Масі Мустафа Найєм Masi Mustafa Nayyem

* 1984

  • “It was a very strange story when I was getting ready for a combat mission in May. When you're preparing for a combat deployment, it feels like you're getting ready for a date. I first put on my uniform, then the load-bearing belt, strapped on the harness, and I felt my heart rate quicken. I looked at my watch, and my heart rate was normal, around 68-70 beats per minute. Then I continued dressing up, and I felt something, like a certain... Well, I can say it felt like I was going on a date. When I finally put on the body armor and helmet, I sat down and wondered: am I nervous? I asked myself: am I afraid of death there? Am I afraid of being wounded, for example? You know, I really love movies about Vikings, and every time we went out on combat missions, I listened to the soundtrack from 'Vikings', the one from Netflix, called 'Valhalla'. I felt invincible in the sense that... Before that, I asked myself, what if I kill someone again? Will I... Will I have nightmares in my sleep? After all, I did kill a person. A bad person, a good person, but I killed a person. It's not normal. And then I realized, wait, where did I get the idea that spirits would come to me? That's only from Russian movies about how they fought in Afghanistan. Well, honestly, if you watch those movies, God forbid you do, but if you watch a movie about the Afghan War from the Russian perspective, it's about those people who come back, and they're a bit... But I'm in a sacred war, in the sense that I'm on the right side. I'm defending myself, I'm not attacking, I'm not taking someone's life just because I wanted to. I'm defending myself because they came. Don't come here and you won't die. Then I asked myself, am I afraid of dying? No. Because dying isn't scary. You die and that's it, you're gone. What's scary is pain, that was very scary. It's scary that it will hurt. It's scary that I'll lose a leg and won't be able to walk my dog. That was very scary. But at some point, I said to myself, 'Listen, let's be honest. We're not going to the theater where the likelihood of getting injured is small, so let's not pay attention to that.' So if you're in a peaceful city right now and you're thinking about death, it's dramatic, it's giving unnecessary meaning to ordinary events in life. Don't make a drama out of it when you cross the street on a traffic light. If they kill you, then pray to God for a quick death without pain. But in war, you will inevitably be injured. Psychologically or physically, you will definitely be injured. So, I took a deep breath and thought to myself, 'Okay.' It's a good story, you let go, you stop being afraid in the sense that... not because you become foolish and run or anything like that. No. You understand that it's an unnecessary burden that you've been carrying all along. You let go and say, 'Well, it's possible I'll get hurt, it happens. Well then, let's go, let's go'. I put on my backpack, we went out, and since then, I became like... I meditated in the army, constantly argued with my friends, comrades, asking them not to drink Red Bull or Burn in the morning. Why? Because your sugar level goes up, then drops. Your attention drops, meaning you become agitated. If you're level-headed, if you drink water all day, while we're on reconnaissance, you drink water, and if there are no intense bursts of energy, then you're aware enough, you see everything clearly, very focused, and those are beautiful moments. It's meditation, actually. In and of itself.”

  • “After the defense of Kyiv in 2022, I joined... It took a long time for me to pass the screening, but eventually I made it and joined the reconnaissance unit. We underwent intense training for about two weeks. It was tough in the sense that we were constantly shooting and reloading magazines throughout the day. My hands, at least this finger, were covered in blood because those who use the Kalashnikov rifle know how stiff it can be. We worked for about two weeks and then were sent to the Zaporizhzhia direction, where we fought until the end of May. Then we received orders to move to Kyiv, change our weapons, and head to Slovyansk. We went there. In Slovyansk, on the 5th of June 2022, the informant who was supposed to show us the location for setting up a pontoon crossing actually detonated a remotely activated anti-tank mine, essentially betraying us. I was in the vehicle at the time. It was a remotely activated anti-tank mine, and the informant detonated it. My friend was killed on the spot, and my commander is currently in critical condition. I lost an eye and half of my bone. Interestingly, by the way, after I was injured, I was taken away from the scene by several crews, one of which was a crew with Afghan veterans. How did they end up there? You know, I increasingly believe that the entire universe... Parents don't disappear anywhere. They are always there as guardian angels. The doctors said that if they had brought me in 30-40 minutes later, the hematoma would have pressed on my brain, and I wouldn't be as lively as I am now.”

