Russia’s Federal Security Service (FSB) is preparing a new case, for high treason, against Ruslan Siddiqi, the Russian-Italian anarchist serving a 29-year sentence for sabotaging a train carrying munitions to the Ukrainian front.
Siddiqi wasconvictedin May last year, and the Military Court of Appealupheldthe sentence on 1 July this year. In 2023 he blew up railway tracks in the Ryazan region, derailing a freight train carrying munitions, and organised a drone attack on the Dyagilevo military airfield.
Ruslan Siddiqi in court last year
Siddiqi confessed to these actions and told the court he sees himself as a partisan, opposing Russia’s war on Ukraine. He denied a further charge of preparing another attack. He was tortured extensively during questioning, but the authorities have refused to investigate.
Fires of Freedom, who give legal and other support to Siddiqi,saidthat, although he should have been transferred to prison after conviction, he is being held at a pre-trial detention centre (SIZO) in Ryazan. Transfer has now been delayed because of the new case.
Here isa Facebook postabout the new charges by Ivan Astashin, who campaigns in defence of political prisoners, translated by Giuliano Vivaldi:
“Isn’t that enough for them?” is the first thought that automatically springs to mind upon hearing the news of a new criminal case against anarchist Ruslan Siddiqi, who has already been sentenced to 29 years in prison for two anti-war acts of sabotage and has now also been charged with treason.
And yet for the security forces, everything is much more mundane, has a more practical raison d’etre. The sentence itself plays no role here.
It was the Investigative Committee [a federal agency answerable directly to the Kremlin] who took on the first case against Ruslan. And not just some district department, but the central bureau of the Investigative Committee — or, to be precise, the department for investigating war crimes, genocide, and the rehabilitation of Nazism, which [Investigative Committee chairman Aleksandr] Bastrykin established in 2022.
At the same time, under the Code of Criminal Procedure, only the Federal Security Service (FSB) can investigate cases of high treason. So if the Investigative Committee had “discovered” signs of high treason in Ruslan’s actions, it would have had to hand the case over to the security services.
Naturally, the Investigative Committee did not want to give such a juicy case to anyone else, so they “didn’t discover” high treason, but only terrorism, terrorism, and once again terrorism … which the Investigative Committee has the right to investigate on an equal footing with the FSB.
At the same time, the version that Ruslan was cooperating with Ukrainian military intelligence, which has now become the basis of the treason charge, was always foregrounded. Indeed, it was one of the central elements of the prosecution’s case.
The investigation explicitly proceeded on the assumption that Siddiqi coordinated his actions with representatives of Ukraine’s Chief Directorate of Intelligence. It was precisely through this framework that his actions were classified, among other things, as having been committed by an “organised group”.
So the evidence on which the FSB is now building a new treason case was already there in the materials of the first case. But turning this evidence into a separate charge based on the violation of Article 275 [on high treason] would have meant transferring the case to another agency, the FSB.
The central office of the Investigative Committee took on a high-profile case, “investigated” it itself, gathered the “evidence” itself, brought nine (!) criminal charges, and saw the case through to a conviction. There was absolutely no reason for it to hand such a case over to another agency.
Now the Investigative Committee’s work is finished. The verdict has been handed down; the appeal has been heard. And this is where the baton is already passed to the FSB Directorate for the Ryazan region.
For them, it’s a perfect case. The accused is already in custody. The skeleton of the case has been assembled by colleagues from another agency. All that remains is to rewrite the Investigative Committee’s material to fit the structure of the article of the criminal code on treason, and receive a ready-made crime against state security that has already been “solved”.
I have already told a similar story about Aleksander Leleko: he was convicted as a teenager for setting fire to railway relay cabinets, and several years later the FSB began reworking those same events into a new treason case. [Leleko, from the small Siberian town of Sharypovo, was arrested in 2023, then aged 16, and sentenced to six-and-a-half years. In April this year it was reported that he was in prison hospital, and being administered psychtropic drugs, while investigators sought to put together the new case.]
Therefore, the question “Really, is 29 years not enough for them?” hardly makes sense here. It’s not about the sentence, but about the crime-solving rate, which our investigative authorities so badly need to improve. Especially now, when generals are being blown up and shot at home.
This situation illustrates my point very well that a repressive system has rules. It can produce an utterly monstrous result, but internally it still remains a bureaucratic machine with jurisdictional boundaries, departmental interests, reporting requirements, and its own rules.
An all-powerful security official cannot simply take any desirable article of the Criminal Code and put it into his casework. Even when the decision to imprison someone has already been taken, you still have to properly document who exactly is supposed to imprison them and under which article.
Perhaps, in Ruslan’s case, there also exists a more personal motivation on the part of the Ryazan security services officers. They could not find Ruslan after the first action, caught him only three weeks after the second, and subjected him to brutal torture.
But a much more mundane and so perhaps more frightening mechanism is quite enough to explain the emergence of a new case: the agency needed a criminal case of its own; a ready-made defendant was available with a “body of evidence” already sitting on their desk.
For the security agencies, the people involved in these cases are primarily numbers in a report, not human beings.
□ Fires of Freedom, which supports Ruslan, is on Telegram (Russian only). In English, there are reports on Ruslan Siddiqi’s case, and information about how to give support, on the Autonomous Action site e.g. here, here and here. Ivan Astashin was interviewed here.
□ Ruslan Siddiqi’s final statement in court, and letters describing his anti-war action and arrest, are included in the book Voices Against Putin’s War, free to download here. The letters were published by the Russian Reader here.
A billboard advertising voluntary (“contract”) military service in St. Petersburg, Russia. Source: Wall Street Journal
Raids aimed at forcing men to fight in the war against Ukraine have become widespread throughout Russia’s regions. In the Penza Region, where law enforcement, in concert with officials from military registration and enlistment offices, have been carrying out such raids in a particularly aggressive manner, local residents have banded together to “take back their men,” as they put it.
“They took him away, but we caught up with them halfway and got him back”
On 23 July, unknown men in plain clothes drove up to the home of Sergei Teplyakov, an employee of a local security firm in Bashmakovo, a district council town in the Penza Region with a population of around nine thousand).
