27 Jul 2022 | Croatia, Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Russia, Ukraine, Volume 51.02 Summer 2022
This article first appeared in Volume 51, Issue 2 of our print edition of Index on Censorship, titled The battle for Ukraine: Artists, journalists and dissidents respond, published on 27 July 2022. Read more about the issue here.
You are leaving tomorrow; the time of deliberation has passed. Yesterday in the early morning hours, a house in the neighbourhood was bombed, and the smoke is still rising. An unknown, disturbing stench overwhelms you as soon as you open a window.
Now you are sitting in your darkened living room, with electricity long gone, looking at the suitcase gaping open on the floor. In Ukraine you call it tryvozhna valizka, an alarm suitcase, a suitcase of anxiety – a kind of suitcase of fear.
Slightly panicked, you throw in a warm pullover; you might need it, a neighbour told you, so you put it in and replace your favourite dress. Why would a refugee need a fancy dress? You ask yourself and throw it out. What to take with you? People tell you to take this and not forget that. Suddenly they all are experts on what it means to flee. But even if you could put in all you needed, from books and warm clothes to food and medicine, how would you carry such a heavy burden?
“Put on a solid pair of walking shoes,” your grandma, your beloved babusya, would say. “You will surely walk a lot. My dear, moya lyuba,” she would tell you. “Leave that bulky valizka here; there is nothing in it that can protect you from the war.”
If only she were with you now. But her bones are at the cemetery, and it has not been hit yet. The Russian soldiers are targeting live Ukrainians for now, but soon the turn will come for the dead, too. Because the dead represent the memory of the living, they too have to be annihilated. “Don’t ask what kind of people could kill the elderly, small children and their mothers – people kill people, we are doing it to each other. Now Russians kill us but believe me; we’ll be killing them too.” You know that her view of human nature was dark. But you also know that you can’t command the dead to shut up; they tell you how to remember them. If you would angrily retort: this is not the time to compare, we are defending ourselves, babusya would simply wave her hand as if to say: I’ve seen it all; I know what the people are capable of.
“But they kill even cats!” You tell her, as perhaps the final argument against Russian soldiers. You found your Luna wounded in front of the door, and she died in your hands. Why? Animals are not enemies. You passed a dead shepherd dog on the way back from fetching the water; someone loved that dog as you loved Luna. You’ve stayed so long here because you could not imagine leaving her. It was while digging a shallow grave in the flower bed that you became certain that you wanted to leave all this behind. Strange, you think now, in the darkness lit by the single candle, how odd that what really scared you – the fact that soldiers had no mercy, even for animals – was what finally scared you away.
If only Babusya could help you now, as she used to do when you were a child. In your mind, you can see her face leaning over to kiss your forehead; you can feel her warm hands, you can almost feel her presence. “Well, don’t be sad, you can take your valizka with you. But not the one on the floor, not the one you used to take on vacation to Crimea. No, open another one, the one in your mind, the one for the images and memories, for the smell of spring and memory of a certain touch. That is the valizka you will need more as it can be filled by all you hold dear, everything you are. That invisible luggage will become your survival kit.
“And now, moya lyuba, before you leave, it is time to pick up the candle and have a good look around,” she would say, directing you to the kitchen, with its neatly washed dishes and clean tablecloth. “Did you set it up for your return?” I did that out of habit, you would explain to her, and she would understand; she was the one who taught you to clean after yourself. In the living room, she would notice something that no one else would. The absence of photos, one of herself and your mother, the other of the entire family, usually proudly exposed on the dresser, under the clock. You took the pictures out of frames so that they will keep you company along the way. You apologetically say, in a weak voice; some of the pictures I have hidden in a safe place until I return. “Yes, I know every refugee believes that leaving home is only temporary; otherwise, how would they bear to leave?”
You hadn’t intended to leave, even when shelling was getting closer, even when all the other neighbours from the apartment building had left, as if you believed the war would not touch you. How to desert the place where you and your parents worked hard to earn for every single thing, from the big flat screen TV set to the fine new carpet? Lovely presents you got for your birthday, old inherited teacups, that fine coat you saved for, the small things that made you happy. Leaving home to save your life was unimaginable, for what is life without everything that makes it home?
