29 April 2025
by Aleksandr Podrabinek
Source: Slovo zashchite
In men’s penal colonies, conversations about women’s penal colonies are among the favourites. And even in the outside world, there is considerable interest in them. It is no wonder: the image of a woman as a symbol of love and motherhood sharply contrasts with the harsh reality of prison life. This irony is embedded in the very system of penitentiary institutions for women. Nevertheless, crimes are not committed only by men, and in concentration camps there are not only women criminals but also innocent victims of the authoritarian Russian regime.
This past Monday, I visited the women’s Penal Colony No. 3 in the village of Pribrezhny near Kostroma. I was there to meet with the political prisoner Valeriya Zotova, who had entrusted me with legal support in her complex court cases. As I crossed the boundary of the camp, I felt as though I had become a different person. I experienced what one might call a change-in-state. Without any nostalgic feelings or intrusive memories of my years spent in Soviet prisons, I suddenly felt myself part of the prison world; that part that is constantly under the oppression of people in military uniforms. It was as if I had once again become part of this world – a world of sorrow, hopelessness, and constant danger. Long-forgotten, yet very painful feelings.
As I walked escorted by the inspector to a small building with the colony’s punishment and prison-type cells, where the so-called lawyer’s room is located, I had a chance to observe the long, two-story buildings made of white brick scattered across the zone – these are where the female prisoners live. I saw what I had previously written about based on others’ words – there are no restricted zones that prevent communication between prisoners. Someone made them up in the heat of the moment, and many believed it. They do say, however, that there is one restricted zone surrounding a single building – the one where the repeat offenders are held.
In the centre of the living quarters stands a small, newly-built church. A prison staff member told me that services are held there regularly, and the priest who ministers to the prison congregation from the Russian Orthodox Church is simply wonderful and even accredited, meaning he is officially listed as an employee of the FSIN (Federal Penitentiary Service). I was very curious to see the priest in uniform, but to do so, I would have had to stay in the women’s prison for more than one day. That was not part of my plan.
The lawyer’s room – as far as I understood – is simply one of the prison-type cells adapted for this purpose. Seven steps long, four wide – typical size for cells of this kind. Inside the room, there is a cage with a lock, where they placed Valeriya Zotova, who came for the meeting. Our conversation was confidential; there were no prison staff present during the visit, they did not interrupt our conversation, hurry us along, or interfere in any way. However, installed in the corner of the room beneath the ceiling was a video camera, which reliably recorded everything that happened in the room. I hope it only captured the image, and not the sound, which would be illegal.
Lera and I discussed all of her legal issues, and she told me about her current life in the prison camp. Little had changed for her. She is still on preventative monitoring: she is woken up at night for personal checks at two-hour intervals, she is allowed to call home once a month (everyone else is allowed to do so weekly), and they conduct personal searches every one to two days, turning all her belongings and her bed upside down. When she asks why she is treated this way, the authorities most often shrug their shoulders, and sometimes simply explain, “Terrorist.”
The head of the prison, Colonel of the Internal Service Anna Konstantinovna Khrustalova, answered our question (we arrived at the prison along with Petr Kurianov) about the administration’s attitude towards Zotova, by replying that there were no complaints about her, but if she wanted to be released earlier, she would need to take an active part in the penal colony’s social life. Valeriya categorically refuses this role. The prison is currently preparing for the 9th May Victory Day celebration, but Valeriya is not participating in these preparations. She feels deep sympathy for Ukraine and cannot understand how one can take part in propaganda shows when the blood of innocent people is being spilled in Ukraine. “Sometimes I watch the news about Ukraine on television,” Lera says, “and afterwards, I feel ill and depressed.”
Valeriya is an emotional person, highly sensitive to her surroundings. The firm stance she has taken in her relationships with the prison administration is not easy for her. Still, Zotova is hard to break. She doesn’t expect early release and doesn’t seek leniency from the prison authorities for ‘good’ behaviour. Although Valeriya doesn’t know the history of resistance to totalitarianism and is not well-versed in legal matters, her strong character and unyielding behaviour are reminiscent of the best traditions of Soviet political prisoners. In her lives the spirit of resistance to arbitrary rule, and she possesses a will that prevents her from falling below the standards of decency in the harshness of prison life.
Translated by Annabel Pedgley