“One of them introduced himself as the new neighborhood beat cop and demanded to see [Sergei’s] passport. Sergei then started phoning the real neighborhood beat cop. [The intruders] flew into a rage, grabbed him, and dragged him into their car. It was a straight-up abduction: no grounds for his arrest, no names, no paperwork whatsoever were provided,” says Oksana, a resident of the town. (We have changed the names of those whom we interviewed for their own safety.) “Sergei’s son, who had been telephoned by the neighbors, arrived, started filming it on his phone, and shouting at them. They let [Sergei] go. But the next day, [Alexei] Denisenko was caught in a raid.”
According to the locals, two unknown men grabbed Denisenko in a park where he was cutting grass to work off court-ordered community service hours for drunk driving.
“They threatened [Denisenko]. They said he would suffer the consequences if he didn’t go with them to the district council offices. A female council staffer was in the car with the ‘trappers,’ and so [Alexei] believed them. Plus, the license plates on the car were local, and it was a council vehicle,” says local resident Artyom. “He was told they were taking him to the council to ‘verify his details.’ But witnesses noticed they drove him off towards Penza and they called his family. His sister was able to chase them down halfway there, less than a hundred kilometers from Penza. She forced them to stop their car and she wrested Alexei from their clutches. These ‘recruiters’ are local officials working for the Defense Ministry by supplying them with unsuspecting folk. It’s utter lawlessness: these recruiters barge straight into people’s homes. If a man is walking down the street a bit tipsy, he’s definitely at risk. But basically, they’ll grab anyone.”
According to Mediazona, which has been compiling a name-by-name list of fallen Russian servicemen since 2022, more than two thousand residents of the Penza Region are known to have been killed in combat. The list of those killed from Bashmakovo includes twenty-five people.
Bashmakovo residents say that they had never met any of the “recruiters” before.
“We looked up the drivers of these vehicles—it turned out that one of them works as a bailiff!” says Artyom. “The plates of the second vehicle (O217XR) are registered to the Bashmakovo District Council. The families of Denisenko and Teplyakov reported the attempted abduction and coercion into signing military contracts to the police. Recently, two more men were also abducted. They managed to get a lawyer sent to them, but it wasn’t possible to get them out of the recruitment center on Skladskaya Street in Penza: they’d already been pressured into signing up there. According to the lawyer, one of them was threatened with ‘criminal charges’ over debts, even though the amount he owed didn’t warrant criminal prosecution. In other words, they were basically hoodwinked.”
Following these incidents, the locals decided to form a neighborhood watch group to defend the men.
“I joined the patrols almost straight away. It all happened spontaneously,” says Galina, a resident of Bashmakovo. “The guys set up [an online chat] group and started posting there about what was happening in the town and how they were rounding up the men. Gradually, people simply got together on VKontakte. That’s where we coordinate our efforts: we’ve split into shifts and we patrol the town around the clock. Around 250 people have joined the vigilante group. It’s much more effective to take back people on the spot, before they’re sent to the police station or the military recruitment office, because there’s simply no legal basis for detaining them.”
She says that almost everyone in the vigilante group has personal motives.
“There’s fear for our loved ones, of course. God forbid that my husband goes off to work and then disappears: you already know what might have happened to him. In June, they took my cousin away. He has two children. I recently found out that he had some sort of unpaid loan. I don’t know where he is now and what’s become of him.”
Galina says the members of the neighborhood watch patrol Bashmakovo every day and even at night: those who have cars drive around the town to check for suspicious vehicles or strangers. The volunteers chip in for petrol. They also use a community fund to cover unexpected expenses. Recently, during a patrol, there was a minor road accident in which two cars were damaged. They were repaired free of charge by acquaintances at a garage, and the only cost was for the spare parts.
Galina herself has been called out in response to a report of an attempted abduction.
“I was with my mom at the hospital when a message came through the group chat saying that two police officers were trying to force their way into Pavel Berdechenkov’s house. My mom and I drove over there, and the rest of the crew joined us. In the end, the police had nothing to say: they got into their car and drove off. There was another incident when we were patrolling a neighboring village and spotted a GAZelle van we didn’t recognize. All such reports go straight to our private group.”
She estimates that the vigilante group’s members have managed to prevent at least five or six people from being abducted in this way. But their methods doesn’t always work.
“Today we weren’t able to rescue a man because the alert came in too late. Within forty-five minutes, they’d already taken him far away. That’s why what matters most is that we’re notified straight away. Then we can get to the scene.”
A member of the volunteer group claims that at least two vehicles belonging to district authorities have been used in the raids. According to her, a Lada Granta, which residents have dubbed “401,” belongs to the Bashmakovo District education department, while a Lada Largus 217 belongs to the district council. Locals blame the council’s chair, Tamara Pavlutkina, for what is happening and feel that reporting incidents to the local police is pointless.
“There’s no point in complaining to the police. We believe the district council chair gives the orders and the rest just carry them out. She gets everything done by proxy,” says Galina.
Tamara Pavlutkina
As an example, she cites the story of fifty-eight-year-old Sergei Milkin from the village of Podgornoye, sixteen kilometers from Bashmakovo. According to her, the local beat cop, Sinyov, invited Milkin to the village council “for a chat,” after which he disappeared. Milkin, says Galina, had serious heart problems: he’d had a bypass operation. The day after his chat with the police officer, he rang his family from the Rostov recruitment center and told them he was being sent to the war. Ten days later, he died, basically on the front line.
“We wrote to every relevant authority: the military prosecutor’s office and Bastrykin at the Investigative Committee, and we appealed to the television. Our complaint was registered, and then there was silence.
Another member of the vigilante group, Alexei, joined it after his relative was nearly sent off to war.
“He was summoned by letter to the military registration and enlistment office to ‘verify his details.’ We happened to be visiting him at the time and witnessed the whole thing. The round-ups had begun in Penza by then, but not here yet. What’s more, he didn’t go alone but with a friend, so we felt a bit more reassured. He’d left his phone at home,” says Alexei. “Two hours went by, but he wasn’t back yet. Three hours passed, and still nothing. His friend returned alone and said, ‘Your relative’s gone to Penza for a medical board.’ We were in a panic. I rang the infamous Penza military registration and enlistment office at 19 Skladskaya Street. They replied, ‘We’ve got no one by that name here.’”
Alexei says that at that moment the village chair came to the house and asked for the missing man’s military service card.
