Following up on yesterday’s interview with a former convict from a Russian penal colony, you can read about how things are organised in Germany. It’s a system based on cell-type prisons. I found it fascinating and continue to dream about how we will build the Beautiful Prison of the Future. A link to the interesting material is here.
Political prisoner Aleksandr Dotsenko died in hospital at 4 p.m. after suffering a heart attack, his support group reported.
He suffered a massive heart attack on 12 February and was subsequently hospitalised. He regained consciousness on 17 February, but his condition deteriorated on 18 February, and he was placed in an induced coma again.
On 24 January 2024, Dotsenko and his wife Anastasia Diudyaeva had been detained and the next day remanded in custody on charges of making public calls to engage in terrorism. The investigative authorities claimed that in December 2023, the couple placed several postcards with poems ‘praising Stepan Bandera’ and ‘calling for retribution against Russian President Vladimir Putin’ in the Lenta supermarket in St. Petersburg. In particular, it is alleged that the poem in Ukrainian contained the line ‘Putyanyaku na gilyaku!’ (Putin to the gallows!).
And Mikhail’s first comment under the post: ‘Thank you especially for the definition “BOYfriend”. It’s nice…’
20 February 2022
A job was planned for today. Aisha Magamedovna Astamirova came to help us, and together with Sergei Karvatskiy, we cleared out an abandoned storage room to turn it into a wardrobe… We found a pile of old papers and a bottle of wine from the past. I was sitting at the computer, compiling working documents about the prison, and out of the corner of my eye I saw the news and read sadly: Misha [Mikhail Kriger] had been detained on Pushkin Square with a poster against the war, and he is her boyfriend.
‘I’m sorry, Aisha, but he’s been detained…’
‘Well, it’s not your fault,’ Aisha shrugged. ‘I know what it’s all about.’
You stop by at the Turkish shop after the gym before heading to work, throw some almost real bagels and some ayran yoghurt drink in the boot, suddenly see this by the dirty kerb… and freeze, you fell confused, damn it: is it spring?.. warmth?.. hope?..
And then, like an ice-cold shower, you remember: it’s not yet spring. it’s not even 24 February yet. And February never ends. The shortest month, the harshest. The most endless.
This is going to be an unconventional post, which may contain – as is stipulated by various ethical codes – camouflaged insults, baseless accusations, and undue arrogance (just kidding), so those who don’t like the sound of that should ‘look away’ now. But I’m going to write this all the same, because it’s something of a personal bugbear – although I see that’s not the case for all that many people.
Every day, in the morning before work or in the evening, when watching the news renders me entirely incredulous, I ask myself: Where did we go wrong? Could we have done more to force Putin to leave, to prevent war?
Meanwhile many ask the question: why are we – as Russians – being treated so unfairly? Those who left the country say our passport has become a laughingstock, while those who stayed say they’re demanding Putin be ousted. But this is impossible.
I don’t know if it was ever possible. But it was definitely more possible before than it is now. And what, people really worked hard at it? (I’m not talking about those who really did try – all praise and respect to them. But I remember those pickets, the rallies in Moscow. How many people came? Fifty or so…Steady on! A hundred? Now we’re talking!
The war in Chechnya was of little interest to anyone. Alright. But then, at least in some way, the gradual tightening of the screws affected everyone little by little?
And three hundred people would show up at the rallies. Sometimes a thousand. Okay, we organized concerts, we convinced a pop group to climb onto a truck, and well-known performers spoke and sang in support of political prisoners at the concerts… So that people could get involved at least once every six months, learn that these favourite singers, it turns out, also share this same position…That there’s no shame in doing so.
Well, no, you could go to a concert, but on other days it was still marginal, borderline, despised. Being an activist wasn’t ‘all that’. Wasting time – and even money – running around the streets was something only losers did – people looked down upon you. And it’s understandable: everyone wanted to live their own little normal life. And for things to be done properly, not haphazardly…And for those leaflet-wielding people not to pester them on the streets.
I was unenthusiastic about the anti-corruption efforts of Aleksei Navalny, the politician assassinated by Putin and his regime. I’ll explain why… In my view, they exploited lower-level reflexes than, for example, demands not to kill Chechens. Their messaging was clear: ‘you’ve been robbed by rogue officials’. And yet I’ve always thought being empathetic, and say, not harming people, was more important. But these approaches were successful. Everyone watched videos about corruption. Even the prison service officers discussed new videos about corruption with me in the smoking room. And there were Navalny’s headquarters, and thousands of people got involved in the movement. Thousands? Well, yes. Out of millions.