You can almost feel Babusya reading your mind as you touch the cushions on the bed, the reading lamp and a new, unread book waiting for you to open. “Try to take the moments with you. Remember how you fell from a bicycle the first time you rode and hurt your knee but stubbornly climbed on again? Or buying a pair of red dancing shoes for your graduation?”
Other moments you won’t be able to forget, even if you wish you could: the one when you spotted the first human corpse. It was only yesterday, you remember in amazement. As you walked into your street, someone was lying on the pavement in front of number five. As you approached, as you had to pass by, you saw the old school janitor, who never let you into the school even if you were only a minute late. Lying there in his pyjamas, he looked as if he was asleep. But who would choose to sleep on the pavement on a chilly spring morning? Even from where you stood, you could see that his eyes were open, and there was some smeared blood on his right temple. You suddenly felt trapped. You stopped and screamed into the space, not hoping for an answer: why? Why? But the answer came in a familiar voice: “Don’t go around asking why; you are not a child anymore!”
Life is not things; it is the memory of those things, the only way to keep them with you. Now you understand why your mental tryvozhna valizka is more important than the one on the floor. The one that you would uselessly drag, pull or carry around, hugging it and never letting go, until you get so tired that you’d want to abandon it, throwing it into the first water that would be deep enough to swallow it.
The other valizka, on the other hand, is the one that will always remain, the one you take home or wherever you go when the war ends, and it will; every war does. That one is heavy in a different way. What else is inside, apart from the fear, images from the past and your memories of the precious moments? Everything that you learned since the war started: the sound of the air raid siren, the word “shelter”, the damp smell of the cellars, the scent of fresh blood that reminds you of iron. Also, lessons that you have yet to learn. You’ll discover that your home is not yours because the others have the power to take it from you. You’ll realise that for the same reason your life is not your own. You’ll learn to be afraid, and that fear is good. You’ll learn to choose sides as well as to be pushed to the side you did not choose; you might even need to know how to hate. “Hatred” is something one easily learns in such a situation. It is the most terrible lesson in survival; you’ll most certainly learn the word “survival” and its meaning. One can survive anywhere, something you’ll learn while walking in a long line towards some border or a safe place. That word, besides many other previous unknowns, will be the main word in your valizka. A “safe place” is another important notion; it seems only yesterday you believed any place you felt good was safe. And the word luck will get a new definition; while you sit on the wet soil somewhere in the woods, covered by a tarp under fat drops of cold rainfall, you’ll suddenly realise your luck. You’ll experience the birth of a whole new dictionary born out of the war. You should carefully take those newly born words and keep them in your valizka, which is becoming more and more precious the further you go.
“I am telling you, it was a good idea to toss a photo of your house into your backpack. And you ask me why, again? Haven’t you yet learned that war doesn’t allow asking stupid questions? It’s because you are homeless now, a refugee. I see, lyuba, that you disagree, fiddling with the house key in your pocket as if it proves something. You probably don’t, but I remember an old newspaper photo – many years after the war in Bosnia ended. Every Saturday in Berlin, near Wittemberg, one could see the same scene: women, many women, standing silently, each holding a photo, closeups of their houses, of homes they once had until the others appropriated them. Or shelled them, burned them. The women held the photos as the only proof, as the document that they, too, lived a different life just like the rest of us. That’s what I am saying. I remember how it hit me, the idea that an image of the house could be the proof of belonging to ordinary people.
Such a photo, not a house key, became an essential identity document, just like an ID card.
“You are that kind of a refugee now, do you understand?”
It is a new word as well, but after a week, you will realise that this single word sums up what you are to others. It will take time to see yourself as a refugee because the picture it evokes is usually quite different. A big mass of people, women with headscarves, young men, children, walking or waiting, sitting on the ground or crouching under the open sky somewhere at the Hungarian border, expecting a transport to Germany, their skin darker than yours. Surely you remember the picture of a dead Syrian refugee boy lying on a beach in Turkey; it sent a shudder down your spine. Soon you will learn that your Ukrainian nationality and the pale skin colour will decide your destiny, as his nationality and skin colour did his.
