The hopeless fight for confiscated property in Ukraine’s occupied territories
When Olena (surname changed) fled Melitopol in southern Ukraine in early March 2022, she packed clothes for her two children, locked the front door of their two-story home, and left a spare key with a trusted neighbour. “No one knew how the war would unfold”, she says. “But it was out of question for me and my family to live under the Russian rule.” Her husband was killed in 2016 in the Donbas war and she knew that the occupation authorities would treat her as a “hostile element.”
European Union 2026
This feeling was confirmed during the countless hours she was interrogated by Russian officers in a so-called “filtration camp” set up at the crossing point on the frontline. “They tried to humiliate me for being Ukrainian but I did not break”, she recalls. “In the end, they stole my laptop and some family photos and kicked me out.” She moved to Kyiv and rents a small apartment since. She keeps all ownership-related documents with her. She even kept on paying her utility bills across the frontline in order to retain a direct connection to her property.
“It was all in vain”, she acknowledges. “They took my house from me anyway.” Her trusted neighbour confirms that the house still stands. The garden is maintained and lights come on at night. Yet he can no longer use his spare key to go and check on the property. The lock was changed sometime in 2024. Another family now lives there. “The Russian occupiers didn't destroy my house,” Olena says. “They erased the fact that it was ever mine.” She stopped paying her utility bills sometime in mid-2024.
Olena’s story is not unique. Across the occupied territories, the Russian authorities have been implementing a thorough policy of asset confiscation and population resettlement. According to the head of Russia's Federal Service for State Registration, Oleg Skufinskiy, about 550,000 properties were considered as "ownerless" in the occupied Ukrainian territories as of August 2025.
This arbitrary policy is part of Vladimir Putin’s ambition to punish Ukrainian landowners who ran away from his invasion army and to reward either the ones who stayed or settlers from Russia. His March 2025 decree forced every local resident to obtain the Russian citizenship by 10th September 2025. The ones who do not comply might lose access to essential services such as healthcare, employment and property. They might even face deportation.
Adding insult to injury, a December 2025 law allows occupation authorities to transfer properties to municipal ownership without a court decision. The law states that only Russian citizens may register property in the occupied territories. In order to reclaim their homes by the 1st July 2026 deadline, exiled Ukrainian landowners had to travel back to their occupied cities and to ask for Russian passports. “This is an open invitation to jail”, Olena says.
According to Anatoliy Kolesnikov, a lawyer with the Ukrainian relief foundation East SOS, many displaced Ukrainians cannot safely return to defend their ownership. Some have reportedly been denied entry into occupied areas, while others fear detention, interrogation, or prosecution if they attempt to cross into Russian-controlled territory. The Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group also warns that accepting a Russian passport to preserve property can expose Ukrainians to additional legal and security risks. “In any case, they already gave my house away,” Olena despairs. “They will never give it back to me willingly.”
Researchers argue that property redistribution is occurring alongside policies encouraging Russian citizens to relocate to occupied Ukrainian territories. Preferential mortgages, higher salaries, and access to housing have created incentives for settlement. According to Russia’s Vice-Prime Minister Marat Khusnullin’s own estimate, Russians reportedly account for 70 percent of all housing purchases in what he describes as “Russia’s new regions”.
The Russian-led confiscation of assets pertains to businesses, too. Before the full-scale invasion, Bohdan (surname changed) operated a small automotive repair shop in the Kherson region. He employed up to six mechanics. When fighting intensified, he evacuated with his family, expecting to return after the front stabilised. He now lives in Lviv, in Western Ukraine. On his phone, he witnessed how his repair shop was simply taken over by a shady business group.
“The sign with my name disappeared first,” Bohdan recalls. “Then they painted the building. Later I was told the business was registered under someone else.” His tools, equipment, and years of investment remained inside. "They didn't just take a building," he says. "They took fifteen years of my work.” He found some work in a garage in Lviv. Yet he does not feel as entrepreneurial as before. “What if the Russians come here?”, he asks. “I will lose it all again. So I don’t want to try as hard as before…”
The Kremlin’s campaign to fill the occupied territories of Ukraine with Russian citizens, deliberately reshaping demographic reality, is meant to make those territories appear inherently Russian and to complicate any future reintegration into Ukraine. This is a clear violation of the Hague convention that requires occupying powers to respect private ownership and prohibits confiscation of civilian property.
Ukraine maintains that Russian legislation legalising the seizure and redistribution of homes has no legal validity. It has started a number of initiatives to document cases of unlawful property confiscation while encouraging displaced residents to preserve evidence of ownership. Namely, the Register of Damage Caused by the Aggression of the Russian Federation against Ukraine has already received hundreds of thousands of claims from individuals documenting losses resulting from the war, including destroyed or confiscated housing. The register is expected to support a future international compensation process.
Nonetheless, complications are foreseeable. Destroyed buildings may be rebuilt. However, contested ownership may take decades to resolve. Properties transferred under occupation could change hands multiple times, creating overlapping claims between original Ukrainian owners and subsequent occupants.
“I will never sleep in my home again,” Olena concedes. She keeps her keys as a testament to her lost door, knowing perfectly well that the lock was changed. She shows pictures of her life in the house, wondering whether the markings on the corridor’s wall that recorded her children's heights over the years still exist. "It's not only property that they stole from me and my family," she says. "It's our life."