The Fire That Failed-Part I: The Glazyev Tapes and the Blueprint to steal Odesa
How Russia designed, financed, and coordinated the operation to capture Odesa—in their own words
This is Part I of a two-part investigation into the May 2, 2014 events in Odesa, Ukraine. Part II will document what happened when the operation Glazyev coordinated collapsed into violence—and how investigation failures weaponized forty-eight deaths into propaganda that justified war.
(REMEMBER TO SUPPORT INDEPENDENT JOURNALISM WITH YOUR PAID SUBSCRIPTION TODAY, THANK YOU- CS)
The Adviser
Before the intercepted calls, before the commands to seize regional councils, before the coerced votes and the men grabbed by the scruff of their necks—there was a plan.
The plan did not originate in the streets of Crimea or the squares of Kharkiv or the boulevards of Odesa. It originated in Moscow, in the offices of men whose titles suggested policy advice but whose actions constituted something far more direct. Among these men, one name recurs with remarkable consistency across the documentary record: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev.
Glazyev’s formal position in early 2014 was Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation. The title is deliberately modest. Presidential advisers in Russia occupy an ambiguous space—they are not ministers, they do not command troops, they do not vote in the Duma. They advise. In theory, they study. In practice, as the intercepted communications would reveal, some of them command operations that redraw international borders.
Born in 1961, Glazyev had spent decades in Russian economic and political circles. He held a doctorate in economics, served briefly as Minister for Foreign Economic Relations under Yeltsin, sat in the State Duma, and ran unsuccessfully for president in 2004. By 2012, he had been appointed to Putin’s advisory apparatus, where his portfolio nominally concerned Eurasian integration—the economic and political project designed to bind former Soviet republics to Moscow through customs unions, regulatory harmonization, and, where necessary, pressure.
Ukraine was central to this project. Without Ukraine, Eurasian integration was incomplete—a rump bloc of Central Asian economies and Belarus, lacking the population, industrial base, and symbolic weight that Ukraine would provide. Glazyev understood this. In public statements throughout 2013, he warned of catastrophic consequences should Ukraine sign an Association Agreement with the European Union. He described such a move as an existential threat to Russian interests.
When, in November 2013, Ukrainian President Viktor Yanukovych suspended negotiations with the EU under Russian pressure, protests erupted in Kyiv’s Maidan Nezalezhnosti—Independence Square. Over the following months, what began as a pro-European demonstration transformed into a broader uprising against corruption, police brutality, and authoritarian governance. By late February 2014, after security forces killed over one hundred protesters, Yanukovych fled the country. Ukraine’s parliament voted to remove him from office. A transitional government took power.
Moscow did not recognize this transition. Russian state media described the events as a fascist coup orchestrated by Western intelligence services. Within the Kremlin, contingency planning accelerated. Crimea—home to Russia’s Black Sea Fleet and a population with significant Russian-speaking majorities—became the immediate priority. But Crimea was only the beginning.
The intercepted communications that would later become known as the Glazyev Tapes capture what happened next: the activation of a hybrid warfare apparatus designed to destabilize Ukraine’s southern and eastern regions, manufacture the appearance of popular uprisings, and provide political cover for Russian military intervention. Glazyev was not merely an adviser observing this process. He was, as the recordings demonstrate, issuing orders.
February 27, 2014 — The First Day
Morning: Crimea
The armed seizure of Crimea’s parliament and government buildings began in the early hours of February 27, 2014. Unmarked soldiers—later acknowledged as Russian special forces—occupied key installations while local “self-defense” formations massed outside. By mid-morning, the Crimean parliament had voted, under armed guard and without a proper quorum, to hold a referendum on the region’s status and to appoint a new head of government.
The man installed in that position was Sergey Valeryevich Aksyonov, a Crimea-based political figure with a marginal following and a background that reportedly included connections to organized crime. His party, Russian Unity, had received approximately four percent of the vote in the previous Crimean parliamentary elections. He was not a popular leader brought to power by an uprising. He was a useful instrument placed in position by external force.
But utility required management. The street formations that had provided cover for the military seizure—the so-called self-defense units—were not disciplined soldiers. They were a mix of local activists, Russian nationalists, Cossack paramilitaries, and assorted opportunists. Their loyalty to Aksyonov was uncertain. Their willingness to remain mobilized was not guaranteed.
This was the problem Sergey Glazyev sought to address in a telephone call to Konstantin Fyodorovich Zatulin on the afternoon of February 27.
The Call: Glazyev and Zatulin
Zatulin was a natural interlocutor. A State Duma deputy and director of the Institute of CIS Countries, he had spent decades cultivating networks among Russian-speaking populations in Ukraine, Moldova, and other former Soviet republics. His institute functioned as a coordination hub for what Moscow termed “compatriot” policies—efforts to maintain political and cultural influence over ethnic Russians abroad. Zatulin had been banned from entering Ukraine on multiple occasions. He was not a subtle operator.
The conversation that afternoon was brief but revealing. Glazyev opened with an operational concern:
“Kostya, so they’ve started forming a new executive authority there, as I understand it. Judging by Aksyonov’s statements, some kind of coordination council. It’s important that they don’t forget about our ‘Kmyrik’ there, and about the people who are out in the streets in general—because they don’t trust Aksyonov and could disperse.”
The reference to “Kmyrik” remains partially unclear in the public record, but the broader point was unmistakable: the street forces needed to be institutionally integrated into the new regime, or they would lose cohesion. A crowd that disperses cannot be remobilized on command. Glazyev understood that hybrid warfare depends on maintaining the appearance of popular support even as the actual decisions are made elsewhere.
Zatulin’s response confirmed his role as a hands-on coordinator:
“Well, I’ll tell you that tomorrow early in the morning I’m heading there, so I’ll try to intervene in this process as much as possible.”
Glazyev pressed further:
“We need the guys who are on the streets to delegate their representatives to this executive authority.”
Zatulin acknowledged: “I understand you.”
Glazyev concluded with a warning: “Otherwise, they might give up and disperse. You know, there is that risk.”
The call establishes several facts that would become central to Ukraine’s legal case against Russian officials. First, Glazyev was not passively monitoring events in Crimea—he was actively directing the political organization of the occupation government. Second, a sitting member of the Russian State Duma, Zatulin, was traveling to occupied territory to personally manage the process. Third, the concern was not whether Crimea’s population genuinely supported annexation, but whether the paramilitary street forces could be kept in formation long enough to provide political cover.
This was not an uprising. It was an operation.
Afternoon: Kharkiv and Odesa
But Crimea, by February 27, was already functionally under Russian military control. The more urgent operational challenge lay elsewhere: in the Ukrainian mainland, where no Russian troops had yet appeared and where the infrastructure of destabilization remained incomplete.
Two cities dominated Glazyev’s attention that afternoon: Kharkiv and Odesa.
Kharkiv, Ukraine’s second-largest city, sits near the Russian border in the country’s northeast. Its population includes substantial Russian-speaking communities, and it had historically voted for pro-Russian political parties. In the chaos following Yanukovych’s departure, local elites—many with ties to the ousted president—were uncertain, divided, fearful. This created an opportunity.
Odesa, on the Black Sea coast, was strategically significant for different reasons. A major port city and the administrative center of a region bordering Moldova’s breakaway territory of Transnistria—where Russian troops had been stationed since 1992—Odesa represented a potential land corridor and a symbolic prize. Its capture would demonstrate that Russia’s reach extended far beyond the Crimean peninsula.
In a second call with Zatulin on February 27, Glazyev made clear that the timetable was immediate:
“No, we can’t wait. We need to act immediately. If someone is ready—let them go.”
Zatulin cautioned that available capabilities were limited: “But their capabilities exist mostly on paper…”
Glazyev was undeterred: “Only you should know this… So look—if there are people willing…”
Zatulin confirmed that at minimum, two cities were in play: “At the very least, there is Kharkiv and Odesa.”
The conversation then turned to the specific groups that would serve as instruments. Glazyev asked for names—a request consistent with command authority, not casual interest:
“Well, at the very least they need to be fixed. Can you, by the way, pass their surnames to me?”
Zatulin identified the groups directly:
“Well… this is the one we worked with… this is ‘Oplot’… the same one you met with. And Odesa—that’s ‘Odesa Druzhina.’”
