Propaganda lectures instead of games, letters and money collections for Russian soldiers, a ban on mobile phones — the СEMAAT editorial team has already reported on these “features” of Crimean camps. But it turns out that these are not all the charms of children's recreation under occupation.

“Communication session at a specific time” — this is the warning that parents of young campers hear even before the start of the shift. Call mom to share impressions of swimming, games, or competitions immediately? No can do. Write a message to a friend? No. Play your favorite smartphone game? No way. Children's phones are confiscated and returned briefly in the evening. They explain this as a concern for the counselors. Who are just surprised in their turn.

"I heard that they decided to take away our phones for our comfort, because moms call every hour to find out how their children are doing. But first of all, not all mothers are so anxious, and secondly, these calls don't bother us at all," says Alina, a Crimean woman who works as a counselor at a private camp on the South Coast. “Yes, children like to play games or ‘hang out’ on social media, but what can you do? It's the third millennium,” the girl laughs.

In “state” camps, where “less privileged categories of children” vacation, the counselors are less advanced.

“There is a huge shortage of staff there. They hire anyone they can find. We had some alcoholic woman with a hoarse voice. The children were simply afraid of her,” says Oksana, the mother of one of the campers at the Simeiz children's sanatorium.

"Another problem was that no one was organizing activities for the children. No matter how you ask, ‘What did you do?’, the answer is ‘Nothing. We just walked around and sang the anthem.’ At first, I thought she was making it up. But when I came to visit, thirty children were wandering around on their own on the playground, while the drunk counselor was watching videos on TikTok," the woman recalls.

Stories from other children and parents indicate that staff shortages are a systemic problem in Crimean children's institutions. “Every time there was some kind of incident, they lined us all up along the wall in the corridor and yelled at us for an hour, so that I thought they were going to shoot us all against that wall,” recalls 12-year-old Vadim of his recent vacation at a camp near Yevpatoria. The counselors in his group were two second-year students who had come to relax at the seaside and earn some extra money. The girls had neither experience working with children nor the moral readiness to do so. As a result, one of them was taken to the hospital with nervous exhaustion. There was no one to replace her, so the counselor was left alone, and since she couldn't cope, the group was placed under quarantine. Until the end of the shift, the children were locked in the building, deprived of what they had come for - the sea, sun, and fresh air.

Children are often left without beach recreation in Crimean camps. "We applied to inspect the beach in March. But it has not been inspected yet, so it cannot be used. We do not let children go there. But even if the beach is open, we still do not have a lifeguard. There is nowhere to house him on the campgrounds, and the locals are not interested — during the season, there is plenty of other work with much higher pay," admits the director of one of the children's camps in the Leninsky district.

It is easy to do without the sea and normal leisure activities here. But without propaganda - no way. Every morning and evening, the children sing the Russian anthem. They play “Zarnitsa” with toy weapons. To brainwash the children, the camps are regularly visited by “heroes of the SMO,” Moscow priests, and “ideologically like-minded” artists.

“I am Russian” was heard from every iron. I was sick of this Shaman. They played this song about five times at every disco. And the rest of the tracks were rubbish. And then they brought a woman from the police to us, who said that if we secretly listened to any wrong music, she would take us away and put us in a reception centre. Many people were scared," says a camper from the Bakhchisaray district, recounting his experience.

Interaction with the police, paramilitary security, numerous surveillance cameras, and high fences all create the feeling among many teenagers that they are not at a summer camp, but in a correctional facility. 

"We were playing cards on the windowsill at night, and one of them flew out of the window. I quickly climbed down, picked it up, and the girls pulled me back in. They saw it on the cameras, and the next day, they simply nailed the window shut. It was impossible to breathe; it was hot and stuffy, we complained, but they didn't care. The main thing was that we couldn't get out anymore," says a camper at a camp near Sevastopol.

The heat in the rooms, the lack of hot water in the showers, and poor nutrition — most of the parents' complaints are related to the living conditions at the children's camp. Adults are most outraged by the low level of medical care for children. After all, they are sent to camps primarily for health reasons.

The recent incident at Artek, where five children were bitten by a fox but were only sent to the hospital for rabies vaccinations 13 hours later, illustrates how bad the situation is with medicine. Mass poisoning in camps is already commonplace, and the management routinely covers it up, trying to convince parents that it is an isolated case, such as “swallowing water while swimming” or “eating green plums.” 

Crimeans say that children's camps are no exception; they are similar to everything else produced by the occupying authorities here. Poor quality services, staff shortages, complete indifference to customers, and all this behind high fences, accompanied by intimidation and propaganda.