“I started filming her straight away. ‘What grounds do you have for asking to see his papers?!’ I ask her. She replies, ‘The council sent me.’ I ask her to give me names and job titles, but she refuses. We take a taxi to Penza. At 19 Skladskaya Street, we race up and down all the floors. We come across a drunk man whom someone had brought in, while the bloke accompanying him boasts that he’s already brought in and ‘handed over’ two people that day. Then we meet a tearful mother: her son had been snatched straight from their home, and she’d rushed there hot on their heels. Her [other] two sons were already at [the front]. She said she won’t hand over the third one.”
Alexei spotted his relative right on the steps of the military registration and enlistment office.
“He had been brought there in a private car by an ‘acquaintance’ of the village council chair. When we shouted at this man, he claimed that he had nothing to do with it: he had just ‘kindly’ given [my relative] a lift to Penza. Then he scrammed. We immediately took our relative by the arms, but by that point he had already been ‘psyched out’: they’d explained to him that after the medical examination he would have to sign some papers, supposedly to verify his details. What sort of people are they? They’re a disgrace. They’re prepared to take people’s lives for these payments.”
Meanwhile, Oksana, who has also joined the group, told [Radio Svoboda] that the local authorities had begun putting pressure on them.
“The security forces have already threatened us. Do you know what they threatened to do us? To send us off to the war! What’s more, they’ve been openly persecuting those who have criticized the raids or written about them on social media. Police officers went straight to the home of Vera Makavtsova and, in front of her four children, threatened her with criminal charges. They are threatening to charge her under Article 319 (“insulting a public official”). All because, in a post of hers, she called the district council accomplices to the abductions, and its chair, Tamara Pavlutkina, a co-organizer of press-ganging people into combat.”
In an audio recording made during Makavtsova’s arrest, police officers can be heard bursting into the house and demanding that the woman “come with them.” This is because she allegedly “poses a threat to Russia’s national security,” posts all manner of “extremist” content on social media, and takes part in meetups of residents.
“You don’t have a warrant,” Makavtsova says.
“Do you have a fucking warrant to gather in the city center on Saturdays?!” the police officer replies.
“In the end, they busted down the door and detained her. Of course, it’s not domestic violence, her husband beating her [that brought the police to Makavtsova’s home]. It was a post attacking an official and the Defense Ministry. That was grounds for the police to ‘intervene.’ They never responded to the complaints from Denisenko and the Teplyakovs. I’m sure Pavlutkina herself filed the complaint [against them],” Oksana says indignantly.
“The chair of the council has two sons,” adds Galina. ‘When I asked her why she wasn’t sending her own sons [to the front], she said, ‘I didn’t give birth to them for that.'”
Meanwhile, on 25 June, a ceremony was held at the Bashmakovo District Council to present state awards to the local families of men killed during the invasion of Ukraine. Relatives and loved ones of the soldiers, who had returned home as “Cargo 200,” received honors and medals. The ceremony was attended by the local military enlistment officer, Alexei Valygin, and Pavlutkina, a member of the ruling United Russia party, who assured those present that “should any questions arise, citizens can always contact the district council.”
[Radio Svoboda] reached out to Pavlutkina, asking her to comment on reports that the district council had been involved in detaining residents and forcing them to volunteer for the army. As this article went to press, she had not responded.
In early August, Penza-based blogger Stanislav Morozov set up a support chat group for men who have been detained and pressured into enlisting in the army. He called on residents to unite to resist such detentions.
“We are doing this out of desperation, because we simply have no other choice. We are people who are standing up for our fundamental rights and freedoms—the right not to be treated as a commodity and not to have our free will taken away under the threat of a truncheon. When lawful means of self-defense cease to work, the only shield left is a neighbor’s shoulder. Our strength now lies in this compulsory yet consciously chosen consolidation,” Morozov explained in the chat’s overview.
Within the first twenty-four hours, 300 people had joined the chat, and within a week the number of participants had exceeded 1,200. Morozov calls on eyewitnesses to report arrests promptly and promises to help find lawyers for those detained. He warns that security forces and provocateurs may have joined the chat and asks everyone to be careful with what they say.
Amid the raids, other ways of warning people about them have emerged. In early August, an online service launched featuring a map on which users could mark the locations of arrests. A few days later, its developers reported that the service and its associated Telegram channel had been hacked, and the website had started redirecting users to a porn site, according to the Telegram channel Mobilization. The project’s creators speculated that the law enforcement agencies might have taken an interest in them, but it is not yet possible to independently ascertain who was behind the hack.
“They’ve taken a blind man away!“
All across Russia, men are being deceitfully lured into the war against Ukraine.
On 8 August, an incident involving abduction and the forced signing of a military service contract took place in Omsk.
According to Valentina, on Saturday morning three unknown men grabbed her 31-year-old brother, Danil, straight from the courtyard of their home in Omsk’s Kirovsk District.
“He has a wife and children. This morning, he took a can of beer and went to sit on a bench by the entrance to his block. That’s where they picked him up. It was a private vehicle, but luckily, the neighbors managed to write down the license plate number. While we were looking for him, he came back on his own. He told us they’d taken him to a ‘volunteer’ recruitment center at 8 Maryanovskaya Street. He had barely managed to break free and escape, and he hadn’t signed anything. Well, we calmed down a bit,” says Valentina.
But that same evening, she says, they came for him again.
“Danil was out in the courtyard with his wife and children. Some men arrived in a Niva [off-road vehicle]. They twisted his arms behind his back and took him away to parts unknown. The children were screaming, and his wife tried to fight them off, but to no avail. We were terrified: what should we do? We started dashing off statements to the military prosecutor’s office, the military Investigative Committee, and the police. We found out he was back on Maryanovskaya Street. We’re demanding his release, but they won’t even let us speak to him on the phone. It’s a proper kidnapping.”
Her brother was released after some time, but, according to Valentina, he had been beaten up beforehand and forced to sign a “voluntary” military enlistment contract.
“They’ve finally let him go, but they intimidated him so much and beat him up so badly, that he signed the contract. We’re in shock at the moment, trying to raise money for lawyers. What else can we do? He’s at home for now, but they’ve got that contract they forced him to sign. They could turn up and break down the door, after all. What’s going on is just horrific.”
In August in Russia’s Maritime Territory, according to Ivan, a former soldier, the military stopped his brother Mikhail, who has a category 1 visual impairment.