The mention of Oplot is significant. Oplot, which translates roughly as “Stronghold,” was a Kharkiv-based organization that combined martial arts training, nationalist ideology, and paramilitary activity. Its leader, Yevhen Zhylin, would later be killed in Moscow under circumstances that remain disputed. By February 2014, Oplot was already known to Russian intelligence services—and, as this call confirms, to Glazyev personally. The phrase “the same one you met with” indicates prior coordination.
Odesa Druzhina—druzhina being a historical term for a prince’s armed retinue—served a similar function in Odesa: a locally rooted paramilitary network capable of mobilizing crowds and, if necessary, force.
Glazyev sought verification: “Are you sure that ‘Oplot’ is capable?”
Zatulin reported what he had been told: “They say they’re holding people in the square.”
Glazyev reserved judgment: “Alright, I’ll double-check.”
The call concluded with Zatulin noting ongoing resource demands from the groups: “I have partially satisfied them. But they have much bigger appetites, and they constantly agitate around these issues. As for Odesa, I still think the city has a special character…”
The phrase “partially satisfied” points to financing—a subject that would become explicit in a subsequent call. The reference to Odesa’s “special character” suggests awareness that the city would not submit as easily as Crimea. Odesa’s population was diverse, its civic institutions more resilient, its political culture less amenable to external manipulation. It would require sustained effort.
That effort was about to begin.
The Funding Request: Oplot Contacts Glazyev’s Office
Later on February 27, a woman identifying herself as “Tamara” placed a call to the reception office of Sergey Glazyev. She was calling on behalf of Yevhen Zhylin, the leader of Oplot. The purpose was explicit: money.
The receptionist answered: “Reception office of Glazyev. Good afternoon.”
Tamara stated her business: “Hello. My name is Tamara. I am calling from Kharkiv for Sergey Yuryevich on behalf of Yevhen Vladimirovich Zhylin from Oplot. They had a specific discussion there and need to receive an answer. Regarding Kharkiv. Please ask.”
Glazyev took the call personally: “Hello.”
Tamara repeated the request: “Good afternoon, Sergey Yuryevich. My name is Tamara. I am calling on behalf of Yevhen Vladimirovich Zhylin from Kharkiv, from Oplot, regarding the estimate for people. We sent it to Sokolov.”
The reference to an “estimate for people”—a budget for personnel—confirms that Oplot was not a spontaneous civic organization but a funded instrument awaiting payment. The reference to “Sokolov” indicates an established channel through which such requests were processed.
Glazyev’s response was that of a coordinator, not a bystander:
“Yes, I have your details… there are people there, including those connected to him… Well, more precisely, his details were passed on to those who handle this on our side. So they should be contacting you. They will contact him.”
Tamara thanked him and ended the call.
The exchange is brief—barely a minute—but its implications are substantial. The adviser to the President of the Russian Federation was personally involved in routing funding requests from Ukrainian paramilitary organizations. The process was systematic enough that written estimates were being submitted through named intermediaries. The response was not surprise or deflection but matter-of-fact confirmation that the request had been received and forwarded.
By the evening of February 27, 2014, the architecture was in place. Crimea was under military occupation with a puppet government being organized. Kharkiv and Odesa had been identified as the next targets. The paramilitary instruments—Oplot and Odesa Druzhina—had been named, verified, and were awaiting funding. A Russian presidential adviser was coordinating the process from Moscow, while a State Duma deputy prepared to fly to Crimea to personally manage the political consolidation.
The operation was underway.
February 28, 2014 — The Money
The Financing Call: Glazyev and Zatulin
On February 28, 2014, Glazyev and Zatulin spoke again. This conversation would become one of the most damning in the entire collection of intercepted communications—not because it documented violence, but because it documented payment.
Zatulin opened with a status report that moved immediately to financial matters:
“So, this is kind of the main story, the main story—but I want to say something about the other regions. We financed Kharkiv, we financed Odesa.”
The statement is not ambiguous. It is not hypothetical. It is not aspirational. Zatulin, a sitting member of the Russian State Duma, was confirming direct Russian financing of destabilization activities in two major Ukrainian cities. The use of the past tense—”we financed”—indicates that payments had already been made.
Glazyev acknowledged: “Mm-hmm.”
Zatulin continued, describing the expanding scope of requests: “So, we’ve received requests from other regions, but for now I’ve slowed everything down, because I haven’t yet resolved the financial issue. And in the end, I’m left one-on-one with these obligations.”
The phrase “one-on-one with these obligations” suggests that Zatulin had personally fronted money for which he expected reimbursement—either from state funds or from other donors within Russia’s political-economic elite. He elaborated:
“Right now I’ve already paid money to the Cossacks—money that ten people had promised them—but none of them actually gave it. And so on.”
The Cossacks referenced here were likely units affiliated with the various Cossack organizations that operate across southern Russia and Ukraine—paramilitary groups with historical claims to regional identity and a record of involvement in conflicts from Transnistria to Chechnya. By February 2014, they were being mobilized for operations in Ukraine.
Glazyev sought clarification: “So you’re saying they paid out. And who paid it?”
Zatulin’s response carried evident frustration: “No, I paid it. Who paid?” The second sentence was delivered sarcastically, as if to emphasize that the burden had fallen on him alone.
Glazyev confirmed his understanding: “Ah, you paid.”
Zatulin elaborated on the scale: “Of course. Well, the amounts there are small—two thousand, three thousand, sums like that. I currently have four requests. The ones signed by Chaly are for fifty thousand hryvnias; they’re sitting there.”
The reference to “Chaly” requires context. Aleksei Chaly was a Russian-born businessman based in Sevastopol who would, within days, be installed as the “people’s mayor” of that city—another manufactured authority figure placed atop a coerced administration. The fact that funding requests bearing his signature were being processed through Zatulin and Glazyev demonstrates that even Crimea’s emerging leadership was financially dependent on Moscow.
The amounts themselves—two or three thousand hryvnias for small-scale mobilization, fifty thousand for larger operations—were not enormous by the standards of state budgets. But that was precisely the point. Hybrid warfare operates through many small payments rather than traceable large transfers. Cash to Cossacks, stipends to activists, expenses for organizers—the cumulative effect is operational capacity without the audit trail of conventional military spending.
Glazyev’s response was managerial rather than ethical:
“But of course we need to deal with these people. So let’s do it this way: you need to draw up all these cost estimates, and I’ll hand them over—let them work with her on this.”
The instruction to formalize “cost estimates”—smetas in Russian, a term from bureaucratic accounting—marks a transition point. What had begun as improvised payments from Zatulin’s personal resources was being systematized. Someone, referred to only as “her,” would handle the processing. The operation was being institutionalized.
Zatulin concluded with a sardonic observation about the quality of the requests being submitted:
“Because when you come to this guy, the thing is, I don’t know—he looks at you as if you’re planning right now, apparently, to build yourself a third country house, because you’ve drawn it up with your left hand.”
The joke—that some funding estimates looked like personal enrichment schemes rather than operational budgets—reveals an internal awareness of corruption risks. But notably, this concern was about appearances and efficiency, not legality or sovereignty. The underlying project—financing the destabilization of a neighboring state—was not questioned.
By the end of February 28, 2014, the documentary record establishes the following: Russian officials had financed paramilitary and protest activities in Kharkiv and Odesa. A State Duma deputy had personally disbursed funds and was seeking reimbursement. A presidential adviser was coordinating the formalization of these payments. Requests were flowing in from multiple regions. The apparatus was scaling.
And the next morning, everything would escalate.
March 1, 2014 — The Orders
The Authorization
March 1, 2014 was the day the Russian Federation formally authorized war.
That morning, President Vladimir Putin submitted a request to the Federation Council—Russia’s upper legislative chamber—seeking authorization to deploy Russian armed forces on the territory of Ukraine. The request cited the need to protect Russian citizens and compatriots, to defend the Black Sea Fleet, and to normalize the political situation. The Federation Council approved the request unanimously. By afternoon, the legal formality was complete: Russia had given itself permission to invade.
But the intercepted calls from that day reveal that the formality was precisely that—a formality. The operation was already underway. Military units were already moving. And Sergey Glazyev was issuing orders to ensure that the civilian component of the hybrid campaign kept pace with the military one.