Once you are safe and taken care of in a new country, you will experience a strange feeling; a confusing mixture of gratitude to your benefactors and a kind of a shame at the same time. That is because it is not easy to receive charity. You are in need, and to be needy is humiliating. Charity is perhaps the heaviest of burdens.
“Trust me; you are not alone. My bones will stay here, but I will live on in your valizka. But here is one last thing I must warn you about before letting you go. You might see a few dead people along the way and start to think you know death because you can feel the cold sweat of fear. That is not what I mean. You need to do better, recognise the mortal danger, its icy breath just behind you, without seeing its face. This skill, not things you took from home, will save your life. Learn it fast, moya lyuba…” Babusya’s voice is fading.
Now you can see the pale light of dawn breaking. The sign for you to leave.
Leave the heavy suitcase of fear, leave it there, open on the floor.
Don’t cry.
Smile as you close the door, you are no longer burdened by fears, but strengthened by what you carry inside, and nobody can take from you.
You are as set as any refugee could ever be.
21 Jul 2022 | Opinion, Ruth's blog, United Kingdom
For over fifty years, Index on Censorship has supported dissidents, journalists and activists in part by training them on the most current technology. In recent years that has included how to use encryption and encrypted communication apps, helping them to protect themselves from repressive regimes in the easiest and most comprehensive ways possible. This training was especially necessary when accessing encryption proved to be a specialist pursuit, involving intensive training, helping people on the ground to understand the options and downloading often complex peer-to-peer messaging apps.
Now, thankfully, encryption is everywhere; human rights defenders, journalists and MPs use platforms like Signal, Telegram and WhatsApp to exchange everything from gossip to public interest data. Encryption is critical for investigative journalists who need to communicate with sources and to protect their investigations against hostile actors, whether states or criminal gangs.
And for all of us encryption has its uses: sending family photos and sharing personal information. After all, who hasn’t sent their bank details to a friend?
Telegram is used by activists, journalists and politicans. Photo: Christian Wiediger/Unsplash
For Index on Censorship, protecting encryption is a critical frontline in the fight for freedom of expression. Free speech isn’t just about the words themselves: it is the freedom to exchange information, the freedom to gather information and the freedom to confide ideas and thoughts to others without the risk of arrest and detention. Encryption is now central to our collective ability to exercise the right to freedom of expression.
Five years ago, Jamie Bartlett wrote for Index on Censorship about how his experience of police intimidation in Croatia, a democratic EU member state, changed his view on encryption. In Jamie’s case it offered a secure means of communicating with a source who the authorities had made it clear they did not want him to speak to.
Today, in too many states, encryption is now essential. As we speak the reality on the ground in authoritarian regimes including China, Hong Kong, Belarus and Russia, the difference between using an encrypted messaging app to express yourself, or unencrypted communications will mean the difference between freedom and imprisonment, if not worse.
Promoting and defending encryption is essential for any organisation that promotes and defends free speech. That’s why Index on Censorship is delighted to announce that we’ve received a grant from WhatsApp, the messaging app, to support our work in defending encryption. The grant of £150,000 will be used for our general work in defending digital freedom and our work streams will not be determined by any one other than my team at Index. From our perspective this grant is incredibly welcome as it will allow us to develop new content that explains the importance of encryption to the public, allows us to get new legal advice on why encryption should be protected as a fundamental defence of our human rights, as well as bringing new voices into the debate on why encryption is so critical to defend free speech.
As with any grant, the grantee has no influence whatsoever over Index on Censorship policy positions or our work itself. Index has had its criticisms of Meta (WhatsApp’s parent company) in the past and I’m sure we will in the future, and we’ll continue to speak freely to any government or company.
Right now, we’re continuing to argue for a pause to the UK government’s rush to push through its flawed Online Safety Bill, ensuring we have the opportunity to work with Ministers to amend the bill to remove the flawed ‘legal but harmful’ provisions in the legislation (as demolished by Gavin Millar QC’s power legal opinion for Index) and also ensure the potential undermining of encryption is taken out of this legislation.