There were peaks, surges, decline… The “White Spring,” The protests on Sakharov and Bolotnaya squares… The expectant gazes of journalists at the protests held on the “31st of the month” [after Article 31 of the Constitution guaranteeing freedom of assembly- ed] – come on, at least stir something up, get involved, draw us a picture, otherwise it’s boring, there’s nothing to write about…
Damn, I’m not a fan of picketing either… But where were all of you, my compatriots? (I’m referring of course to those who weren’t there. Respect and thanks to those who were. There are a lot of you in my feed). But really, at least some people did things, maybe dropped a small amount of money into Misha Kriger’s collection tin – we’ve got to help the prisoners after all. All we want is for things to just be normal, calm – without any upheaval. We’re only rooting for all the good things in our hearts, when we live for our families, give lectures, make discoveries, work at factories and plants, and reflect on the past.
But most people took no part at all. Let’s be honest. Even those who were generally supportive hoped they could get by without him.
Does this mean Russians deserved what happened to them? (Those who know what has happened, of course.) In part, I think so. I don’t deny that in any country, people want to live peacefully, comfortably and prosperously, although in states with stronger democratic traditions, protest movements aren’t as marginalized. Well, Russian history turned out the way it did.
And yet people write ‘why is this happening to me? I wrote online that I’m for peace. Why is this happening to me? I always listened to Echo of Moscow. Why is this happening to me? I was simply studying cinema, history, physics, and anthropology.’ I want to ask them, ‘And you’re convinced that was enough? You don’t think perhaps you should have done something more?’
Personally, I ask myself this question every day. But I see few similar reflections on this topic online. Far fewer than the debates between those who ‘left’ and those who ‘stayed’.
Here’s another story from prison that didn’t make it into print. It was four years ago.
The hospital’s Intensive Therapy Unit (for resuscitation and palliative care) is located on the fifth floor, up in the sky. An ill prisoner, Prisoner A, was taken there with final-stage cancer, cancer which I had written about and had been requesting help for since October, but he was only paid attention to after having seriously deteriorated. He was now dying, (apologies for being so blunt), and we now had to wait ten days for the biopsy results from Cancer Clinical Centre No.1. We are hoping they’ll meet us halfway – at five days – owing to the seriousness of his situation. Then there will be a special operation to get him released.
…Prisoner A’s tumour was spreading all over, including the brain, his haemoglobin levels were very low and while temporarily stemmed, the threat of haemorrhoidal bleeding was constant. He was bed-ridden and looked like a skeleton, he kept saying to me quietly: ‘I can’t get up, I feel good lying down, calm… It’s hard to sit up, never mind walk! Thank you for letting me lie here…’
‘Do you read?’
‘Yes, but I get tired quickly.’
‘Listen, can you eat?’
‘Not much… I’ve got a piece of chicken… but it’s hard to eat… And the toilet afterwards, I can’t… there’s blood… I’m scared. If only for some fruit! Some apples!’
Alisa asks: ‘You want some apples? Why don’t you just order some online? You have money on your account, your wife must have transferred some from Homieĺ?’
A.: ‘An order… yes, I thought… I had done… but when it arrived, I was in the civilian hospital. And I never got it.’
Alisa: ‘So order some more!’
‘But when will I get it… and writing… I can barely write.’
‘No question! Comrade Senior Lieutenant! Let’s have an order form, so we can see it! Tell us what you want, I’ll write it myself. Unfortunately, there are no prices here, but you just dictate, we’ll get it sorted!’
‘Two kilos of apples.’
‘Yes.’
‘One kilo of pears… rusks… four packets of cigarettes…’
Alisa in horror: ‘You’re still smoking? It’s bad for you!’
‘Of course I’m not. I’m going to give them out. The apples too…’
‘What cigarettes do you want?’
‘I don’t know, I don’t know anything about them.’
Other staff said, ‘Get Parliament!’
Alisa sarcastically: ‘Well, you’re going to be very popular among the prison officers! Whatever, guys, I was joking… I’ll ask for four packets.’
‘Biscuits, gingerbread…’
‘OK, we’ve put that. Sign just here.’
The bodiless, paw-like hand takes the pen from me and signs.
Another prisoner recovering from a stroke asks, ‘Can I ask for something?’
Alisa says, ‘We don’t have enough time! Please help these guys – this is Prisoner B, whose face is missing, but whose arms are intact; and Prisoner K, a young rifleman of some description, he just has burns on his legs. Guys, will you help us?’
‘Course!’
‘We’ll go to the internet shop now!’
