Notes from the Front

Last Words

Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny has been in prison since January 2021, and, according to his original sentencing, was due to be released at the end of 2023. However, he has since been tried and convicted of a multitude of other crimes, the latest of which (“extremism”) added 19 years to his sentence.

Below is Navalny’s final declaration in court, the latest in our series of “Last Words” uttered by Russian political prisoners. This courtroom tradition represents one of the last remaining outlets for free speech in Vladimir Putin’s Russia. 

Everyone in Russia knows that people seeking justice in the courtoom are completely defenseless. Their case is hopeless. After all, if the matter has gone to trial, they have no power to wield. Because in a country ruled by a criminal, disputes are resolved through bargaining, power, bribery, deceit, betrayal and other real-life mechanisms rather than any sort of law.

This was brilliantly demonstrated the other day, when men who are declared traitors to the Motherland, who killed several officers of the Russian Army in the morning as an astonished Russia looked on, by dinner had already made a deal with someone about something and gone home, to divide their suitcases of cash amongst themselves. Moreover, these aren’t metaphorical suitcases – they’re real. They were even shown on Russian television.*

Law and justice in Russia were thus once again shown their place. And it’s not a prestigious one.  You definitely won’t find them in court.

Generally speaking, the courtroom has long since become a platform where all a citizen can do is give a speech that has not been “cleared by the organs of state authority” (a phrase repeated hundreds of times in my indictment). Admittedly, some people have been particularly sneaky in exploiting the opportunities afforded by oral arguments and the Last Word, and for them, first, closed trials were devised, followed by closed trials taking place on prison grounds.

Nevertheless, every opportunity must be taken to speak out, and, addressing an audience of eighteen people, seven of whom have covered their faces with black masks, I want to not just explain why I continue to fight against that unscrupulous evil that calls itself “the state power of the Russian Federation,” but also to urge you to do so with me.

Why not? Maybe the reason you’ve put on those masks is that you’re afraid of something human, of the thing inside you that could be reflected on your face if it weren’t covered by a balaclava? For example, the prison warden now standing behind me should know by virtue of his position what kind of judiciary I am facing. And so I explain to him about yet another criminal case and the upcoming trial, about the new looming term. Each time he nods his head, closes his eyes and says: “I don’t understand you and I never will.” I should at least try to explain things to him.

The question of what we should be doing is the main question confronting humankind. After all, everything around us is so complicated and so incomprehensible. People have worn themselves out searching for a formula for doing the right thing, for something to guide their decision-making.

I really like the way our compatriot, Doctor of Philology, Professor [Yuri] Lotman put it. Speaking to students, he once said: “Man is always in an unforeseen situation. And for that he has two legs to stand on: conscience and intellect.”

This is a very wise idea, I think. And a person must rely on both of these legs.

Relying only on conscience is intuitively correct. But abstract morality, which does not take into account human nature and the real world, will degenerate into either stupidity or atrocity, as has happened more than once.

But intelligence without conscience: that is the foundation on which the Russian state currently rests. Initially, this idea seemed logical to the elites. Using oil, gas, and other resources, we will build an unscrupulous, but cunning, modern, rational, ruthless state. We will become richer than the kings of ages past. And we have so much oil that the population will get a little something too. Exploiting the world of democracy’s contradictions and vulnerability, we will become leaders and we will be respected. And if not, then at least we will be feared.

But the same thing happens everywhere. Intellect, unlimited by conscience, whispers: take it, steal. If you are stronger, then your interests are always more important than the rights of others.

Not wanting to rely on the leg of conscience, my Russia made several big leaps forward, pushing aside everyone in the way, but then slipped and collapsed with a crash, wreaking havoc on everything around it. And now it is floundering in a pool of either mud or blood, with broken bones, with a poor, looted population, and lying around them are the tens of thousands who have died in the twenty-first century’s most stupid and senseless war.

But sooner or later, of course, it will rise again. And it is up to us to decide what leg it will stand on in the future.

