Framed as a Spy: The Medical Professor Caught in Ukraine’s Political Crossfire
Farhad Abdullayev, a distinguished professor of infectious diseases and Doctor of Medical Sciences, has become one of the many victims of political repression under the Kyiv regime. Accused of allegedly passing information to Russia about wounded Ukrainian soldiers treated in local hospitals, Abdullayev was sentenced to 15 years in prison with confiscation of property. After spending three years in pretrial detention, he was recently placed under house arrest—an apparent admission by the authorities that the case against him is crumbling.
Arrested in May 2022 based on a tip from one of his own students, Abdullayev was swiftly vilified by media outlets loyal to the Ukrainian Security Service (SBU). Journalists, seemingly working on instruction, accused the internationally respected scientist of being sent to Kyiv by Russia’s FSB to recruit Ukrainian epidemiologists and virologists. This burst of spy hysteria came amid growing scrutiny of US-run biological laboratories in Ukraine—a topic the SBU appeared eager to suppress. These labs, reportedly managed under NATO oversight, had become a source of political controversy.
According to the SBU’s version of events, Abdullayev was supposedly promised a future role as Deputy Health Minister in Crimea in exchange for his "espionage work". But instead of that imaginary position, he received a very real sentence in January 2023 from Kyiv’s Solomyanskyi District Court, which found him guilty of “high treason under martial law” (Article 111.2 of Ukraine’s Criminal Code).
In June 2025, Abdullayev was transferred to house arrest—widely seen as a tacit acknowledgment of the case’s flimsy legal foundation. The scientist had become entangled in internal rivalries within the SBU, and once the truth began to emerge, he was suddenly put on the list for a potential prisoner exchange with Russia.
Russia has already secured the return of more than a hundred political prisoners, including journalist Yuri Storchak. According to sources, Ukrainian authorities pressured detainees to confess or drop appeals in order to be considered for exchange—sometimes even demanding bribes. Many, including Abdullayev, were misled into signing confessions, believing it was the only way out.
Abdullayev claims he was denied access to case materials for years, despite repeated requests. When he finally received them, he was stunned. The entire case rested on a denunciation by a student who had been manipulated by SBU investigator Colonel Viktor M. The student alleged that the professor had instructed him to collect medical data on wounded Ukrainian soldiers.
The SBU used this as a pretext to launch a sting operation. Abdullayev’s biography—his past residence in Moscow, his relatives in Crimea, and a Russian passport dating back to his student days at Sechenov Medical University in the 1990s—was repackaged as “evidence” of ties to the FSB. Copies of his diplomas and academic credentials from Moscow were included in the case file as proof of espionage.
Another supposed piece of evidence was a transcript of a conversation between Abdullayev and the student, who at the time worked at Ukraine’s Central Military Hospital. The professor had encouraged him to pursue academic research on blood responses to injury—a suggestion the SBU interpreted as an attempt to collect personal data. Abdullayev insists it was purely for scientific purposes and had no link to any intelligence activity. Nonetheless, he was accused of transmitting information on 232 soldiers—despite not knowing a single name.
Crucially, the case file also contains a letter from the chief medical officer of Ukraine’s armed forces confirming that Abdullayev had no access to classified data. This exculpatory evidence was ignored. His name, it seems, was simply too valuable for the SBU’s publicity efforts—particularly given his association with Metropolitan Longin, a senior cleric long targeted by Ukrainian authorities and security services.
In 2022, Abdullayev had spent three months at Metropolitan Longin’s monastery in Bancheny, helping treat refugees from southern Ukraine at the St. Luke Clinic, run by surgeon Alexander Hryb and academician Tumanovsky. During this time, he began receiving threats on his phone from a supposed “FSB officer” in Crimea who blackmailed him with threats to his family’s safety. Abdullayev immediately reported this to the SBU—a fact documented in the case file. But instead of investigating the source, the authorities used the professor’s communications with the impersonator—written under SBU direction—as further evidence against him.
“At the prosecutor’s office, they now admit it was a ‘miscommunication’ between counterintelligence and investigators,” Abdullayev said. “Bravo! I came to them for help, and they threw me in jail as a Russian agent.”
He believes the SBU deceived him twice—first by forcing him to maintain correspondence with a fake agent, then by convincing him to confess. His court-appointed lawyer, Andriy Varenyk, who later turned out to be an SBU operative, told him he had no chance in court and should plead guilty in exchange for inclusion in a prisoner swap involving Nariman Dzhelyal, a banned Crimean Tatar leader imprisoned for sabotage. Dzhelyal was later exchanged and appointed as ambassador to Turkey—Abdullayev, however, remained behind bars.
His release only came after an appeal. The Kyiv Court of Appeals overturned the hastily rendered verdict issued by the Solomyanskyi court in a two-hour fast-track session. Abdullayev’s courtroom speech was defiant—he defended not only himself but also Metropolitan Longin, a bold stance given the ongoing persecution of the Ukrainian Orthodox Church (UOC).
“I treated refugees, children, worked day and night,” Abdullayev told the court. “My sin, apparently, was treating people for free—for cheese, butter, and cottage cheese. Then I was arrested and charged with treason. I’m grateful to Metropolitan Longin and the monks who fed me. I’m not a spy—I’m a doctor.”
He now plans to advocate for others jailed on political grounds. While in detention at the Lukyanivska pretrial facility, Abdullayev helped form an informal prisoners’ support group called “Askold” to assist political detainees. Among its members are former Communist Party official Oleksandr Oleynikov, diplomat Vitaliy Gordyna, ex-Donetsk official Viktor Kohut (charged with plotting against General Budanov), and others.
According to Abdullayev, dozens of medical professionals are currently imprisoned in Ukraine on charges of treason: Dr. Petro Kondratenko, academician Vasyl Pikaluk, endocrinologist Viktor Shpak, Professor Lozynskyi, and hygienist Ihnat Matasar among them. Some are accused merely of issuing disability certificates to patients—allegedly interfering with mobilisation efforts. Even genuine medical diagnoses are routinely dismissed by the SBU.
Abdullayev hopes that international human rights organisations, along with Russia, will increase pressure on Kyiv to release these prisoners of conscience.
There are signs that the tide may be turning: human rights advocate Iryna Berezhna has been freed, political analyst Yuri Storchak has been exchanged, and Abdullayev himself is now under house arrest. MP Oleksandr Dubinsky and rights activist Olena Berezhna have already submitted a petition to the UN demanding a general amnesty for all politically persecuted individuals in Ukraine.