The Zaporizhzhia Call: Glazyev and “Anatoliy Petrovich”
The first documented call of the day was placed by Glazyev to an individual identified in Ukrainian prosecutorial materials as “Anatoliy Petrovich”—a Zaporizhzhia-based coordinator with access to Cossack formations and other mobilization capacity. Zaporizhzhia, a major industrial city on the Dnieper River, had not yet seen the kind of unrest visible in Kharkiv. Glazyev was displeased.
“Hello, Anatoliy Petrovich—hi. What’s going on with Zaporizhzhia? Why is it quiet? Where did everyone go? We know for certain that he has about fifteen hundred people. Where are they? Where are the Cossacks?”
The question was not rhetorical. Glazyev expected action, and action was not occurring. He then stated the source of his authority:
“I have an instruction to get everyone moving—to mobilize the people.”
This was not Glazyev freelancing. He was relaying orders from above—from “the leadership,” as he would specify moments later. He continued with tactical detail:
“The people must gather in the squares and demand to appeal to Russia for help against the Banderites.”
The reference to “Banderites”—a derogatory term derived from Stepan Bandera, a controversial Ukrainian nationalist figure from World War II—was standard Russian propaganda vocabulary. Its use here was operational: crowds were to be assembled not merely to protest but to generate specific political speech acts. Appeals to Russia. Requests for protection. The language of intervention.
But appeals were only the beginning. Glazyev outlined the next phase:
“Specially trained people must force the Banderites out of the regional council building, then convene the regional council and create an executive authority.”
The instruction was explicit: trained personnel—not spontaneous protesters—were to storm government buildings, expel existing authorities, and establish alternative structures. This was not civil disobedience. It was a coup template.
Glazyev continued:
“A regional executive committee—transfer executive power to it, subordinate the police to this new executive authority.”
The subordination of police was critical. Without control of local law enforcement, any seizure of government buildings would be temporary—vulnerable to recapture once Ukrainian central authorities organized a response. By integrating police into the new structure, the operation aimed to create facts on the ground that could not be easily reversed.
Glazyev then stated his authority in terms that left no ambiguity:
“I have a direct instruction from the leadership to mobilize people in Ukraine, wherever we can.”
This was not the language of an analyst or academic. It was the language of a commander executing orders. The “leadership” was not specified, but in the Russian governmental context of March 2014, there was only one leadership that mattered: the president and his immediate circle.
Glazyev then revealed the operational context—the reason for urgency:
“So, people need to be brought out into the streets—do it like in Kharkiv, following that model, and as quickly as possible. Because you see, the president has already signed the decree. The operation has begun. They’re already reporting that the military units are moving out. So why are they just sitting there?”
The sequence is critical. Putin had signed the decree. The military was moving. The civilian mobilization was meant to accompany—and politically justify—the military action. Without crowds in the streets demanding Russian intervention, the armed incursion would lack its essential cover story. Glazyev made this explicit:
“We cannot do this by force alone—we use force only to support the people, nothing more. But if there are no people, what kind of support can there be?”
The formulation is revealing. Force was not the last resort; it was the instrument. But it required a popular façade. The people were not the principals—they were the props.
Glazyev concluded with a warning about stakes:
“Listen—tell him that this is extremely serious. This is about the fate of the country, and accordingly, it is about war.”
The word was spoken: war. Not conflict, not tension, not crisis—war. And Glazyev, from his office in Moscow, was issuing orders to make it happen.
The Odesa Escalation: Glazyev and Kirill F.
Later on March 1, Glazyev received a call from a Russian citizen identified as Kirill F., who was coordinating activities in Odesa. The call began with a report:
“Sergey Yuryevich, reporting. There were a lot of people. You can write down forty thousand. The square was completely full.”
Kirill was describing a pro-Russian rally in Odesa—one of several that had been organized across southern and eastern Ukraine in the days following Yanukovych’s departure. Forty thousand was almost certainly an exaggeration, but the claim was intended to demonstrate success.
Kirill continued with news of political theater: “Because of Anton… the most important thing is that he invited the ‘liberators’ of the Crimean Supreme Council to liberate Odesa.”
The reference to “liberators”—the armed groups that had seized Crimea’s parliament—being invited to Odesa was not a spontaneous local demand. It was a scripted request, coordinated in advance, designed to create the appearance of organic calls for Russian intervention.
But Glazyev was not satisfied with rallies and speeches. He wanted institutional capture:
“Well, first of all, this is only the beginning of the process. Because the regional council has not yet convened and has not adopted the necessary decision that it considers the authorities in Kyiv illegitimate, in accordance with the recommendations of the Kharkiv congress…”
The “Kharkiv congress” was a gathering of pro-Russian politicians and activists from Ukraine’s southeast that had taken place on February 22—the day after Yanukovych fled. It had produced declarations rejecting the new government in Kyiv and calling for regional autonomy. Glazyev was treating its “recommendations” as operational directives to be implemented by force if necessary.
Kirill reported resistance: “Yes… they’re afraid, and it’s unclear whether they’ll even gather next week.”
The deputies of the Odesa Regional Council were not cooperating. They understood what was happening. They were frightened.
Glazyev’s response was not to wait:
“That’s exactly the point—you cannot leave. You have to take over the regional council, gather it together, and force it to adopt decisions.”
The instruction could not be clearer. Take over. Gather. Force. This was not persuasion. This was coercion.
Kirill sought clarification on logistics: “Well, for that, several people need to fly in to receive clear instructions. Especially since you told me to ‘bring them.’”
The reference to earlier instructions—”you told me to ‘bring them’”—confirms ongoing coordination. This was not Kirill’s first contact with Glazyev. Channels existed. Orders had been given.
Glazyev responded with impatience, citing parallel successes:
“Listen, the situation is developing. In Kharkiv they’ve already taken the regional council. In Donetsk they’ve taken the regional council. You need to take the regional council and gather the deputies!”
Kharkiv. Donetsk. Odesa was falling behind. The model was clear. The timeline was now.
Kirill acknowledged: “Alright, understood…”
Glazyev pressed further:
“And do not disperse before that. If you gather in a week, the Banderites with the police will gather there and won’t let anyone in.”
The logic was one of momentum. Delay meant defeat. Ukrainian authorities—”Banderites with the police”—would consolidate. Windows of opportunity would close. The seizure had to happen while chaos still reigned.
Kirill asked about scheduling: “So, if tomorrow we bring people for a few hours? You meet them in the morning, and they return back?”
Glazyev rejected the suggestion:
“Listen! Why should they go now? They need to enter the regional council, convene it, adopt a decision, and then send a messenger here—if needed. Or should we send people there?”
The question was operational: should Moscow send additional personnel, or could local assets handle the task? The very framing assumed that Moscow’s involvement was a matter of resource allocation, not principle.
Kirill confirmed understanding: “Understood.”
Glazyev delivered his final instruction:
“Don’t drag this out! You need to make decisions and move to decisive action—like they did in Kharkiv and Donetsk. There, our guys already took the regional councils. Here you must do the same: enter the regional council and gather deputies. Don’t disperse. You have to go further. Otherwise, you talked, dispersed—and this will end in defeat.”
The phrase “our guys” is notable. Glazyev was not describing independent actors. He was describing assets—people under direction, people whose success or failure reflected on the operation as a whole. Odesa was expected to fall into line.
The Denis Call: “Grab Them By the Scruff of the Neck”
The most explicit operational guidance came in a subsequent call between Glazyev and an individual identified only as “Denis” from Odesa. This call provides the clearest documentation of how Moscow expected regional councils to be captured.
Denis opened by stating the situation:
“Hello, Sergei Yuryevich, my name is Denis, I’m from Odesa. We have people who are, in principle, ready to act, but we need some specific, clear, understandable instructions. Who will support us, will we have guarantees that tomorrow a couple of buses won’t arrive here from Kyiv and…”
Denis was asking for assurances. His people were prepared to move, but they feared reprisal. Would Kyiv send reinforcements? Would they be left exposed?
Glazyev’s response placed the operation in its geopolitical context: “So, I can say the following. First of all, our Federation Council is voting right now—has already voted—on the president’s decree on the use of…”
Denis interrupted: “We know, we know.”
Glazyev continued: “You know, right? That’s why this is very serious, and you will be supported. Don’t worry.”
The assurance was direct: military authorization had been granted, support would follow, concerns were unwarranted. Glazyev then outlined the political requirements:
“Second, it is very important for us that there be appeals from people to Putin. Mass appeals, addressed directly to him, asking for protection, to Russia, and so on.”