“On 3 August, Misha went to the shop. He was stopped by two soldiers who initially asked him to sign a contract with the Defense Ministry,” says Ivan. “My brother refused. He told them straight away that he was a person with a category 1 visual impairment. They kept pressuring him: ‘Then you’ll be building barracks in Sibirtsevo’ (a village in the Maritime Territory’s Chernigovsky District, where military unit 16871 is stationed). He explained to them at length that he could hardly see anything at all. He’d been making his way to the shop by memory and by touch, after all. Then they grabbed him and took him away by force.”
The following day, Ivan (who had himself been discharged due to an injury sustained in combat in Ukraine) brought all his brother’s medical records to the recruitment center in Ussuriysk.
“They were holding him at the recruitment center on Lermontov Street. I showed them his medical records and his Category 1 disability certificate. I was certain they’d sort it out and let him go. But early the next morning, Misha rang and said they were putting him on a bus to the airport,” says Ivan. “That was it! He was off to Ukraine to fight. How on earth will he manage there?! He can only cope here on his own because he knows the streets like the back of his hand. But over there, he won’t even be able to get around. What do they want with him?!”
Mikhail’s family filed a complaint with the military prosecutor’s office claiming that he had been coerced into signing a contract.
“They said they had thirty days to respond. But how can we wait when a blind man has been whisked off to a war zone? He’s in danger there every single minute!” exclaims Ivan indignantly.
Human rights defenders note that after someone signs a contract volunteering for the army, it is extremely difficult to get the agreement annulled, even if he alleges that he was coerced into signing it.
“Coercion is illegal in theory, but if the contract has already been signed, annulling it at one’s own request is nearly impossible. In this case, one also has to file a written request with the military commissar to withdraw from the contract,” says Yaroslav Mukhin (whose name has been changed for his own safety), a lawyer specializing in cases involving conscientious objectors. “But experience shows that even medical certifications of disability are no longer of any help. The case may well go to court, but by the time the proceedings are over, a conscript in such poor health will already have been killed [in combat].”
Raids on men in Russia have been taking place amid growing challenges with recruiting volunteers. The Financial Timesreports that the Kremlin and the Defense Ministry tasked the regions with recruiting 409,000 men in 2026, and it is up to local officials to fulfill the recruitment quotas. Meanwhile, the costs of recruiting itself have increased. Important Storiescalculated that in the first quarter of 2026 alone the regions paid recruiters 3.2 billion rubles [approx. 33 million euros], which is more than twice the monthly average a year earlier.
In early August, the Wall Street Journalreported on complaints of men being detained and forced to volunteer for the army in Penza, Ulyanovsk, Rostov, Amur, and Yaroslavl regions, as well as Udmurtia, Tatarstan, Voronezh, and Arkhangelsk. According to the newspaper, American officials believe that the Kremlin is considering a larger-scale option: a new round of mobilizations. If such a decision is made, the newspaper’s sources expect it to be implemented after national parliamentary elections on 18–20 September. Russian authorities deny plans for another mobilization.
Security forces raid music festival near Vyborg: around 100 people detained for singing “songs in support of Ukraine” and “calling for regime change”
Police and special forces carried out a full-scale raid on a private “left-wing radical” music festival in a forest in the Leningrad Region’s Vyborg District, not far from the border with Finland, according to media outlets Baza and Fontanka.ru. According to state news agencies TASS and RIA Novosti, security forces detained around 100 event attendees and organizers.
State-run media outlets, citing law enforcement sources, report that the raid was prompted by “songs in support of Ukraine,” “calls for regime change in Russia,” and “widespread drug use.” Posters bearing Ukrainian national symbols were displayed near the stage, according to the reports. Drones were seized from attendees, who had been flying them “illegally” to film the event.
According to the security forces, the event had been taking place since 2023. The organizers kept the venue secret and only provided the location to attendees about a day before it began. Baza claims that the festival was previously called “NOZH” (“Knife”), an acronym that stood for “Unhealthy Lifestyle” (Nezdorovyi Obraz Zhizni).
Police footage of the raid
In footage released by Baza and other sources close to the security services, the predominantly young festival-goers can be seen lying face down on the ground with their hands behind their heads. DW reports that some of those detained were forced to speak on camera about using drugs.
Possible criminal are currently being considered, but no specific charges have been mentioned. As of this morning, the Interior Ministry and the Investigative Committee had not publicly reported on the evidence uncovered during the raid.
78.ru, a news outlet controlled by Izvestia, reported on the evening of August 22 that security officials had raided the private punk festival Day x Night near Vyborg, in Russia’s Leningrad region. According to the outlet, officers cordoned off the forest, searched tents, confiscated drones, and detained about 100 people.
78.ru and the Russian state news agency RIA Novosti claimed that festivalgoers performed “songs in support of Ukraine and a change of power” in Russia. Security forces — who called the event’s participants “left-wing radicals” — allegedly found “posters with Ukrainian symbols” and drugs among them. St. Petersburg’s police press service has not officially commented on the raid, and neither the festival’s organizers nor the bands that performed there have spoken publicly about what happened.
Footage published by 78.ru shows dozens of people lying face down in the forest near the tents and stage as security officials order them, “Get up slowly, hands behind your heads.” The video also captured packets of white powder, syringes, and latex gloves.
Later in the footage, one of the detainees stands by a table covered with items he calls “drugs of plant and chemical origin.” It remains officially unconfirmed whether the searches turned up any banned substances.
A source cited by RIA Novosti claimed festival participants had been flying drones to film in what is effectively a border zone with Finland.
RIA Novosti reported that authorities are deciding whether to open a criminal case but did not specify possible charges.
One of the musicians who performed at the festival told the independent Russian news outlet Mediazona, on condition of anonymity, that participants learned officers were coming shortly before the raid. According to the musician, “most of the force was used in the first few minutes”: “One acquaintance was asked about the organizers; he said he didn’t know, and he was kicked in the stomach and threatened with being taken behind a tent. I heard someone’s lip was split.”
One man, the musician recalled, was “hit with a weak electroshock charge because he resisted and refused to lie down the way officers wanted.”
The Mediazona source said officers “needled” festival participants and made homophobic jokes. “As if to say, we’re all dyed-haired gays here, and so on,” he said, giving one example. He said there were no “political flags or [Ukrainian] symbols” at the festival.
