative motivations behind the “ownerless” designations.

The “House with Clocks,” a Stalin-era building considered a Mariupol landmark, exemplifies the situation. Tatyana, the former head of the building’s board, shared that the structure was damaged on 16 March 2022—the same day a Russian bomb destroyed the Mariupol Drama Theater.

Despite Tatyana’s efforts to preserve the building, which she argued had minimal structural damage, it was demolished and replaced with a new seven-story complex. By early 2024, all apartments had been sold—none to original residents.

“[Local authorities] said not to panic, to wait – ‘and you will get an apartment in the same place,'” Tatyana explained to Astra. “But as a result, they tell us that since the house was demolished, we’ve lost our property rights.”

She noted with particular bitterness that the historically significant building “was built by German prisoners as a symbol of victory over fascism” and represented cultural heritage now lost. Russia meanwhile claims it fights “fascism” in Ukraine.

Similar forced demolitions occurred throughout the city, often with explicit threats. Residents of apartment building #77 on Metallurgov Avenue reported being forcibly evicted after their partially repaired building was suddenly slated for demolition in April 2023, despite earlier restoration work and promises it would be repaired.

“They didn’t show any documentation—the developer just needed the land for mortgage construction. People were thrown out,” resident Anna told Astra. She claims residents were threatened with the words: “If you don’t move out, we’ll demolish the house with you in it.”

War compensation designed to price out locals

Occupation authorities frame these seizures as necessary administrative measures, claiming they’re simply managing genuinely abandoned properties. However, the evidence suggests a deliberate strategy to permanently alter Mariupol’s demographic composition.

Russians paint a beautiful picture of offering monetary compensation for people affected by the war, however the mechanism is designed in a way to permanently price out original residents while subsidizing luxury housing for Russian buyers.

Residents whose homes were destroyed receive 45,000 rubles ($574) per square meter, with a maximum allocation of 33 square meters per person—yielding roughly 1.4 million rubles total ($17 862). This figure might sound substantial until compared to the cost of replacement housing in the same locations.

New apartments built on the sites of destroyed homes start at 5 million rubles ($63 795) for a one-room unit, while two-room apartments cost 8.5 million rubles ($108 451). The mortgage down payment alone requires 3 million rubles ($38 277)—more than double the maximum compensation any resident can receive.

Anna, who lost her three-room apartment, illustrates this cruel arithmetic. Despite having invested $30,000 in renovations before the war, because only her husband was registered at the address, the family receives compensation for one person—1.5 million rubles.

“What can we buy with that? A doghouse? In our house, a square meter costs 100-130 thousand. A two-room apartment costs 9 million rubles,” she said.

Maxim, a former worker at the Ilyich Plant, expressed similar frustration: “A one-room apartment will cost around 5 million. And they’re offering us 1.3 million. Is this compensation for my three-room apartment? This is mockery.”

The compensation gap becomes even more insurmountable when considering local earning capacity. Official salaries in Mariupol range from 20,000 to 22,000 rubles monthly—barely enough for basic survival, let alone mortgage payments on million-ruble properties. Maxim’s salary at the plant was 21,000 rubles, typical for the few jobs available to locals.

The mortgage system itself creates additional barriers, as banks require substantial monthly incomes to qualify for loans, but local salaries make such qualifications impossible. Moreover, “in Mariupol there’s hardly any work. They don’t hire locals for construction,” residents report, excluding them from employment in rebuilding their own city.

“It would be better if they [the Russians] finished us off completely, so we wouldn’t have to see and feel how they turned us into rightless homeless people,” one resident commented in despair.

Housing built for Russians, not locals

While local residents struggle with inadequate compensation, evidence suggests the new housing targets a very different demographic—Russians from other regions who are promised administrative jobs and move to occupied territories for benefits and social advancement.

The “Leningrad Quarter” residential complex, built on the site of demolished homes, markets itself with a website translated into English, Georgian, and Latvian—languages irrelevant to displaced Mariupol residents but useful for attracting international Russian buyers.