The appeals were not organic expressions of popular will. They were manufactured justifications for predetermined actions. Glazyev was explicit about this being staged:
“Third… you already have such an appeal at the rally.”
The appeal already existed. It had been prepared. The rally was not generating demands—it was performing them.
Glazyev then turned to institutional capture: “The third point is that decisions by regional councils are very important to us. Therefore, it is important that the regional council convene now. And in order for it to convene, it needs to be ensured—like they did in Kharkiv.”
The Kharkiv model was explicit. Glazyev described what that model entailed:
“In Kharkiv, people went in, threw out all the ‘Banderites,’ found an ammunition depot there, are now dealing with neutralizing it, and the regional council will convene and will also appeal to our president.”
“Threw out all the Banderites”—this was forced expulsion of lawful authorities. “Found an ammunition depot”—this was likely propaganda embellishment, a justification for the seizure. “Will also appeal to our president”—the endpoint was always the same: manufactured requests for Russian intervention.
Glazyev then stated the decision the regional council was expected to adopt:
“Plus a decision by the regional council stating that it does not recognize the Kyiv authorities as legitimate, that this authority is criminal, and so on. This is a very important point—to take control of the regional council in order to give deputies the opportunity to come, and it is also necessary to explain to the deputies that in this situation they are obliged to come and vote.”
The language of “opportunity” was dark irony. Deputies were not being given an opportunity. They were being given a summons backed by force. Glazyev made the consequences explicit:
“Whoever did not come and did not vote is a traitor, a ‘Banderite,’ a fascist, and so on—with all the consequences that implies.”
“All the consequences” was a threat. Deputies who refused to comply would be labeled enemies. In the context of armed men occupying government buildings, such labeling carried implications beyond political stigma.
Glazyev justified the coercion with a claim of democratic legitimacy:
“As people’s deputies, they must take responsibility for the situation in Odesa Oblast. They were elected by the people in order to make decisions.”
The people had elected them to make decisions—but not decisions made at gunpoint. Glazyev was weaponizing the language of democracy against its substance.
He continued with tactical guidance:
“They simply need to be clearly explained that it is their duty to come to the regional council and adopt the appropriate decision. At the same time, of course, they must be protected from pressure by ‘Banderites,’ so that they are confident they are, so to speak, in a safe situation.”
“Protected from pressure”—the phrase inverted reality. The pressure was coming from Moscow’s agents, not from Kyiv. But the framing served a purpose: it allowed coercion to be described as protection.
Glazyev concluded the tactical portion: “Accordingly, all these buildings need to be taken under control.”
Denis sought to clarify timing: “I understand you. Look, then, first—we are ready for this, but we need to understand the time frame. We can organize things today. Do we have time until tomorrow?”
Glazyev’s response established the deadline: “Well, theoretically there is, but it’s better if everything is done by tomorrow morning and the regional council is presented with a fait accompli.”
By morning. The regional council was to wake up to occupation—to a situation in which the only option was compliance.
Denis confirmed the plan:
“So, after taking control, we convene a session of the regional council, right? We invite the deputies and force them to vote?”
Glazyev affirmed: “Yes, yes, yes. You simply bring them in. Just like those… Whoever is hesitating—just grab them by the scruff of the neck and bring them in.”
The phrase “grab them by the scruff of the neck” was not metaphorical. It was an instruction for physical coercion. Deputies who did not wish to participate in the legitimization of their own subjugation were to be forced.
Denis acknowledged: “Alright, I understand. Then we are gathering for an emergency meeting and… Alright, Sergei Yuryevich.”
Glazyev’s final instruction was to maintain communication: “And keep in contact with Kirill.”
The reference confirmed that Kirill F.—the earlier caller—was part of the same network, the same command structure. Odesa’s seizure was being coordinated through multiple channels, all reporting to Moscow.
The Seizure Confirmed: Kaurov Calls Glazyev’s Office
Later on March 1, the operation proceeded to action. A Ukrainian citizen named Valeriy Kaurov—described in prosecutorial materials as a wanted individual—called Glazyev’s reception office to report.
The receptionist answered: “Glazyev’s office, good afternoon.”
Kaurov stated his business directly: “Hello. I need Sergey. Valeriy Kaurov from Odesa. We have entered the regional council. I need Sergey.”
The receptionist put him through to Sergey Tkachuk, identified as Glazyev’s assistant: “Hello.”
Kaurov reported: “Hello, Sergey. A group of activists and I broke into the session. I’m about to speak now.”
The word “broke into”—provalysia in the original Russian—confirmed that the entry was not lawful, not invited, not procedural. Activists had forced their way into a government session.
Tkachuk acknowledged: “Uh-huh, you broke into the session—I understand.”
Kaurov’s next words were urgent: “Help! Help! Help! We need help.”
Tkachuk’s response was operational rather than alarmed: “Help! Help! We’re trying to resolve this operatively right now—we’re making calls.”
Kaurov repeated: “We broke through.”
Tkachuk confirmed receipt: “We have received information that you broke through… good.”
“Good.” The seizure of a Ukrainian government building by armed activists was received as good news by the office of a Russian presidential adviser. The chain of command—orders issued, actions taken, results reported—was complete.
March 3, 2014 — The Blueprint Meets Reality
Two days after Glazyev’s March 1 instructions, the operational blueprint was attempted in Odesa.
On March 3, 2014, between one thousand and three thousand protesters stormed the Odesa Regional State Administration building using batons, sticks, and tear gas. The sequence matched Glazyev’s instructions with precision timing that strains coincidence.
The Ukrainian flag was removed from the building. A Russian tricolor was briefly raised—the visual symbol of territorial capture, the image designed for broadcast to demonstrate that Odesa was following Crimea’s path.
Inside the council chamber, Communist Party deputy Oleksii Albu proposed initiating a referendum on granting “special status” to Odesa region. The language of “special status” was appearing simultaneously across multiple Ukrainian cities in early March 2014—Kharkiv, Zaporizhzhia, Donetsk, Luhansk. Different actors, identical vocabulary, synchronized timing. This was not convergent evolution. This was coordinated messaging.
Albu’s referendum proposal was the political mechanism Glazyev had described: force the regional council to make a decision that delegitimizes Kyiv’s authority and creates legal pretext for Russian intervention. If the Odesa Regional Council had voted to hold a referendum on special status, Moscow could claim legitimate democratic process supported Russian involvement.
The motion was defeated.
Pro-Ukrainian forces—including Euromaidan Self-Defense units and Right Sector members—responded within hours. They dispersed the protesters. The building was retaken. The Ukrainian flag was restored. Anton Davidchenko and his associate Valery Kaurov, who had broken into the presidium during the session, were expelled from the chamber.
Oleksiy Honcharenko, then a city council deputy (later elected to Rada), physically removed Davidchenko, calling him a “provokator” attempting to “derail the session.” The confrontation was captured on video—Honcharenko grabbing Davidchenko, shouting that he had no authority to be in the presidium, pushing him toward the exit while other deputies and security personnel assisted.
The regional council session continued. Instead of voting for Albu’s referendum proposal, deputies adopted a resolution condemning the introduction of Russian troops into Ukraine and affirming that Odesa would not secede. This was not the result Glazyev’s operation required. This was the opposite—elected officials voting to reject the very outcome Moscow was attempting to impose.
March 4, 2014 — The Appeal to Putin, and Silence
The following day, March 4, protesters who had been expelled from the regional administration building issued a public appeal to President Putin asking for protection. This too followed Glazyev’s blueprint. He had told Denis on March 1: “It is very important for us that there are mass appeals to Putin—direct appeals asking for protection.”
The appeal framed the March 3 events as an “attack” on peaceful protesters by nationalist extremists. It claimed Russian-speaking residents of Odesa were under threat. It asked Putin to extend the same protection to Odesa that Russia was providing to Crimea.
This was the hybrid warfare script: create confrontation, declare victimhood, appeal to Moscow, justify intervention. The appeal was designed to provide legal and political pretext—evidence that Odesa’s Russian-speaking population was requesting help, making any subsequent Russian action appear responsive rather than aggressive.
But Moscow did not respond.
No Russian forces deployed to Odesa. No formal recognition of the appeal was issued. No diplomatic demands were made on behalf of Odesa’s protesters.