“Some people were pulled aside and asked provocative questions: “How long have you been in the movement?” The guys said, ‘We listen to music,’ which is true,” the musician added.
He also said that officials checked people who had traveled from other regions less thoroughly for drugs than they did people from St. Petersburg. After interviewing festivalgoers and copying their documents, officials began releasing them. According to the musician, “only one dealer was detained”:
He arrived shortly before the raid, and I didn’t see him on the first day of the festival. I don’t even think he’s part of the [music] community. The event was as friendly and even decent as could be. I didn’t see a lot of drunk people or drug users; there was a medical tent set up, and even rapid tests for STDs.
The Day x Night festival has run since 2023, with organizers revealing the exact location to participants only about a day before it starts. This year’s edition was scheduled for August 20–23 and featured punk bands from St. Petersburg and Karelia. The Telegram channel Baza claimed that the festival was formerly called NOZH, short for Nezdorovyi obraz zhizni (“Unhealthy Lifestyle”).
Far-right activists once again turn up for annual reading of Great Terror victims’ names
The annual Day of Remembrance for the Victims of the Great Terror is taking place in the Sandarmokh forest tract. Among those in attendance are nationalists from the so-called Russian Community (Russkaya Obshchina) and Cossacks. One of the far-right activists, his face covered by a mask, is brandishing a Russian flag, according to our correspondent.
For the most part, the provocateurs are being ignored, and they have not played any music.
“So far, no one has been aggressive,” our correspondent reported.
Journalists from pro-government TV channels 78 and Channel One also turned up for the reading.
A monument to the Jews murdered in the area had been toppled but was later restored to its original location.
What you need to know
In 1937–1938, Sandarmokh was the site of mass executions and burials during Stalin’s Great Terror. The site was discovered by members of the Petersburg and Karelian branches of Memorial in 1997.
Every year on August 5, official memorial ceremonies are held in Sandarmokh to honor the victims.
Last year, far-right extremists also attended the ceremony: they splashed water on those who had come to the memorial event and sang “Katyusha.” The year before last, they tried to drown out the reading of the names by playing military songs over loudspeakers.
The Day of Remembrance for the Victims of the Great Terror is annually held on August 5 in Sandarmokh, [a] forest area in Karelia. Thousands of people killed by Stalin’s NKVD are buried in the area.
This year’s commemoration did not proceed without trouble.
A significant number of people had traveled to the memorial site to pay their respect[s]. Among them were representatives of the Finnish Embassy in Moscow, including Ambassador Marja Liivala.
They were met by militant activists from the ultraright group Russkaya Obshchina (Russian Community).
Many of the militants had their faces covered by balaclavas. They verbally attacked the foreign diplomats, accusing them of being ‘fascists.’
The provocateurs also told the guests at the commemoration that they were ‘collaborators’ and that they should “go to Donbass.”
At one point, several of the militants began to chant the patriotic song “Katyusha.”
The Barents Observer has gotten access to photo and video footage from the event.
The provocations were carefully planned by Russkaya Obshchina and its partners. The extremist group has close links to powerful people in the Putin regime. Lately, it has become more active and visible in the Russian public space, including in north Russian regions like Murmansk.
Representatives of the Finnish Embassy in Moscow, along with diplomats from the other Nordic countries, regularly attend commemoration events like the one in Sandarmokh.
The day before the commemoration event in Sandarmokh, a memorial event for victims of political repression took place at the Krasny Bor memorial cemetery near Petrozavodsk, Republic of Karelia. Activists read out the names of the terror victims. An 80-year-old veteran of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, Tatyana Savinkina, who had been involved in the rehabilitation of the repressed for many years, attended the event, reported SOTAvision. In December 2024, Savinkina was convicted for “discrediting the army.”
Since the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine, Sandarmokh has repeatedly become a site for provocations. In 2022, pro-government activists stuck the symbol of the Russian invasion – the letter Z – on the cars of people who came to the site, placed leaflets with insults directed at the Ukrainian president, and attempted to distribute books by the well-known Karelian Stalinist Alexander Stepanov. In 2024, a group of Cossacks and unknown individuals arrived at the site, hiding their faces under balaclavas. They set up speakers between the pines, from which military songs played. Ukrainians holding a memorial service at their cross of sorrow were shouted at with “Glory to Russia,” and near the Holocaust monument, provocateurs shouted “Jews sponsored Hitler.”
Enemy drones attacked Wildberries warehouses in Leningrad Region in the early hours of 24 July, reported Alexander Drozdenko, head of Russia’s 47th region.
Governor Alexander Beglov reported that, in Petersburg, “civilian infrastructure on Moscow Highway was targeted.”
The Russian Defense Ministry claimed it had downed 571 Ukrainian Armed Forces drones over Russia’s regions overnight.
Delovoi Peterburg reports below what we know about the latest series of attacks on warehouses in the Petersburg metro area.
Repelling the drone attack in Leningrad Region: Fire in Novosaratovka
Three people were injured and hospitalized in stable condition, Drozdenko said.
“A drone strike caused a fire at Wildberries warehouses in the village of Novosaratovka* in the Vsevolozhsk District,” the governor explained.
In addition, a warehouse belonging to the Severnaya poultry farm in the village of Sinyavino, Kirovsk District, Leningrad Region, sustained damage. No one was injured. Debris from the drone fell onto the grounds of the old hospital, according to Andrei Voropayev, head of the Sverdlov Settlement.
“They’re not letting anyone in there, including us. We don’t know what was there. Just warehouses and more warehouses. Definitely no chemicals. When it was shot down over the Neva, one drone fell on the old hospital in the village. There are only bare walls there, no people, and the firefighters have left,” Voropaev told 47news.
A drone alert was issued in Region 47 at 01:43 Moscow Time on 24 July 2. Drozdenko reported that fifty drones had been shot down over the region. The regional governor lifted the drone threat alert at 06:17 Moscow Time.
“The drone threat in the Leningrad Region has been lifted. Fifty-nine enemy UAVs have been shot down. I thank the anti-aircraft forces for their effective performance,” said Drozdenko.
The Investigative Committee reported that a criminal case had been opened regarding a terrorist act (per Article 205 of the Russian Federal Criminal Code) in connection with “an attack by Ukrainian armed groups on civilian targets in the Leningrad Region.” No further details of the attack were provided in the statement.