  • “In 2018, there were terrible events. It all started in 2018 when five Chechen individuals, three of whom were citizens of Ukraine, oh, the Russian Federation, attacked my brother [Mustafa Nayyem] in the city center of Kyiv. You know, in the city center, no one helped—they beat him, held him, and beat him. Eventually, when they realized they were attacking a member of parliament, they tried to escape. My brother followed one of them while waiting for the police, and he was knocked down and beaten again. Nevertheless, he did not hit any of them even once. He calmly approached them because he knew violence was not okay. In this case, the prosecution intentionally omitted a document, and thus the court did not consider the totality of the evidence admissible. I was surprised at that time, you know why? Because what about the Ukrainian who reported this case? Russians, who attacked the country, beat his country's member of parliament. And you sell this case? Is there any pride? Okay with money, okay with conscience... But is there any pride for your nation at all? This is about the reality that exists. And in 2018... The next story that happened in 2018 was the third time my friend Serhii Sternenko was attacked, and this time the attackers intended to kill him. He is an activist in Odesa. If the first two times he managed to stop them and report the attackers to the police, the third time they attacked him when he was with his girlfriend, and he inflicted a knife wound on one of the attackers. That person died. We are currently defending him in court. The trial is still ongoing [as of May 2023]. The third horrifying story that occurred in 2018 is about my friend Kateryna Handziuk, who was attacked with sulfuric acid. She was in Kherson. Within the first few seconds, her clothes simply melted off her body. She suffered in the hospital for four months, and on November 4, 2018, she passed away. We, the Miller Law Firm, are still representing her father. The trials are still ongoing, but we have done a lot to hold the masterminds of this crime accountable. In 2018, I realized... By the way, it's quite interesting. If you ask me when I received my lawyer's certificate, I can tell you right away: it was on November 2, two days before Katia's [Handziuk's] death. I remember it very clearly. I understood that law and criminal cases are what destiny forces me to deal with. We then divided the practices within our company and started working on criminal cases. Since then, many things have changed in my life — roles have shifted, and my lifestyle has changed."

  • “Sometime on June 16, 2016, we were urgently told to go to Druzhkivka, which is near Kostiantynivka. We had 24 hours to buy supplies, change clothes, get new weapons, and head to the Avdiivka Industrial Zone. The Avdiivka Industrial Zone is a place where many people lost their lives. My childhood friend was in a battalion there before me, and I knew all the stories from him. When we were in Novhorodske [now New York], the Avdiivka Industrial Zone was to the right of us. Throughout the night, when we had some shooting here, we could see constant flashes there, meaning there was constant shelling. We arrived, washed ourselves, and it was the first time in four months that I had a warm shower. It was wonderful. At night, we drove there. We arrived in Avdiivka, at the industrial zone. We were told that as soon as we arrive, we should immediately go down to the basement, 'Don't get confused, because if you do, anything can happen in an instant.' And we arrived, and I remember that about 30 minutes before reaching the place where we were heading, I could already hear gunfire. The scariest part is that you don't know where to run, where the shots are coming from, what they are shooting with, what is happening in general. We arrived at night, and we quickly ran down because there is no light in war to avoid being detected. We descended into the basement, and there I found a polyfoam board. I laid down on it, essentially spending the next five months lying on it while we were fighting there. From that moment, the war took on a slightly different character. It's embarrassing for me to describe the war in such terms, but it was beautiful there, very textured. There were shattered hangars, and at night, the wind blew, and the sound of metal scraping was audible. If there was shelling or a nearby explosion, the fragments falling on those hangars made a sound like rain. It felt like being in a Western movie, and it was summertime, you know, hot. At that time, I flew every single day to see what was happening around, and then we went on reconnaissance missions. The work was very interesting. Challenging but interesting. From around 6 p.m. until 3 or 4 a.m., it was impossible to leave the positions due to constant shelling. From around 3 or 4 a.m., everyone would go to sleep, and then we would gather for the night. Sometimes a shell or two would land, but then there would be silence again, and so on. There was a situation when... We were not allowed, for example, to shoot at them [the enemy fighters]. It was a very strange war for me. After Afghanistan, what was happening in the industrial zone seemed like child's play, because there they killed people, in Afghanistan. Here, they also killed, but according to some formula — they shoot at you, and only then do you have the right to open fire, to receive permission, and then shoot. Because we had OSCE observers, and we were closely monitored. There was a camera directed towards the Russian side. This camera was monitored by the higher command from the Donetsk Operational-Tactical Group. There were situations when someone from our side started shooting, and they would call us, [ordering us] to stop immediately. We would say, 'But that was a response.' And they would say, 'If you opened fire, it means there was no response.' We would say, 'Well, they were shooting at us.' I remember a conversation with some commander who asked, 'Why do they [fighters] shoot at you?' We would say, 'We don't know.' They asked, 'Are you sure you don't know?' We said, 'Well, maybe because they are poorly brought up, we don't know why they shoot at us.'