The silence was revealing. Moscow had just seized Crimea. The Crimean referendum was scheduled for March 16. Russian forces were massing on Ukraine’s eastern border. If Moscow had intended to replicate the Crimean operation in Odesa, this was the moment—public appeal for protection, protests in the streets, regional council in chaos.
Instead: nothing.
The most plausible explanation is that Moscow assessed the March 3 failure as evidence that Odesa was not viable. The operation had been attempted. It had collapsed. Deputies had voted the wrong way. Pro-unity forces had proven capable of resistance. Elite support was absent.
Russia would continue to support Anti-Maidan organizing in Odesa through the Kulikovo Pole camp, but the strategic decision appears to have been made after March 3: Odesa would not become another Crimea, not another Donetsk. The investment would be maintained but not escalated to military intervention.
March 6, 2014 — Engineering the Referendum
By March 6, Crimea was under full Russian military occupation. The question was no longer whether the peninsula would be seized, but how the seizure would be formalized. The instrument chosen was a referendum—a vote that would, in Moscow’s framing, demonstrate popular support for annexation and thereby legitimize what had been accomplished by force.
On that day, Glazyev called Sergey Aksyonov, the installed head of the Crimean occupation government, to discuss the referendum’s formulation.
Glazyev opened with a criticism:
“So, first of all, it seems to me that the referendum questions are formulated unsuccessfully. And this is not only my opinion—we’re thinking about how to phrase them so that they are unambiguously clear to people. Because many people simply will not vote for anything containing the words ‘as part of Ukraine.’”
The concern was not voter confusion but voter resistance. Glazyev understood—correctly—that any referendum option implying continued association with Ukraine would perform poorly. The goal was not to measure opinion but to engineer an outcome.
Aksyonov’s response confirmed that the referendum was a formality: “No, remaining part of Ukraine isn’t even being considered. That is, so to speak, those votes—we don’t expect anyone to vote for Ukraine today.”
There was no uncertainty. The result was predetermined. The only question was presentation.
Aksyonov then revealed the support infrastructure already in place: “It’s just that colleagues are working there already; about five groups have landed there—meaning, your compatriots from various organizations—who brought, among other things, ready-made materials that have been coordinated, as it were, with the State Duma, in terms of the possibility of the State Duma adopting the relevant regulations.”
Five groups of “compatriots” had arrived in Crimea. They had brought pre-prepared legislative and regulatory materials. These materials had been coordinated with the Russian State Duma in advance. The referendum was not a local initiative responding to events. It was a Moscow production, with scripts written before the actors took the stage.
The call encapsulates the nature of Russia’s annexation of Crimea: a military seizure dressed in the costume of self-determination, with the costume designed, tailored, and shipped from Moscow.
March 17, 2014 — The Operation Collapses
On March 17, 2014—the day after Anton Davidchenko led the largest Anti-Maidan demonstration in Odesa—SBU Alpha unit officers raided his organization office on Pushkinska Street and arrested him. He was charged under Article 110 of the Criminal Code (encroachment on territorial integrity and inviolability of Ukraine) and transferred to Kyiv for pre-trial detention.
The arrest removed the operational hub at the moment of maximum mobilization. Glazyev’s blueprint required local implementers with organizing capacity, public credibility, and ability to maintain protest infrastructure over weeks or months. Davidchenko was all of those things. His removal created an organizational vacuum the operation never filled. By late March 2014, the Russian operation to capture Odesa had failed at every level that mattered.
The March 3 seizure collapsed within hours. Deputies voted to affirm Ukrainian sovereignty. The operational coordinator was arrested. Moscow sent no military reinforcement. The manufactured appeals for Russian intervention generated no response from the Kremlin.
The operation had been designed, financed, and coordinated from Moscow with explicit instructions captured on intercepted telephone calls. The Glazyev Tapes document every component of the blueprint: financing confirmed, tactical instructions given, timeline established, local proxies identified, coordination explicit.
But Odesa rejected it.
The Architecture of Catastrophe
The Glazyev Tapes are not complete documentation of Russian hybrid warfare in Ukraine. They are fragments—intercepted communications capturing moments of coordination across a ten-day period in late February and early March 2014. They do not show us everything. But they show us enough.
They show a Russian presidential adviser issuing orders to seize Ukrainian government buildings.
They show a Russian parliamentarian paying Cossacks and paramilitaries.
They show armed groups named, funded, and directed from Moscow.
They show the logic of hybrid warfare: manufacture chaos, exploit it, and call the result a popular uprising.
The operation failed. But the infrastructure remained.
The permanent tent camp at Kulikovo Pole still occupied the square. Weekly rallies still proceeded. The networks Glazyev had coordinated—the financing channels, the activist cadres, the communication systems—persisted even after the strategic objective became unattainable.
And weapons were stockpiled. Molotov cocktails prepared in advance, not improvised during confrontation. Ready for deployment when circumstances required.
On May 2, 2014, that infrastructure would collide with a pro-unity march.
Forty-eight people would die.
The Glazyev Tapes are the architecture of catastrophe. They are the blueprint drawn before the building burned.
→ Part II will document what happened when the operation Glazyev coordinated collapsed into violence—and how investigation failures weaponized forty-eight deaths into propaganda that justified war.
Appendix: The Complete Glazyev Tapes Transcripts
The following are verbatim transcripts of intercepted telephone conversations between Sergey Glazyev and various interlocutors, February 27 - March 6, 2014. Released by Ukrainian Security Service, August 2016.
THE GLAZYEV TAPES
Complete Transcripts
February 27 – March 6, 2014
Primary Source: Ukrainian Prosecutor General / SBU (released 2016)
Secondary Publication: Meduza, 22 August 2016
Materials of Criminal Proceedings:
Evidence of the involvement of representatives of the authorities of the Russian Federation in encroachments upon the territorial integrity of Ukraine and in the unleashing of an aggressive war against Ukraine
Introduction
The Main Military Prosecutor’s Office of the Prosecutor General’s Office of Ukraine has obtained indisputable evidence of the involvement of representatives of the authorities of the Russian Federation in encroachments upon the territorial integrity of Ukraine, the initiation and conduct of an aggressive war against Ukraine, with the aim of changing the borders of its territory.
The key executor in the organization of these crimes was the Advisor to the President of the Russian Federation, Sergei Yuryevich Glazyev.
On 01.03.2014, the Federation Council of the Russian Federation considered the appeal of the President of the Russian Federation, V. V. Putin, and authorized the introduction of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation onto the territory of Ukraine.
The following document contains the complete, verbatim transcripts of all intercepted telephone communications, preserved in their entirety without compression, summary, or editorial modification.
Document 1: Managing the Coup
Glazyev and Zatulin Coordinate Control of Crimea’s New ‘Government’
Date: February 27, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and Konstantin Fyodorovich Zatulin (State Duma Deputy, Director of the Institute of CIS Countries)
Source Video:
Summary: This February 27, 2014 call captures the operational phase of Russia’s seizure of Crimea, just days before the Federation Council formally authorized the use of Russian armed forces in Ukraine. The discussion centers on shaping the emerging power structure in Crimea following the collapse of Ukrainian authority there.
Glazyev explicitly expresses concern that street mobilization groups—the armed and semi-armed “self-defense” formations occupying government buildings—may be sidelined by Sergey Aksyonov, who had just been installed as head of the so-called Crimean government under Russian protection. Glazyev stresses that these groups must be formally represented in the new executive authority to prevent them from dispersing or turning against the political process.
Zatulin confirms that he is traveling to Crimea the next morning to personally intervene in the formation of the new executive authority, underscoring that this was not a spontaneous local uprising but a managed operation involving senior Russian officials.
Complete Transcript:
Sergey Glazyev: Kostya, so they’ve started forming a new executive authority there, as I understand it. Judging by Aksyonov’s statements, some kind of coordination council. It’s important that they don’t forget about our ‘Kmyrik’ there, and about the people who are out in the streets in general—because they don’t trust Aksyonov and could disperse.
Konstantin Zatulin: Well, I’ll tell you that tomorrow early in the morning I’m heading there, so I’ll try to intervene in this process as much as possible.
Sergey Glazyev: We need the guys who are on the streets to delegate their representatives to this executive authority.
Konstantin Zatulin: I understand you.