We’ve got a lot to do – but the political weather is changing in the right direction.
5 May 2022 | Europe and Central Asia, News and features, Russia, Ukraine
Russian politician, academic and economist Grigory Yavlinsky, who became known with his plan for a smooth transition from the Soviet regime to a free-market economy. Credit: Пресс-служба Президента Российской Федерации/Wikimedia Commons
Russian liberal politician, economist and professor Grigory Yavlinsky has long been a thorn in the side of Vladimir Putin. As the founder of the Russian United Democratic Party (Yabloko), which was the leading opposition party in post-Soviet Russia, Yavlinsky has campaigned against Putin on several occasions. In 2000 Yavlinsky participated in the Russian presidential elections under the slogan “For Russia without Dictators and Oligarchs.” In 2018, he ran in the presidential elections on an anti-corruption platform.
I first spoke to Yavlinsky in February 2012. In an interview for New Eastern Europe Yavlinsky told me he was preparing, once again, to offer Russian voters an alternative to Putin’s dictatorial reign in the Kremlin. Back then, Yavlinsky remained hopeful. “A non-democratic and corrupt system which has been created by Putin and Yeltsin, requires cardinal changes, and absolutely different politics in Russia today and important events will take place to see this happens in 2012,” Yavlinsky explained. “To change this system we need a political, economic, and moral alternative which would be supported by the people,” he added.
Today, these hopes have vanished. Why, then, do the Russian people still overwhelmingly support Moscow’s war of aggression against Ukraine? I caught up with Yavlinsky and this was the main subject I broached.
Ukraine is a subject that Yavlinsky is familiar with. He was, after all, born there, when it was part of the Soviet Union. Also, in 2018, when Yavlinsky ran in the presidential elections in Russia, he devised a plan to resolve the ongoing Russian-Ukrainian military conflict, which began in 2014.
My own interest in Ukraine is personal too. I was living in Lviv for two years. But I left the western Ukrainian city on 24 February 2022, the day of the Russian invasion.
The conversation below considers the war, as well as broader free expression battles happening in Russia right now.
Mr Yavlinsky, you were born in Lviv in 1952. Do you consider yourself Ukrainian?
I do not consider myself a Ukrainian, but I grew up in Ukraine, and studied at a Ukrainian school. I love the language and respect the culture. But regardless of where I am from, I consider the current events in Ukraine as a gigantic tragedy.
Recent surveys have indicated that an overwhelming majority of people inside Russia support this war of aggression against Ukraine. Clearly, then, it’s not just Putin’s war. Why do so many Russians support the conflict?
A lot of people [in Russia] seem to support what is happening [in Ukraine] for three reasons.
Firstly, propaganda in Russia has unfolded with great force.
Secondly, fear. Today in Russia, the fear of police and judicial harassment is huge. Finally, in Russia in the 1990s, an economic and political system was created that categorically excluded most people. It convinced the majority that they had no means of influencing what was happening in public life or the political sphere.
There also seems to be a sense that inside Russia people do not have access to their own history. Presumably this is an important weapon in Putin’s propaganda machine?
In Russia in the 1990s, the moment was missed when an honest assessment of Bolshevism, Stalin and the Soviet period should have been given. It was a huge failure in reforms, and we are now reaping the fruits of this tragic mistake. In general, people in Russia know their history very poorly.
Grigory Yavlinsky pictured with Vladimir Putin in 2000, when Yavlinsky ran for Russia’s presidency. Credit: Presidential Press and Information Office/Wikimedia Commons
Is an internal coup to bring down the Putin regime possible? Or is there simply too much fear in the Russian political system?
Today I don’t see any chance of anything like a coup against Putin. He has significant support among citizens. The scale of the opposition is completely insufficient to seriously influence the change of the state system. The reason for what is happening isn’t just about Putin – the entire Russian state and economic system has led to this.
How will western imposed sanctions against Russia affect the outcome of this war in the long term? Some critics claim, for instance, that the sanctions do not go far enough. Others have pointed out that a state that descends into poverty and chaos actually strengthens an authoritarian ruler like Putin.