Attack on Petersburg: Shushary and Utkina Zavod
The company’s warehouses in Petersburg were also targeted. According to the RWB (Wildberries | Russ) press office, operations at two logistics complexes have been temporarily suspended.
“Operations at the company’s logistics complexes in Shushary and Utkina Zavod (both in Petersburg) have been temporarily suspended. Updates on the resumption of operations will follow,” the press office stated.
The company clarified that there had been no casualties at Wildberries facilities in Petersburg and the Leningrad Region.
Some of the warehouse space and merchandise was salvaged, and a swift evacuation was carried out at the warehouses, such that there were no casualties, Tatyana Kim later reported.
“Dear partners, up-to-date information on the situation is being published on the seller’s website. All our efforts are now focused on redistributing goods across warehouses to ensure more efficient inventory turnover and the economic stability of our partners,” the Wildberries founder wrote on her social media channel.
Eyewitnesses reported that Pyaterochka’s warehouses in Utkina Zavod may also have been hit, but X5 (the discount grocery store chain’s operator) denied this.
“The reports are false. The facility was not damaged and will continue to operate as usual,” X5 told DP.
Governor Beglov reported that efforts are underway to address the aftermath of the attack on a civilian infrastructure facility on Moscow Highway.
“The emergency response headquarters, which I personally head, has been coordinating the work of the municipal services and interagency cooperation,” the governor wrote on Max.
Drivers and eyewitnesses have reported that traffic on Moscow Highway has come to a standstill. The City Transportation Committee announced that, due to the impassability of Moscow Highway, bus lines 179, 192, 196, 197, and 388 have been temporarily rerouted.
“Bus routes Nos. 179, 192, 196, 197, and 388 are running via Danube Boulevard and Sofia Street, then continuing along their regular routes (in both directions). We recommend that residents of Slavyanka take suburban commuter trains. Trains are running every ten minutes,” the transportation committee announced.
Eyewitnesses report major traffic jams in the south and southeast of the city, on the Ring Road and on Sofia Street.
“A massive traffic jam has formed on Sofia Street heading toward the city: it starts past the intersection with Ust-Izhorsk Highway. There is also a major traffic jam on the inner ring road between Murmansk Highway and Moscow Highway; it is caused by the closure of the city-bound exit to Moscow Highway due to roadwork,” reported the city’s Megapolis channel on Telegram.
A live map of the traffic jams in question, in Petersburg’s far south. Image courtesty of Delovoi Peterburg
Residents of a building on Aleksa Dundić Street in the Frunze District were evacuated on the afternoon of 24 July, according to 78.ru. Residents of stairwells 8 through 19 were asked to leave their flats and go outside.
Pulkovo Airport imposed flight restrictions starting at 1:46 a.m. and resumed flight operations at 6:00 a.m. Moscow Time after the drone threat was lifted.
As of that time, over fifty flights had been delayed by two hours or more, and fourteen were waiting at alternate airports. By 8:20 a.m., Pulkovo had handled approximately thirty flights, both arriving and departing. Two flights arrived in Petersburg from alternate airports, according to the VVSS (Northern Capital’s Air Gateway) press service.
“All services are working to fulfill the daily flight plan per the revised schedule,” airport officials said.
UPDATE: As of 9:15 a.m., approximately sixty flights had been dispatched to their destination airports, and seven aircraft had arrived in Petersburg from alternate airports.
During the drone threat, restrictions on mobile communication were in effect in the metropolitan area, with the peak number of complaints occurring overnight.
A chart showing numbers of complaints about loss of mobile phone coverage in the Petersburg area during the 24 July 2026 drone attack. Image courtesy of Delovoi Peterburg
The damage from the attacks on Wildberries warehouses in the Leningrad Region and Petersburg could reach 76 billion rubles [approx. 861 million euros], according to preliminary estimates done for DP by Sergei Semko, lead analyst at Data Insight, conducted preliminary calculations for DP.
Attacks on Warehouses: A Timeline
In recent days, Wildberries warehouses have been targeted by enemy drones. Just yesterday, two logistics complexes sustained damage in Voronezh.
The first attacks on Wildberries warehouses in Russia took place on 18 July. The strikes targeted the company’s facilities in the Tambov and Moscow regions. At least eight people were killed, and more than sixty civilians were injured. Several of the injured were in critical condition.
On the night of 21–22 July, drones attacked large Wildberries warehouses in Krasnodar and Nevinnomyssk, Stavropol Territory. A local state of emergency was declared in Nevinnomyssk. The head of the Krasnodar Territory reported one fatality resulting from an attack on the oil depot in Armavir and provided an update on the condition of those injured at the warehouses in Krasnodar. The Investigative Committee classified the attacks as acts of terrorism. A criminal case has been opened under Article 205 of the Russian Federal Criminal Code.
DP has reported that the drone strikes on Wildberries warehouses have created problems not only for that particular and the sellers collaborating with it. In fact, a new reality has dawned for the entire Russian e-commerce and logistics market. Everyone will have to restructure their internal procedures and come up with new solutions.
* Here are some snapshots I took of Novosaratovka during a Sunday Cafe expedition there in December 2015:
Russian businesses have been feeling the effects of the war in Ukraine through tax increases, rising costs caused by fuel shortages, and supply chains disrupted by sanctions. Now, there is another risk to contend with: Ukrainian drone strikes on their facilities.
As Ukraine wages a campaign to bring the conflict home to ordinary Russians, it has opened a new front aimed at the online marketplace Wildberries, a pillar of the country’s retail economy and a potent symbol of modern life in Russia.
In recent days, Ukraine has hit five warehouses belonging to Wildberries, a Russian analogue to Amazon, as well as storage sites for other large retailers. Eight people were killed in attacks on Saturday and one person on Wednesday, the Russian authorities said. The strikes on Saturday alone were reported to have wiped out between 6 and 9 percent of the storage capacity of Wildberries.
Ukraine’s long-range strikes on Russian economic targets, including a months-long campaign of attacks on oil processing facilities, are intended to pressure President Vladimir V. Putin to end the war, in part by hampering his ability to finance it. The oil strikes have caused fuel shortages that have led to lines at gas stations, and they could affect the coming harvest season.