We descend from the heavens and are now in the office of the prison shop.
‘Everyone, wonderful employees! May I, may I ask you to do this order for a very sick prisoner quickly? It’s very, very important! He has the money, just ask the accountants!’
‘We can’t, Alisa, we’re being audited and the shop is temporarily closed. Sorry.’
‘And… when will you open again?’
‘In the spring, Alisa. In March. We can do your order then.’
Alisa: ‘Spring… but he can’t wait, I’m scared he probably won’t last that laong… he wanted rusks and fruit… to give out. He’s dying!’
‘There’s nothing we can do, Alisa. We’ve done all the paperwork.’
There are lots of people working in the prison shop today, shopworkers, convicts assigned to work around the prison, workers from pre-trial detention… all looking at Alisa.
Alisa: ‘Well, OK, OK, OK.’
Fighting back tears of disappointment, she goes outside for a smoke in the designated area, biting her lips and examining the melting snow…
‘Alisa! Wait, don’t go! Look, there’s a box here!’
The box appears. In it they place rusks, gingerbread, fruits including apples and oranges… Some sort of miracle. Someone put noodles in, someone else sweets.
‘That OK?’
‘Really? This is for A? People, I’m in your debt.’
‘Think nothing of it.’
Alisa and a full box. She adds in her own cigarettes as well, but she still knows there are two things in the world she can’t do: get all the way back to the top floor of the hospital and look again into the light-blue eyes of the man she tried and failed to save.
One of our best employees walks past.
‘Comrade Captain!’
‘Alisa?’
‘The work day’s long over, but can you go up to the fifth floor, to Intensive Therapy, and give this order to A? He ordered it today. Tell him: here is what you ordered – see how fast the shop works now? He can get the rest later.’
‘Of course I can.’
‘Thanks.’
To those we didn’t save, forgive us. Thank you to those who retained their kindness and humanity in spite of everything.
However, it appears that a new criminal case is being brought against Doronin [Artemy Doronin, born 2008, from st Petersburg, at the time of his arrest a school student in the eighth class – ed.]… under Article 212, Part 2 [Participation in riots, punishable by imprisonment from three to eight years -ed.]
I spoke with Horizontal Russia about minors in detention centres and prisons, statistics, and attempts to understand the prospects.
‘People have become accustomed to child political prisoners. Perhaps they will become accustomed to executions.’ In Russia, more and more teenagers are being imprisoned for political offences — why this is not normal.
Oh, what a difficult French assignment we had today… It all started innocently enough — about various French holidays. New Year, Christmas, Candlemas (not very clear), Mother’s Day, Kings’ Day, National Day and Valentine’s Day… And then this assignment: do you have these same holidays in your country? What other holidays do you have in your country? Oh… we started in French, but pretty quickly switched to our native language due to our limited vocabulary.
Public holidays? Oh yes, we have public holidays!
‘Valentine’s Day? Listen, I think it’s already been banned, hasn’t it?’
‘Well, yes… the harmful Valentine, whose values are being imposed on us by NATO countries…’
‘Okay… Maslenitsa [ Pancake Day]? It’s an ancient, folk holiday…’
‘- Yes! Only the normal one, where they burn portraits of NATO leaders and ideologically hostile toy animals…’
‘Okay. How about a national holiday, Russia Day?’
‘Which one, the one in the summer or the other one? One is about independence from all hostile NATO countries, and the other is something else…’
‘Ah! The Day of Reconciliation and Accord! Or unity. That’s when our Russian people reconciled, united and agreed to expel the minions of the future hostile NATO bloc from the Kremlin!’
‘How about religious ones, then.’
‘Easter! That’s when the Patriarch congratulates everyone on their high spiritual values, which distinguish us from…’
‘OK! Well the most important one?’
‘New Year?’
‘Yes, yes, when the president gives a speech in camouflage and talks about our coming victories in the new year…’
‘I know, over the NATO bloc. Can’t you name any normal holidays without all this stuff, when everyone stands and throws tomahawks at NATO?’
‘Tomahawks?’
‘What then?’
‘No. It’s them who throw tomahawks at us. We throw boomerangs at them.’
An unsuccessful lesson. Tomorrow we’ll do something else.
Facebook reminded me that eight years ago, at the Memorial office on Karetny Ryad, we presented my book Marshrut [The Route] about the work of the Public Monitoring Commissions.
Where is that office on Karetny Ryad, where is the Public Monitoring Commission, where are we? Where is everything?
But the route continues. I just don’t know if it’s the same or a different one.
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