The sanctions in their current form will create significant difficulties for the Russian economy, but they will not lead it to collapse. The decline in living standards will affect the middle class most of all. However, state propaganda will [blame it on] external and internal enemies. On this basis, a left-nationalist policy, national socialism can be formed. Putin will try to lead this direction. He has already talked about it. Under these conditions of a dictatorship and a police state, this will be a dangerous and difficult period.
Is Putin capable of using nuclear weapons?
Yes, I think Putin may use nuclear weapons, and this should be taken seriously.
Under what circumstances could the West become involved in a military conflict with Russia?
This is a question for politicians in the West. This may be due to provocation, or to the supply of heavy weapons. As with the use of nuclear weapons, such a danger exists.
Is there any evidence to suggest that Putin could lose his grip on power if Russia continues to suffer more military defeats in its war against Ukraine?
No matter how the military situation in Ukraine develops, there are no circumstances that can lead Putin to lose control of power in the foreseeable future.
But with more and more Russian soldiers dying, could a situation arise where Putin, under political pressure, looks for a potential compromise to end the war?
A cessation of hostilities is possible. But it will only be a temporary stop. Russia wants to build a separate civilisation and considers Ukraine a part of it. Ukraine, conversely, wants to become a European country, and considers itself an independent state. In these circumstances, any truce will be temporary.
Are you surprised at how well Ukraine has responded to this conflict?
No. I’m not surprised. [Since 2014] the armed forces in Ukraine have changed. There was a patriotic unity of the people, which became the basis of real resistance. The Kremlin expected that in the east of Ukraine [after the so called “special military operation” was launched on February 24 of this year] it would be greeted with flowers by joyful crowds of people. It turned out to be an illusion. Also, the Russian leadership did not expect such unity on the part of Western countries.
Ukraine seems to be winning the public relations war too. Why is that?
This is the gap of the post-Soviet space: Russia aspires to the 19th century, and Ukraine – to the 21st. This, [in essence] is the whole conflict. All the attention and understanding of the Russian leadership is turned back: to the Second World War, to the Soviet period, to the Russian Empire. Hence, ideological cliches about a separate civilisation. Ukraine found itself in a completely different situation. Ukraine wants to change the president regularly and have independent justice, independent private property, and be a European country.
Putin continually insisted leading up to the war that Russia would not invade Ukraine. Most western and Ukrainian politicians now believe he cannot be trusted in any diplomacy going forward. Will the Putin regime have to fall before this war ends?
Putin has talked about [his plans for Ukraine] before: in 2012, in 2014 and in 2018 during the presidential elections. He announced his programme in full in July 2021 in an article entitled “On the historical unity of Russians and Ukrainians”. No one wanted to take Putin’s published doctrine seriously, either in the West, or inside [Russia]. We must understand that for a long time we will have to deal with this particular regime.
You have mentioned many times publicly that Russia is a European country. What exactly do you mean by this?
Of course, Russia is a European country. By its culture, by its mentality, by its history. The only positive prospect for Russia is the European one. Attempts to send Russia somewhere else, to make a separate civilisation out of it, are fraught with disaster and loss of the future. Right now, we are on the verge of this catastrophe. The current leadership of Russia does not understand this. It does not want a permanent, regular change of power. It does not want real elections, or an independent judicial system. And it does not want a rule-of-law state in Russia, or to have a real middle class. Because a real middle class would pose a threat to [the current Russian state]. [Which is built] on lies, propaganda, violence and a police state. That is why Putin and his entourage want to take Russia out of the European context. There is simply no alternative to Russia’s European path.
Why did corruption and kleptocracy beat transparency and the rule of law during the early years of the Russian Federation?
There was gross mistakes and crimes in the reforms. Hyperinflation in 1992 was 2600%. This led to criminal privatisation – [public] property was then transferred free of charge to persons close to the authorities. Consequently, there was a merger of property and power in Russia. A corporate mafia state was [thus] created. There cannot be an independent justice, an independent press, an independent parliament, or a state governed by the rule of law [in Russia], because all these institutions threaten the results of this criminal privatisation. This system demanded a leader like Vladimir Putin. The West turned a blind eye to all of this.