  • “I will tell you that considering the path I have taken after childhood, I will tell you that childhood was the simplest moment in life. Those were beautiful moments because, in fact, from those things that I remember... In Afghanistan, we... I lived with my father's mother and my aunt. We lived in Kabul, and there was a war going on at that time. It was 1984-1990. From such vivid moments, for example, I remember that when there were heavy shelling, we would then, in the middle of the night, with my grandmother, you know, as if we were preparing for some carnival. Then we would go out, put a ladder against the wall of the house, climb to the roof, and watch everything burning around us because there was a fire somewhere, such that... And then, in broad daylight, we would walk around, looking for remnants of shells, bullets, and such. We would collect them and then play with them... There were times when there was no food at all, and we would buy dried bread from wealthy people to soak it in tea with sugar, and it was very delicious. Around that time, we invented ice cream, which we made ourselves. We would take snow, sugar, and you would eat it, it was incredibly tasty. In Ukraine, this is impossible because of Chornobyl, and the snow here is not very clean. In Afghanistan, it is wonderful. But you know, from such vivid moments; I remember some, probably two, no — three, three. The first one is kites. It's something incredible. I still... If I were holding that kite in my hands right now, made of that fabric, I think I would cry. Because... What was happening in Afghanistan? We would take, you see... There were whole festivals. That is, five or six courtyards would gather, and we would fly kites, and the winner would be the one that remained in the air. Why so? Because when we flew them, we would then cut their strings. How did it happen? Before flying the kite, we wind this string between the trees. Then we break glass, basically shatter it, throw it into paint, mix it, put on gloves, take the paint in our hand, and smear the string with it. So the string becomes very sharp. If you pull it abruptly, you'll cut your hand. And the one with the stronger string wins. And when you fly them, you have to know how to control the kite's nose... know how to steer it so that... when another kite is flying, you bring it closer and cut its string. This, actually, is a whole ritual. You know, in my childhood, I could only be lured home with the promise of sweet water — just water with sugar — and that they brought and gifted me a kite. I can't express the number of wonderful moments in life when I held a new kite. I remember one very vivid moment. It was when behind our house, there were big, big trees, the sound of trees, the wind was blowing, and no one was home, and I decided to fly this kite. I launched it, and the sky started to darken a bit. It was a moment of catharsis because of the strong wind, and you're holding this kite. There's no one at home. You're scared and it's beautiful. You're little. Well, I was happy. That's the first moment. The second moment — I had an uncle named Semat. He was the eldest in the family. In Afghanistan, every morning, around four in the morning, it seemed, they broadcasted lists of those who died. From the war. The announcer simply read out the surnames. One day, my uncle Semat, he loved me very much, incredibly loved me. We had a tradition. He said, 'I will kiss you right here on the throat, don't let anyone touch this spot at all.' When my father came and tried to kiss me — that was it, panic and hysteria, I cried. What are you doing? We made an agreement, you can't. But Semat, he went to play football that evening, the shelling started, and a fragment hit him in the chin, partially blowing it off. They tried to save him all night, and by morning, he passed away. I remember, I remember very well, we buried him near the mountain. Down there was a cemetery, a graveyard. I remember that I didn't cry. I remember standing by the Afghan flag that was above the grave, watching people cry, unable to understand why, what was happening there. He had given me, a few days before, a set of prayer beads as a gift. And I lost them. Later, when I realized that Semat was gone, I felt very sad that I had lost them. And, you know, it has been... I was five at the time, it has been 33 years since then, and now I have ordered new prayer beads for myself because I have decided to return to meditation, I will talk about it later. So, for the second time in my life, I will have prayer beads that I strongly desire. That was the second moment. The third moment was the hardest, I think. That day was very interesting. I remember very well that we had denim suits. In Afghanistan, denim suits were a rarity in those years. They were very valuable. I remember I had such a denim suit, and we only wore it on special occasions. I was dressed in it, and there was a beautiful inscription, 'United States Army', 'US Army'. Now, when I recall it, I think, it was surreal. Anyway, I was dressed in that suit, and for some reason, they even let me eat more chewing gum than usual. We left the yard and walked to the side... We sat in a taxi, heading somewhere. I felt something was wrong as soon as I stepped out of our yard because my grandmother started crying. And my grandmother, Mahol was her name, she was very... You see, she gave birth to thirteen children during the war — scandals, lack of food, she was very strong. She symbolized a magical woman to me because she did magical things, really. And she was crying. Everyone was afraid of her, even my father, whom I was very scared of, even he was afraid of her. Because God forbid you upset Grandma Mahol in any way. She was crying then, and when they put me in the car, as soon as the doors closed, I started crying uncontrollably because I realized they were taking me away. And we drove, I remember, to the airport. We sat in the car for a long time because they wouldn't let us go. Eventually, they barely managed to persuade them to let us go, and we flew.”