I do what I think makes sense. Without any drama.

I love Russia. My intellect tells me that it is better to live in a free and prosperous country than in a corrupt and impoverished one. And as I stand here and look at this court, my conscience says that there will be no justice in such a court either for me or for anyone else. A country where people can’t get a fair trial will never be prosperous. So – this is the intellect talking – it would be reasonable and right of me to fight for an independent judiciary, fair elections, to be against corruption, because then I will achieve my goal and be able to live in my free, prosperous Russia.

Perhaps you all think I am crazy and you are all normal – after all, you can’t swim against the current. But I think you are out of your minds. You have just one God-given life, and how did you decide to spend it? By draping yourselves in robes and putting these black masks over your faces and protecting those who are robbing you as well? By helping someone who has 10 palaces build an eleventh?

For a new person to come into the world, two people must agree in advance that they will make some kind of sacrifice. Labor pains must be endured for the sake of that new person, and then there will be sleepless nights, and a dog will have to come into the family, and that dog will have to be walked.

And in the same way, for a new, free, rich country to be born, it must have parents. People who want it. People who have been waiting for it and are ready to make certain sacrifices for the sake of its birth. Knowing that it will be worth it. They don’t all have to go to jail. It’s more like a lottery, and I drew that ticket. But making some kind of sacrifice or effort – everyone must do that.

I am accused of inciting hatred towards representatives of the authorities and security services, toward judges and members of the United Russia party. No, I’m not inciting hatred. I just remember that a person has two legs: conscience and intellect. And when you get tired of slipping and falling with this government, bumping your head and damaging your future, when you finally understand that the rejection of conscience will eventually lead to the disappearance of your intellect, then maybe you will stand on those two legs that everyone should stand on, and together we can bring closer the Beautiful Russia of the Future.

navalny.com

* Here, Navalny is talking about the Prigozhin Mutiny.

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Foreign Correspondence

The free press has been under fire in Russia since long before Moscow invaded Ukraine. Russian journalists have been jailed or labeled as “foreign agents” for writing critical articles. Journalists working in Russia for foreign media outlets, which necessitates accreditation with the foreign ministry, used to feel more-or-less secure – after all, expelling or jailing a member of the foreign press damages a country’s reputation.

That sense of security disappeared with the jailing earlier this year of US correspondent Evan Gershkovich on trumped-up espionage charges. Moscow sent a signal that terrified the community of foreign journalists, leading many to pack up and leave, not wanting to risk their freedom. What does it feel like to work as a journalist in Russia today? One foreign correspondent shares their impressions with Russian Life. We are protecting their anonymity at their request.

A few weeks after the war started, a man approached me in the street and told me that I was being followed, that I should stop writing about Ukraine, otherwise I would be detained and tortured. At first, I felt the urge to flee the country, but then I calmed down and convinced myself they were just empty threats. After a while, I even got used to the calls from strangers, the weird messages on social media. “It’s part of the job,” I told myself.

My passion for journalism has always been connected with my love for Russia. I traveled to St. Petersburg for the first time over ten years ago, when I was an undergraduate student of Russian literature. I quickly fell in love with the language, the people, with St. Petersburg’s frozen canals and the gray soviet buildings in the suburbs. Eventually, I moved to Russia to live and work. Although my job was initially not in journalism, a journalism degree and passion for the profession led me to occasionally write about Russian politics.

Then came the morning of February 24, 2022, when the unthinkable happened: Russia invaded Ukraine. The days and weeks that followed were surreal. Protesters in the streets were getting beaten up and detained, Putin dropped nuclear threats, the Russian army was approaching Kyiv. Many friends and colleagues panicked and left in the following weeks: some did so for political reasons; others were worried for their safety. My family and friends were asking me to come back home. But I decided to stay. My life was here: my apartment, my neighborhood, my girlfriend. And, despite the tragedy unfolding in Ukraine, I felt that I wanted to witness the historical events first-hand. I was shocked to see how quickly Russia was embracing the reality of war. Z signs adorned billboards in the streets and in the metro, the propaganda on television was shameless. I was disappointed to see how easy it was for many Russians to accept these things, how many supported the invasion, and how many thought it was a justified reaction to an “existential threat” coming from the West.