Sergey Glazyev: Otherwise, they might give up and disperse. You know, there is that risk.
Biographical Note: Konstantin Fyodorovich Zatulin (b. 7 September 1957) is a Russian politician, long-serving member of the State Duma, and director of the Institute of CIS Countries, a Moscow-based organization that functions as a policy and coordination hub for Russian influence operations in the post-Soviet space. From the 1990s onward, Zatulin has been one of the Kremlin’s most consistent civilian operatives advocating the dismantling of Ukrainian sovereignty, the incorporation of Crimea into the Russian Federation, and the use of ethnic-Russian and “compatriot” networks to justify Russian intervention abroad.
Document 2: Engineering the Referendum
Glazyev and Aksyonov Coordinate Crimea’s Exit from Ukraine
Date: March 6, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and Sergey Valeryevich Aksyonov (Installed head of Crimean occupation administration, Ukrainian citizen, currently wanted)
Source Video:
Summary: This call captures a strategic coordination discussion focused on manipulating the legal and political mechanics of the planned Crimean referendum. Glazyev explicitly criticizes the existing referendum questions as poorly formulated, warning that any wording implying continued inclusion “as part of Ukraine” would be rejected by voters. His concern is not voter confusion but voter resistance, indicating an intent to engineer outcomes rather than measure public will.
Aksyonov responds by confirming that remaining within Ukraine is not under consideration at all and that no votes in favor of Ukraine are expected. He further discloses that multiple groups—described as “compatriots” from various organizations—have already arrived on the ground with pre-prepared legislative and regulatory materials coordinated with the Russian State Duma in advance.
Complete Transcript:
Sergey Glazyev: Sergei Valeryevich, good afternoon. This is [name unclear] Glazyev Sergeyevich contacting you, Sergeyevich, thank you. I would like to share a few considerations.
Aksyonov: Yes, yes.
Sergey Glazyev: So, first of all, it seems to me that the referendum questions are formulated unsuccessfully. And this is not only my opinion—we’re thinking about how to phrase them so that they are unambiguously clear to people. Because many people simply will not vote for anything containing the words ‘as part of Ukraine.’
Aksyonov: No, remaining part of Ukraine isn’t even being considered. That is, so to speak, those votes—we don’t expect anyone to vote for Ukraine today. It’s just that colleagues are working there already; about five groups have landed there—meaning, your compatriots from various organizations—who brought, among other things, ready-made materials that have been coordinated, as it were, with the State Duma, in terms of the possibility of the State Duma adopting the relevant regulations.
Biographical Note: Sergey Valeryevich Aksyonov was a Ukrainian citizen at the time of the events described and a Crimea-based political figure who, on 27 February 2014, was installed as the de-facto head of the Crimean occupation administration following the armed seizure of the Crimean parliament by unidentified military personnel. Aksyonov subsequently acted as Moscow’s primary local civilian executor during the takeover of Crimea, coordinating with Russian political operatives and security structures and issuing formal appeals to the Russian Federation for “assistance.” His appointment and actions occurred outside the constitutional framework of Ukraine and under conditions of military coercion; he is currently wanted by Ukrainian authorities for crimes against national security and territorial integrity.
Document 3: Paying for the Uprising
Glazyev and Zatulin Discuss Financing Unrest in Crimea, Kharkiv, and Odesa
Date: February 28, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and Konstantin Fyodorovich Zatulin (State Duma Deputy)
Source Video:
Summary: This phone call captures a moment when Russia’s Crimea operation was already underway and the Kremlin was actively expanding the same playbook into southern and eastern Ukraine. In the conversation, Glazyev and Zatulin discuss financing street mobilization, paramilitary activity, and the seizure of regional councils in Kharkiv, Odesa, and Crimea.
What emerges immediately is that funding for unrest was already being provided, not hypothetically discussed. Zatulin states plainly that “we financed Kharkiv, we financed Odesa,” and that he personally paid money to Cossack groups when promised funds from others did not materialize. The sums discussed range from small cash payments (2,000–3,000 hryvnias) for local mobilization to larger, organized requests—most notably applications signed by Aleksei Chaly for 50,000 hryvnias.
Glazyev’s response is equally revealing. Rather than questioning the legitimacy of funding unrest, he moves immediately to bureaucratizing it: instructing Zatulin to prepare formal cost estimates (”smetas”) so the requests can be passed onward to a designated handler.
Complete Transcript:
Zatulin: So, this is kind of the main story, the main story—but I want to say something about the other regions. We financed Kharkiv, we financed Odesa.
Glazyev: Mm-hmm.
Zatulin: So, we’ve received requests from other regions, but for now I’ve slowed everything down, because I haven’t yet resolved the financial issue. And in the end, I’m left one-on-one with these obligations. Right now I’ve already paid money to the Cossacks—money that ten people had promised them—but none of them actually gave it. And so on.
Glazyev: Mm-hmm.
Zatulin: In general, the financial issue is already starting to become a real nuisance.
Glazyev: So you’re saying they paid out. And who paid it?
Zatulin: No, I paid it. Who paid?
[He responded to the last comment sarcastically, as if to tell Glazyev: who do you think paid?]
Glazyev: Ah, you paid.
Zatulin: Of course. Well, the amounts there are small—two thousand, three thousand, sums like that. I currently have four requests. The ones signed by Chaly are for fifty thousand hryvnias; they’re sitting there.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: But of course we need to deal with these people. So let’s do it this way: you need to draw up all these cost estimates, and I’ll hand them over—let them work with her on this.
Zatulin, K.F.: Because when you come to this guy, the thing is, I don’t know—he looks at you as if you’re planning right now, apparently, to build yourself a third country house, because you’ve drawn it up with your left hand.
[Idiomatic sense: Zatulin is implying that the figures look careless or inflated, as if meant for personal enrichment rather than serious work.]
Document 4: “Mobilize the Streets”
Sergey Glazyev Orders Mass Unrest to Enable Russian Military Intervention
Date: March 1, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and an unidentified person known as “Anatoliy Petrovich” (Zaporizhzhia-based operational coordinator with access to Cossack formations)
Source Video:
Summary: This intercepted telephone call captures Glazyev issuing direct operational instructions to a coordinator inside Ukraine. The conversation takes place after President Vladimir Putin had already secured authorization to deploy Russian armed forces, and explicitly links street mobilization to imminent military movement.
Glazyev orders the rapid mobilization of civilians, including Cossack formations, to occupy public squares, storm regional government buildings, expel Ukrainian authorities, and install alternative executive bodies loyal to Moscow. He describes these actions not as spontaneous protest, but as a coordinated operation modeled on earlier events in Kharkiv, intended to manufacture the appearance of popular demand for Russian “assistance.”
Crucially, Glazyev states that he is acting under direct instruction from the Russian leadership, repeatedly emphasizing that the purpose of mass mobilization is to legitimize and enable military intervention already underway.
Complete Transcript:
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Hello, Anatoliy Petrovich—hi. What’s going on with Zaporizhzhia? Why is it quiet? Where did everyone go? We know for certain that he has about fifteen hundred people. Where are they? Where are the Cossacks?
Glazyev, S.Yu.: I have an instruction to get everyone moving—to mobilize the people. The people must gather in the squares and demand to appeal to Russia for help against the Banderites.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Specially trained people must force the Banderites out of the regional council building, then convene the regional council and create an executive authority.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: A regional executive committee—transfer executive power to it, subordinate the police to this new executive authority.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: I have a direct instruction from the leadership to mobilize people in Ukraine, wherever we can.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: So, people need to be brought out into the streets—do it like in Kharkiv, following that model, and as quickly as possible.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Because you see, the president has already signed the decree. The operation has begun. They’re already reporting that the military units are moving out. So why are they just sitting there?
Glazyev, S.Yu.: We cannot do this by force alone—we use force only to support the people, nothing more. But if there are no people, what kind of support can there be?
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Listen—tell him that this is extremely serious. This is about the fate of the country, and accordingly, it is about war.
Prosecutorial Note: The individual referred to by Glazyev as ‘Anatoliy Petrovich’ appears to have been a Zaporizhzhia-based operational coordinator with access to organized paramilitary manpower, including Cossack formations. Ukrainian prosecutors describe him as an unidentified individual, and no public source conclusively establishes his identity. However, the call demonstrates direct Russian command-and-control over attempted seizures of regional authority.