Mr. Putin has signaled no intention of backing away from his objectives in the conflict, and the economy, while weakened by the war, is not on the verge of collapse. Still, analysts said that if the attacks on Russia’s business infrastructure continued, the ripple effects could pose severe economic challenges on top of a range of other war-related strains, reducing tax collections and adding to inflation.
Ukraine has targeted Wildberries warehouses in five regions across Russia, including a reported strike early Thursday in the Voronezh region, south of Moscow. A fire at a warehouse in Elektrostal, a city in the Moscow region, took three days to extinguish.
The day after the initial strikes, Russia unleashed the largest missile attack on Kyiv, the Ukrainian capital, since the war started in 2022, firing at least 35 ballistic and hypersonic cruise missiles.
Ukraine has said that its strikes are in retaliation for Russian attacks on its postal delivery hubs and other civilian infrastructure, a yearslong campaign by Moscow that has been far more devastating than Kyiv’s strikes against Russia. A Russian attack last week on a postal terminal in the northeastern city of Kharkiv left three people dead and 20 injured.
President Volodymyr Zelensky of Ukraine has also said that Wildberries facilities are a legitimate target because the company sells goods to the Russian military. The Kremlin spokesman, Dmitri S. Peskov, has denied the accusation.
Wildberries has a policy of not selling military-grade weapons, but it does sell goods used by soldiers, like commercial drones that can be jury-rigged with explosives, as well as fiber-optic cables, tactical clothing and other so-called dual-use items.
The Wildberries attacks have been calamitous for small Russian entrepreneurs who sell goods through the site, the country’s largest online marketplace.
One of them, Timur, woke up on Saturday morning to news that he had lost clothing and shoes worth about $25,000 as a result of the attacks on the Wildberries warehouses in Elektrostal and in Kotovsk, in the Tambov region, southeast of Moscow.
Timur, who was nervous about speaking with foreign journalists when reached by telephone and asked that his last name be withheld to avoid reprisals, said that his main concern was the uncertainty that he and other Russian entrepreneurs now faced.
He said on Tuesday that it was unclear what would happen next “because most likely they are not the only warehouses that will be attacked.”
Hours later, two more Wildberries warehouses that contained his apparel, in the southern Stavropol and Krasnodar regions, were hit by drones. His losses doubled.
Timur said he had been building his business for five years, “and it can just collapse in a week,” he said, a precarity that Ukrainians have been living with for nearly four and a half years.
He warned of the effects on the Russian economy, saying that continued strikes could cause the Wildberries business model to collapse, raising prices and bringing about shortages.
Alexander Kolyandr, director for Europe at the Eurasia Group, a consulting firm, echoed that view.
“The company itself and all the sellers will likely pay less in taxes than last year, and given the size, it might be pretty substantial, especially at a time when the Russian budget is experiencing a widening deficit,” Mr. Kolyandr said.
Additionally, the cost of protecting, rebuilding and insuring the warehouses will be passed on to consumers, he said, contributing to already high levels of inflation.
The attacks on Saturday in the Moscow and Tambov regions destroyed goods worth almost as much as Wildberries’ entire profit last year, according to expert estimates reported by Kommersant, a Russian newspaper, and by Forbes Russia.
The company’s chief executive, Tatyana Kim, promised financial compensation of about $25,000 to families of the workers who were killed and half of that amount to the injured.
At the beginning of the month, Wildberries and another large online marketplace, Ozon, changed their terms and conditions to stipulate that the companies had no legal obligation to compensate for losses caused by drone attacks.
On Wednesday, however, Ms. Kim announced payouts to small-scale sellers who were “most vulnerable.” She did not disclose the amounts.
Many sellers on Wildberries financed their products with loans, including Timur, who told of interest rates as high as 35 percent. Some vendors risk having their bank accounts frozen as soon as next week if they are unable to make tax payments due in the coming days, according to the business newspaper Vedomosti.
A civilian facility like a warehouse can become a lawful military target if it is being used, or is being prepared to be used, for military purposes, said Michael Schmitt, who teaches international law at the University of Reading in England and is a former legal adviser to the U.S. military.
Combatants, he said, must take into account exactly what kind of materials are inside, have a high degree of certainty about the site’s future military use and make efforts to mitigate harm to civilians.
Maria Snegovaya, a researcher at the Center for Strategic and International Studies, said that Russia’s economic slowdown, related in part to Ukraine’s long-range strikes, had coincided with declining levels of support for the war.
But some in Russia said that the increased drumbeat of attacks could rally Russians around their leader.
“The adversary started doing the job of our propaganda, which is to explain to the nation that a real war is underway, and no one can just lie low,” a Russian military blogger, Roman Saponkov, wrote on Telegram. “At first they switched off fuel at the petrol station, now they took on Wildberries warehouses. Next, it will be beer factories and nail salons.”
A Pride flag near the Russian coat of arms during a protest outside the Russian Embassy in London, 16 March 2023. Krisztian Elek/SOPA Images/LightRocket via Getty Images
Russian authorities have banned nine groups that provide support to lesbian, gay, bisexual, and transgender (LGBT) people as “extremist,” Human Rights Watch said today. The apparent aim is to further suppress, stigmatize, and criminalize those who document abuses, share information, and provide legal, medical, and other assistance to Russia’s LGBT population.
“Russian authorities are intensifying their criminalization of those who provide critical support to the very LGBT people they have systematically persecuted,” said Hugh Williamson, Europe and Central Asia director at Human Rights Watch. “Authorities should vacate all court decisions and criminal convictions based on these spurious ‘extremism’ charges.”
On April 22, a court in Orel banned Parni Plus, an LGBT media outlet. The court based its decision largely on an “expert assessment” by the Nizhny Novgorod Academy of the Internal Affairs Ministry, effectively a law enforcement university. It found that Parni Plus “belittled Russian spiritual values and showed contempt for Russian President Vladimir Putin,” criticized Russian laws, and attempted to create “an alternative, anti-state hierarchy of values.” Parni Plus said the authorities were “trying to label the visibility, voice and experiences of the LGBTQ community as ‘extremism’” and said it would continue its work.
A similar report formed the basis for the Moscow city court ruling banning the Moscow Community Center for LGBT+ Initiatives on April 23. The center said it “cannot ignore the fact that queer people have not ceased to exist and require support.” The group also said it would continue its advocacy and providing psychological, legal, and other support.