As sometimes happens in times of crisis, a professional opportunity arose. A major national newspaper was looking for a Russia correspondent after the previous one had left the country. I felt that this was my moment and my mission: to tell the world the story of this country in its darkest moment. I applied for media accreditation at the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, becoming a journalist from an “unfriendly country.” Since then, I have been able to travel multiple times to the border with Ukraine where, away from the bubbles of Moscow and St. Petersburg, the Russian people were paying the highest price for the Kremlin’s decision to invade its neighbor. Their houses were being shelled, many of them were leaving as refugees. And yet, I was amazed to see how only a few openly blamed the government for what was happening to them. I came to understand that talking about war-related topics with foreign journalists has become dangerous. Cases of people accused of discrediting the armed forces or even high treason have become common since the war started. When I first arrived in Russia, it was a mildly authoritarian regime, now the country was quickly turning into a repressive dictatorship. And I started feeling it on my own skin too.

When Wall Street Journal reporter Evan Gershkovich was arrested and accused of espionage, I was back at home for the holidays. I remembered Evan: we briefly met a few years earlier during the World Cup, in 2018, when Russia was showing its best face to the world. It seemed impossible then that the country would go down this path just a few years later. Hearing the news of Evan’s arrest was the first time I had the feeling it wasn’t safe to go back. That no one, not even foreign journalists, were safe anymore. But I did: Russia is my home; I couldn’t not return there. I continued covering the war, the Wagner mutiny, and then Yevgeny Prigozhin’s mysterious death. Much remains the same in Russia: people still flood the bars and the restaurants during the weekends. The nightlife, the parties, the walks with my girlfriend in the park, the meetings with the few friends left haven’t changed. Sometimes I feel the war is far away and that it is actually possible to have a normal life as a journalist here. But other times it is clear to me that this is an illusion.

My worst concerns were confirmed some time ago when I was summoned to the police station. The officer asked me questions about my journalistic activity. He said he didn’t like the way I wrote about the war in Ukraine. That they could charge me of discrediting the Russian army. I replied that I wasn’t an enemy of Russia. That the only thing I wanted was to continue doing my job in the country I loved. When I left the station, I felt incredibly sad: I thought that my life in Russia was becoming incompatible with my profession. That if I wanted to continue living here, I had to stop writing. Since then, I haven’t stopped working, although now I use a pseudonym when I cover sensitive topics. Still, I feel every day could be the last for me here. I could have my documents revoked, be kicked out, or maybe something worse, it’s difficult to say. At the same time, I feel that every day spent in Russia is even more valuable now. And the canals of St. Petersburg, the gray soviet buildings in the suburbs, look even more beautiful than when I saw them for the first time, over ten years ago.

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Russian schools have spent over R240 million since the beginning of 2023 on guns, grenades, and other military paraphernalia used in newly-introduced basic war training lessons. This greatly exceeds expenses on supplies for other lessons. For example only R64 million went toward equipment for chemistry lessons and just R32 million was spent on computers.

Estimated civilians killed in Russia’s War on Ukraine to date:
9,614

Estimated military personnel killed (all sides):
200,000

Persons crossing border out of Ukraine since February 24, 2022:
27.1 million

Persons crossing the border into Ukraine:
17.4 million

US military aid to Ukraine since the war began:
$46.56 billion

Sources: Moscow Times, Statista.com, BBC

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One for the Books

The new 11th grade history book for Russian schoolchildren (written by Russia’s former Culture Minister Vladimir Medinsky) has stirred up significant debate and criticism. But how does it compare to previous textbooks? Kommersant compared the newly-published Medinsky version differs from the one introduced in 2010, the lead author of which was professor Andrei Levandovsky, who has published multiple history textbooks for middle and high school students.