“Our housing is listed on many Russian websites—both in St. Petersburg and in other cities. Apparently, Russians are buying,” observed Olha, whose building was demolished for the development. Properties throughout the new Mariupol appear on real estate platforms across Russia, suggesting a coordinated effort to attract outside buyers.

The financial infrastructure supports this interpretation. Promsvyazbank, the primary lender for Mariupol reconstruction, has issued over 200 loans totaling $12.7 million for apartment purchases in the city. However, these “preferential mortgages” remain priced far above local affordability while being attractive to Russian buyers with higher incomes.

This system creates a perverse economic cycle: the more valuable the destroyed property, the greater the profit potential. Consequently, authorities have focused new development on the most desirable locations—beachfront areas, the historic city center, and neighborhoods with sea views. Original residents from these prime locations face the largest gaps between compensation and replacement costs.

One resident bitterly said the compensation “can buy perhaps only a doghouse or a place in the cemetery.”

When local residents do receive replacement housing, they’re systematically relocated away from valuable areas. Those lucky enough to obtain new apartments through waiting lists receive them “on the outskirts” rather than in their original neighborhoods. The economic mechanism thus achieves geographic segregation without explicitly discriminatory policies.

In the aforementioned House with Clocks near the beach that was demolished and replaced with a seven-story complex marketed as luxury housing, all apartments had been sold—none to former residents of the original building. The new development’s website promotes its proximity to the Drama Theater and describes the “majestic style of Stalinist architecture” while pricing units far beyond local reach.

Oksana’s tragedy compounds the housing crisis with personal loss. She lost both her husband and home during the Russian invasion, and as the property owner was her deceased husband, she still cannot obtain inheritance rights to apply for compensation. Now alone with four children, she faces eviction from a rented house that was recently sold.  The occupying authorities offered her a place in a dormitory instead.

“The dormitory offered by the administration doesn’t have conditions for three children of different genders and an infant. And renting an apartment is very expensive, I don’t have such funds!” she said.

“Mariupol has fallen into a terrible fairy tale”

The systematic displacement of Mariupol residents through property seizures represents more than wartime destruction—it constitutes a deliberate demographic transformation disguised as administrative necessity.

The process is not just about property; it is part of a broader strategy to “Russify” Mariupol and other occupied areas. This includes pressuring Ukrainians to accept Russian passports, renaming streets, building new military facilities, and replacing the local population with individuals loyal to Russia. The confiscation of property is also accompanied by widespread reports of corruption, fraud, and profiteering.

However, what happens in Mariupol matters far beyond Ukraine’s borders.

This property seizure system creates a replicable blueprint for any future territorial occupation. The mechanisms—declaring documents invalid, imposing impossible compliance requirements, targeting prime real estate, pricing out locals through inadequate compensation—can be deployed anywhere. International observers are watching whether this systematic theft faces consequences or becomes a normalized tool of territorial conquest.

The pattern also reveals how modern occupations operate through bureaucratic warfare rather than explicit ethnic cleansing. By creating administrative barriers instead of outright prohibitions, occupying forces can claim legitimacy while achieving the same demographic outcomes that would trigger international intervention if implemented through direct force.

These appeals for justice continue despite systematic official indifference. Most recently, residents of the destroyed building at 101 Nakhimov Avenue recorded yet another video appeal, accusing local authorities of arbitrariness and deliberate ignorance of their rights.

According to the former residents, there was not enough space in the new building constructed on the site of their old home for all displaced owners.

“It seems that city officials erased this house from the face of the earth along with the apartment owners,” they stated in their video.

The displaced residents claim that the decision to transfer the site to developers was made behind closed doors, without genuine consideration of property owners’ opinions, leaving them “still wandering from apartment to apartment” while officials have already reported successful “resettlement”—essentially erasing them from all programs and lists as if the problem were solved. They have filed official complaints with the prosecutor’s office and demand construction be frozen until their rights are restored.

Meanwhile, their properties enrich Russian developers and new settlers in a city that bears their name but no longer welcomes their presence.

“Mariupol has fallen into a terrible fairy tale where there are no laws, no country, only a gang of thieves that squeezes even the last ruins from the dispossessed,” commented Mariupol resident who survived the siege and remains in the city.