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    Kyiv, 02.04.2022

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„Masi, honestly, what are you fighting for?“

Masi Nayyem during the interview in April 2023
Masi Nayyem during the interview in April 2023
zdroj: Post Bellum Ukraine

Masi Nayyem was born in Kabul on December 21, 1984, during the active phase of the Afghan War, which he remembers as “a life under fire, moments without food, where snow and sugar were ice cream”. At the age of six, he moved to Kyiv, where his father, stepmother, and brother had settled earlier. He graduated from the Law Faculty of the International Solomon University. While studying, he also worked and gained professional experience at the Kozyrna Karta restaurant network. In 2012, he founded the Miller Law Firm. One-third of its activities consist of pro bono legal service. In the past, Miller has defended Ukrainian minister of healthcare Uliana Suprun, civil society activist Serhii Sternenko, and star investigative journalist Denys Bihus. It has also represented the relatives of Kateryna Handziuk, a murdered civil society activist, and killed journalist Pavlo Sheremet. Masi Nayyem is a member of the Armed Forces of Ukraine. He participated in battles for Avdiivka (2016) and in the defense of Kyiv (2022). On June 5, 2022, he tripped a mine while performing a combat mission in Donetsk region and suffered severe injuries. After surgeries and rehabilitation, he continues his military service and engages in public activities. Together with Liubov Halan, he co-founded the Pryncyp human rights initiative, which aims to provide legal assistance to wounded servicemen. He lives in Kyiv.