Putin’s reckless lawbreaking over the last two decades has included numerous illegal overseas assassinations . Then there is murder of domestic critics, which includes many journalists. And the jailing of numerous opposition political figures, like Alexei Navalny (still in prison) and Mikhail Khodorkovsky (who spent a decade behind bars). Has your own life ever been threatened by the Putin regime?
It is a well-known fact that it’s really dangerous to engage in politics in Russia. The biggest political crime, of course, is the murder in 2015 of Boris Nemtsov, 100 metres from the Kremlin. As for personal threats, it is completely pointless to discuss them. For the last 25 years, they have been a constant factor for [any]opposition politician inside Russia.
In 2018 you participated in the presidential elections in Russia. You presented a plan in your campaign to resolve the ongoing Russian-Ukrainian military conflict, which began in 2014. Can you discuss what that plan involved?
I participated in the presidential elections in 2018, because it was clear that this was the last election in which it was still possible to influence something. I proposed to resolve the situation in the east of Ukraine, in the Donbass, in particular, by taking the following steps.
- To propose to the countries of the Normandy Four and the United States a form of international guardianship over the “territories of Donetsk and Luhansk regions with a special order of local self-government” on the basis of the institute of international guardianship provided for by Chapter 12 of the UN Charter, using the experience of the 1995 Dayton Accords and the 1954 Saarland Status Agreements.
- To conclude a special multilateral (Ukraine, Russia, Germany, France, the USA and the EU) agreement on the temporary status of the “territories of Donetsk and Luhansk regions with a special order of local self-government” under the auspices of the UN Security Council, according to which all powers in these territories are transferred to international governing bodies, judicial proceedings, law enforcement, border control carried out by representatives of the countries participating in the agreement.
- To contribute in every possible way to the international peacekeeping forces and to ensuring the security of the population of Donbas.
- Withdraw all Russian “vacationers and militias” and all units of the Russian armed forces from Donbas. Immediately cease military, financial, diplomatic and other support for separatist forces and movements operating on the territory of Ukraine.
- To immediately stop the Russian state media inciting hatred towards Ukraine, and to stop encouraging [anti-Ukrainian] propaganda.
- To abandon the policy of “limited sovereignty” in relation to Ukraine. And for [Russia] not to hinder Ukraine’s [choice] towards the European way.
- [To ensure] the entire territory of Donbas will be transferred under the full control of Ukraine.
If you became Russian president, how would you try and transform the Russian state?
If I became president, I would build a democratic country that corresponds to the basic principles of modern European democratic civilisation: a rule of law state and separation of powers. These two institutions would stop the endless lies and propaganda. The country would certainly support me. There would be no conflict with Ukraine, but there would be a joint movement towards Europe instead.
This question is theoretical. But if you were approached by western politicians, or by the Ukrainian state, to act as a peace negotiator to end this war in Ukraine, would you consider taking on such a diplomatic position?
Such negotiations require powers that [right now] don’t exist. Without a serious change in attitude to the negotiations on the part of the Kremlin, it is impossible to change anything for the better. Personally, I am ready for literally any action that could lead to a ceasefire agreement.
You have lived through decades of the Soviet Union, and 22 years of the Putin years. What will the future of Russia look like?
It is very difficult to talk about the future now. It is completely unclear how the present will end. What is happening today is a tragic end to the old Russia, which was founded in 1917 and whose post–Soviet modernisation did not take place after [1991]. To remake and rebuild Russia we cannot just replace one president with another. It will be necessary to create a different political and economic system within the country. In the foreseeable future, I expect big problems, and very difficult years ahead.
Is there anything that gives you hope?
I believe in the future of Russia. There are people in Russia, many of them, who are ready to devote their lives to the creation of a New Russia and, finally, to complete the stage of more than a century of deviation of our country from modern civilisation.
Grigory Yavlinsky currently lives in Moscow, where he teaches at the National Research University Higher School of Economics. He is the author of many books including Realeconomik (2011) and The Putin System (2019)
JP O’ Malley is a freelance book reviewer, cultural critic, writer and journalist. He currently lives in Split, Croatia. He can be found on Twitter @johnpaulomallez