Document 5: Urgent Coordination for Kharkiv and Odesa
Glazyev and Zatulin Identify Paramilitary Instruments
Date: February 27, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and Konstantin Fyodorovich Zatulin (State Duma Deputy, Director of the Institute of CIS Countries)
Source Video:
Summary: This intercepted telephone call records Glazyev coordinating directly with Zatulin concerning the urgent organization of mass unrest and coordinated street action in Kharkiv and Odesa, with the explicit aim of seizing public spaces and enabling further escalation.
Throughout the call, Glazyev repeatedly emphasizes immediacy, rejecting delay and instructing that any actors who are prepared should act at once. Zatulin identifies specific pro-Russian paramilitary formations—notably “Oplot” in Kharkiv and “Odesa Druzhina” in Odesa—as the operational instruments already in use. He describes these groups as entities “we worked with,” indicating pre-existing coordination.
Glazyev presses Zatulin to verify the actual capabilities of these groups, questioning whether their claimed ability to hold people in the squares is genuine or merely rhetorical. He demands that participants be “fixed”—identified by name—and asks for those names to be passed to him directly, reflecting a command-and-control dynamic.
Complete Transcript:
Glazyev, S.Yu.: No, we can’t wait. We need to act immediately. If someone is ready—let them go.
Zatulin, K.F.: But their capabilities exist mostly on paper…
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Only you should know this… So look—if there are people willing…
Zatulin, K.F.: At the very least, there is Kharkiv and Odesa.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Well, at the very least they need to be fixed. Can you, by the way, pass their surnames to me?
Zatulin, K.F.: Well… this is the one we worked with… this is ‘Oplot’… the same one you met with. And Odesa—that’s ‘Odesa Druzhina.’
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Are you sure that ‘Oplot’ is capable?
Zatulin, K.F.: They say they’re holding people in the square.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Alright, I’ll double-check.
Zatulin, K.F.: I have partially satisfied them. But they have much bigger appetites, and they constantly agitate around these issues. As for Odesa, I still think the city has a special character…
Document 6: Financing Request from Oplot
Direct Contact with Glazyev’s Office
Date: February 27, 2014
Participants: Receptionist at Glazyev’s office, “Tamara” (calling on behalf of Yevhen Zhylin, leader of Oplot), and Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev
Source Video:
Summary: On 27 February 2014, a woman identifying herself as “Tamara”, acting on behalf of Yevhen Zhylin, leader of the pro-Russian armed group Oplot, contacts the reception office of Russian presidential adviser Sergey Glazyev to follow up on a funding request.
Tamara states that an “estimate for people”—a budget request related to personnel—had been sent earlier and that a response is required. Glazyev personally takes the call, confirms that the request has been received and internally routed, and states that the relevant actors on the Russian side will make contact.
The call establishes that Glazyev’s office was directly engaged in coordinating or facilitating financial support for pro-Russian actors operating in Ukraine prior to the overt military invasion.
Complete Transcript:
Receptionist: Reception office of Glazyev. Good afternoon.
Tamara: Hello. My name is Tamara. I am calling from Kharkiv for Sergey Yuryevich on behalf of Yevhen Vladimirovich Zhylin from Oplot. They had a specific discussion there and need to receive an answer. Regarding Kharkiv. Please ask.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Hello.
Tamara: Good afternoon, Sergey Yuryevich. My name is Tamara. I am calling on behalf of Yevhen Vladimirovich Zhylin from Kharkiv, from Oplot, regarding the estimate for people. We sent it to Sokolov.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Yes, I have your details… there are people there, including those connected to him… Well, more precisely, his details were passed on to those who handle this on our side. So they should be contacting you. They will contact him.
Tamara: Alright, thank you very much. Sorry.
Note: Yevhen V. Zhylin was a member of the illegal armed formation “Oplot” and is currently wanted by Ukrainian authorities.
Document 7: Direct Orders to Seize Odesa
Glazyev Escalates the “Russian Spring”
Date: March 1, 2014
Participants: Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev (Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation) and Kirill F. (Russian citizen coordinating actions in Odesa)
Source Video:
Summary: This intercepted telephone conversation documents a direct escalation phase of Russia’s coordinated destabilization campaign in southern Ukraine. Glazyev issues explicit instructions to Kirill F. regarding the forcible seizure of the Odesa Regional Council.
The exchange shows Glazyev pressing for immediate, decisive action modeled on earlier seizures of regional administrations in Kharkiv and Donetsk, warning that delay would allow Ukrainian authorities and police to regain control. He rejects symbolic protest or negotiation, insisting instead on physical occupation of the regional council, coercion of deputies, and the rapid adoption of political decisions declaring Kyiv’s authorities illegitimate.
Complete Transcript:
Kirill F.: Sergey Yuryevich, reporting. There were a lot of people. You can write down forty thousand. The square was completely full. Because of Anton… the most important thing is that he invited the ‘liberators’ of the Crimean Supreme Council to liberate Odesa. So, checkpoints at the entrances to Odesa Oblast…
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Well, first of all, this is only the beginning of the process. Because the regional council has not yet convened and has not adopted the necessary decision that it considers the authorities in Kyiv illegitimate, in accordance with the recommendations of the Kharkiv congress…
Kirill F.: Yes… they’re afraid, and it’s unclear whether they’ll even gather next week.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: That’s exactly the point—you cannot leave. You have to take over the regional council, gather it together, and force it to adopt decisions.
Kirill F.: Well, for that, several people need to fly in to receive clear instructions. Especially since you told me to ‘bring them.’
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Listen, the situation is developing. In Kharkiv they’ve already taken the regional council. In Donetsk they’ve taken the regional council. You need to take the regional council and gather the deputies!
Kirill F.: Alright, understood…
Glazyev, S.Yu.: And do not disperse before that. If you gather in a week, the Banderites with the police will gather there and won’t let anyone in.
Kirill F.: So, if tomorrow we bring people for a few hours? You meet them in the morning, and they return back?
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Listen! Why should they go now? They need to enter the regional council, convene it, adopt a decision, and then send a messenger here—if needed. Or should we send people there?
Kirill F.: Understood.
Glazyev, S.Yu.: Don’t drag this out! You need to make decisions and move to decisive action—like they did in Kharkiv and Donetsk. There, our guys already took the regional councils. Here you must do the same: enter the regional council and gather deputies. Don’t disperse. You have to go further. Otherwise, you talked, dispersed—and this will end in defeat.
Document 8: The Seizure Operation
Detailed Instructions and Real-Time Reporting
Date: March 1, 2014
Source Video:
Summary: This video presents a reconstructed sequence of intercepted telephone conversations documenting direct coordination between Russian presidential adviser Sergey Glazyev and pro-Russian actors involved in the forcible takeover of the Odesa Regional Council. The calls capture real-time guidance, escalation, and reporting during an active attempt to seize regional authority and compel political decisions under coercion.
Across the exchanges, Glazyev and his intermediaries discuss the need to physically control government buildings, force deputies to attend emergency sessions, and ensure votes rejecting Kyiv’s legitimacy. Lawmakers who fail to comply are explicitly labeled “traitors” and threatened with consequences.
Part A: Glazyev Issues Detailed Instructions to Denis
Prosecutorial Header: 01.03.2014 — Glazyev S.Yu., by telephone, gives detailed instructions and issues an order to an unidentified person named Denis for the immediate seizure of the Odesa Regional Council, with the aim of forcing deputies to adopt decisions, including through the use of physical force.
Glazyev S.Yu.: Hello.
Kirill F.: Sergei Yuryevich, I ask you to say a few words to the people who can…
Glazyev S.Yu.: Hello.
Denis: Hello, Sergei Yuryevich, my name is Denis, I’m from Odesa. We have people who are, in principle, ready to act, but we need some specific, clear, understandable instructions. Who will support us, will we have guarantees that tomorrow a couple of buses won’t arrive here from Kyiv and…
Glazyev S.Yu.: So, I can say the following. First of all, our Federation Council is voting right now—has already voted—on the president’s decree on the use of…
Denis: We know, we know.
Glazyev S.Yu.: You know, right? That’s why this is very serious, and you will be supported. Don’t worry. Second, it is very important for us that there be appeals from people to Putin. Mass appeals, addressed directly to him, asking for protection, to Russia, and so on.
Glazyev S.Yu.: Third… you already have such an appeal at the rally. The third point is that decisions by regional councils are very important to us. Therefore, it is important that the regional council convene now. And in order for it to convene, it needs to be ensured—like they did in Kharkiv.
Glazyev S.Yu.: In Kharkiv, people went in, threw out all the ‘Banderites,’ found an ammunition depot there, are now dealing with neutralizing it, and the regional council will convene and will also appeal to our president.
Glazyev S.Yu.: Plus a decision by the regional council stating that it does not recognize the Kyiv authorities as legitimate, that this authority is criminal, and so on. This is a very important point—to take control of the regional council in order to give deputies the opportunity to come, and it is also necessary to explain to the deputies that in this situation they are obliged to come and vote.
Glazyev S.Yu.: Whoever did not come and did not vote is a traitor, a ‘Banderite,’ a fascist, and so on—with all the consequences that implies. As people’s deputies, they must take responsibility for the situation in Odesa Oblast. They were elected by the people in order to make decisions.
Glazyev S.Yu.: They simply need to be clearly explained that it is their duty to come to the regional council and adopt the appropriate decision. At the same time, of course, they must be protected from pressure by ‘Banderites,’ so that they are confident they are, so to speak, in a safe situation. Accordingly, all these buildings need to be taken under control.
Denis: I understand you. Look, then, first—we are ready for this, but we need to understand the time frame. We can organize things today. Do we have time until tomorrow?
Glazyev S.Yu.: Well, theoretically there is, but it’s better if everything is done by tomorrow morning and the regional council is presented with a fait accompli.
Denis: So, after taking control, we convene a session of the regional council, right? We invite the deputies and force them to vote?
Glazyev S.Yu.: Yes, yes, yes. You simply bring them in. Just like those… Whoever is hesitating—just grab them by the scruff of the neck and bring them in.
Denis: Alright, I understand. Then we are gathering for an emergency meeting and… Alright, Sergei Yuryevich.
Glazyev S.Yu.: And keep in contact with Kirill.
Part B: Kaurov Reports the Seizure to Glazyev’s Office
Prosecutorial Header: 01.03.2014 — A citizen of Ukraine, Kaurov V.V. (wanted by authorities), called the reception office of Russian presidential adviser S.Yu. Glazyev and reported the seizure of the Odesa Regional Council and called for the provision of immediate assistance from the Russian Federation.
Reception: Glazyev’s office, good afternoon.
Valeriy K.: Hello. I need Sergey. Valeriy Kaurov from Odesa. We have entered the regional council. I need Sergey.
Reception: One moment.
S. Tkachuk, assistant to S.Yu. Glazyev: Hello.
Valeriy K.: Hello, Sergey. A group of activists and I broke into the session. I’m about to speak now.
S. Tkachuk, assistant to S.Yu. Glazyev: Uh-huh, you broke into the session—I understand.
Valeriy K.: Help! Help! Help! We need help.
S. Tkachuk, assistant to S.Yu. Glazyev: Help! Help! We’re trying to resolve this operatively right now—we’re making calls.
Valeriy K.: We broke through.
S. Tkachuk, assistant to S.Yu. Glazyev: We have received information that you broke through… good.
Document 9: The Legal Reckoning
Ukrainian Prosecutor General’s Formal Suspicion Notices (August 2016)
Based on the evidence collected, on August 8, 2016, the Department for the Investigation of Crimes Against the Foundations of National Security, Peace, Humanity, and International Law of the Main Military Prosecutor’s Office of the Prosecutor General’s Office of Ukraine notified 18 individuals from among representatives of the authorities and leadership of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation of suspicion in the commission of particularly grave crimes against the foundations of Ukraine’s national security, public safety, peace, and international legal order.
Documented Casualties and Damages
As of August 20, 2016, the criminal actions of representatives of the authorities and leadership of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation resulted in:
• Deaths of no fewer than 2,263 servicemen of the Armed Forces of Ukraine and other military formations
• Injuries to no fewer than 8,394 servicemen of the Armed Forces of Ukraine and other military formations
• Material damage to Ukraine in the form of the destruction of military equipment, weapons, and other military property totaling over 1.3 trillion hryvnias (excluding territorial losses)
Delivery of Suspicion Notices
In accordance with the requirements of the Criminal Procedure Code of Ukraine, notifications of suspicion—together with explanations of the procedural rights and obligations of the suspect, as well as summonses for investigative actions—were sent via the European international courier service DHL and by email to the Administration of the President of the Russian Federation.
On August 10, 2016, these documents were received at the suspects’ place of work by an employee of the administration, E.E. Simenevich, including in relation to S. Glazyev, Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation.
(This eliminates grounds for Russia to claim procedural violations by Ukraine during consideration of the case at the International Criminal Court.)
Similarly, written notices of suspicion regarding 18 suspects from among the senior leadership of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, as well as Russian Defense Minister S. Shoigu, were delivered on August 15, 2016 to the Ministry of Defense of the Russian Federation, where they were received by K.V. Izrantseva, an employee of the Ministry.
Investigators of the Main Military Prosecutor’s Office have submitted motions to a Ukrainian court seeking arrest of the aforementioned suspects (currently under consideration).
Complete List of Charged Individuals:
Sergey Yuryevich Glazyev — Adviser to the President of the Russian Federation. Charged under Part 3 of Article 110, Part 2 of Article 28, Article 436, Part 3 of Article 27, Part 2 of Article 28, Part 2 of Article 437 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Yevgenyevich Belaventsev — Former Plenipotentiary Representative of the President of the Russian Federation in the “Crimean Federal District.” Charged under Article 111, Part 5 of Article 27, Part 2 of Article 28, Part 2 of Article 437 of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Sergey Kuzhugetovich Shoigu — Minister of Defense of the Russian Federation, General of the Army. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Dmitry Vitalyevich Bulgakov — Deputy Minister of Defense of the Russian Federation, General of the Army. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Mikhail Osipovich Pankov — Deputy Minister of Defense of the Russian Federation, General of the Army. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Valery Vasilyevich Gerasimov — Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation — First Deputy Minister of Defense, General of the Army. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Mikhail Vladimirovich Bogdanovsky — First Deputy Chief of the General Staff of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Colonel General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Igor Mikhailovich Turchenyuk — Deputy Commander of the Southern Military District of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Lieutenant General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Mikhailovich Fedotenkov — Deputy Commander-in-Chief of the Russian Navy, Vice Admiral. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Alexander Viktorovich Vitko — Commander of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Admiral. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Mikhailovich Nosatov — First Deputy Commander of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Vice Admiral. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Leonidovich Ostrikov — Deputy Commander — Chief of Coastal Forces of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Major General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Sergeyevich Chesnokov — Head of the Combat Training Directorate of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Captain 1st Rank. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Viktor Viktorovich Karpushenko — Deputy Commander of the 810th Marine Brigade of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Lieutenant Colonel. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Viktorovich Tolmachev — Commander of the 41st Missile Ship Brigade of the Black Sea Fleet of the Russian Federation, Captain 1st Rank. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Sergey Yuryevich Kuzovlev — Commander of the 20th Combined Arms Army of the Western Military District of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Major General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Oleg Mikhailovich Tsekov — Commander of the 200th Separate Motor Rifle Pechenga Brigade of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Major General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Mikhail Sergeyevich Zusko — Commander of the 34th Separate Motor Rifle Brigade of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Major General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Yevgeny Vladimirovich Nikiforov — Deputy Commander of the 58th Army of the Southern Military District of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Major General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Andrey Vladimirovich Gurulyov — Commander of the 58th Army of the Southern Military District of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation, Lieutenant General. Charged under multiple articles of the Criminal Code of Ukraine.
Source Documentation
All transcripts in this document are derived from materials released by the Ukrainian Prosecutor General’s Office and the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU) in 2016. But confirmed by corroborating evidence including suspect comments.
Video sources are preserved on YouTube at the URLs indicated for each document.
Secondary publication and additional context was provided by Meduza on 22 August 2016. These materials form part of the evidentiary record in ongoing criminal proceedings under Ukrainian law and have been submitted in connection with international legal processes.
— END OF COMPLETE TRANSCRIPTS —
Chris Sampson is an investigative journalist specializing in hybrid warfare, counterterrorism, and Russian information operations.
Part II of this investigation will be published tomorrow.