Centre T called the May 4 decision by the Moscow city court to ban the organization “unfounded and repressive.” The group pledged to continue its work to provide support and information for transgender and nonbinary people.
On March 3, the Saint Petersburg city court banned Coming Out, a prominent LGBT support group, as “extremist.” The group said the authorities have been expanding the definition of extremism to criminalize “virtually any independent activity, any dissent, or any act of solidarity to isolate, intimidate, and silence those who speak about issues and support vulnerable people.” Coming Out said it would continue its work to resist the state’s efforts “to make LGBT+ people unseen and unheard.”
Russian LGBT Network, which the Saint Petersburg city court on April 27 also banned as “extremist,” said the court’s judgment had “nothing to do with justice,” and that its activities essentially consisted of supporting the LGBT community, documenting discrimination, protecting rights, and discussing the situation of queer people in Russia. It also said it would continue its work.
On April 7, the Sverdlovsk Region court outlawed the LGBT Resource Centre. The court said the center engaged in “propaganda” and that its activities contradicted Russia’s state policy. On April 29, the Yaroslavl Region court banned Kallisto as “extremist,” claiming the movement aimed to “reshape and effectively destroy Russia’s fundamental spiritual and moral values, in particular traditional family values.”
On May 19, a court in Novosibirsk used the same reasoning to ban T9 NSK, an initiative that supported transgender people and their friends and family. The group shut down its website and social media accounts. In May, the Saint Petersburg city court registered the Justice Ministry’s lawsuit to ban the Alliance of Straights and LGBT for Equality as “extremist.” The group said it would continue working to provide support, security, overcome isolation and censorship, and focus on education and outreach. This was the last known case to be tried, in closed proceedings.
Under article 282.2 of Russia’s criminal code, participation in organizations banned as “extremist” carries penalties of up to 6 years in prison, while leading such an organization carries up to 12 years. Donations to such organizations are punishable with up to 8 years in prison under article 282.3, and repeated displays of “extremist” symbols, such as the rainbow flag or banned organizations’ logos, up to 4 years under article 282.4.
On March 6, a court in Samara convicted Artyom Fokin, the leader of Irida, a local LGBT community organization, on charges of leading an “extremist” organization and repeated violation of the country’s repressive “foreign agents” legislation and fined him 450,000 rubles (US$6,000). A Samara court subsequently banned the group on April 24.
Human Rights Watch monitoring has found that at least nine people had been convicted on criminal charges based on the “extremist” designation of the “International LGBT Movement,” including for allegedly leading organizations supposedly belonging to this movement, sharing content, organizing drag shows, conducting activism, or supporting same-sex dating. At least 25 others are facing criminal charges.
In 2023, the United Nations high commissioner for human rights, Volker Türk, condemned the Russian Supreme Court’s “LGBT-extremism” ruling. Independent UN human rights experts warned that the designation enables arbitrary and abusive application of the law and jeopardizes a wide range of activities protected under international human rights law.
“The Russian government’s banning of LGBT rights organizations is absurd, harmful, and discriminatory,” Williamson said. “Rights-respecting governments should support Russian LGBT groups and activists, including by enabling them to continue their work from abroad.”
Evgeny Pisemsky, founder and editor of Parni Plus, at the 2024 Pride parade in Bristol. Photo: Evgeny Pisemsky/DW
It has been nearly three years since the nonexistent “International LGBT Movement” was declared an “extremist” organization by the Russian Supreme Court, per its 30 November 2023 ruling. The decision unleashed a crackdown resulting in over one hundred convictions on charges of “LGBT propaganda.” Russian police have detained people at clubs and private parties, and queers have been remanded in custody and fined several thousands of rubles. Numerous LGBTQ+ organizations have been targeted, and many of them have been declared “extremist” as well, although they provided medical and legal assistance, hosted cultural events, and reported on the queer community via social media. Deutsche Welle spoke with members of these organizations about how they continue to operate in Russia and render assistance to people despite all the obstacles.
“The greater the pressure has been, the more attention we’ve paid to the LGBT movement”
Parni Plus, which has been around for eighteen years, is the principal Russian-language queer news website, and it has been closely linked to Phoenix Plus, an NGO that was founded two years earlier. Phoenix Plus focused on raising awareness, promoting free testing, and supporting HIV-positive people. Phoenix Plus’s chair, the cisgender male Evgeny Pisemsky, had also worked as a volunteer at the public awareness center Info Plus. Since Info Plus provided little specific information for HIV-positive gays, the idea arose to launch the site Parni Plus.
“Originally, running the site was my hobby, but at one point I realized it was a great way of reaching a bigger audience,” Pisemky, who became the website’s editor-in-chief, told DW.
Parni Plus has transformed along with the changing political climate in Russia. After the Russian State Duma passed a law banning “promoting LGBT to minors,” the site started publishing articles about the LGBTQ+ movement’s fight for its rights.
“The greater the pressure has been, the more attention we’ve paid to the LGBT movement,” Pisemsky explained to DW.
At one time, the media project tried to “navigate” the legal obstacles while also publishing articles criticizing the authorities for ignoring HIV prevention. This resulted in numerous instances when the authorities blocked the website.
“Our lawyer and I would send off complaints to Roskomnadzor [the Russian media watchdog] along the lines of ‘Where did you find that?’ and they would unblock us every time,” said Pisemsky.
When Phoenix Plus was declared a “foreign agent,” in 2020, Pisemsky had to shut it down in order to safeguard Parni Plus. But its consciousness-raising and activism continued, as Pisemsky consistently helped people get online HIV consultations from anywhere in Russia. The covid-19 lockdowns and Russia’s subsequent full-scale invasion of Ukraine did not put a stop to the organization’s work either: its team was ready to assist anyone and everyone remotely.
The team made the decision to reject the “18+” warning label it had been obliged to post on the website. In June 2023, they wrote that information about sexuality and sexually transmitted diseases were particularly vital to children and adolescents.
“[W]e are sick and tired of turning our back on queer children and teenagers. They are the most vulnerable segment of our communities, which are in particular need of support nowadays. We are not only freeing them from the need to lie when accessing the site. We [also] plan to publish many more articles just for minors,” they wrote.
After the LGBTQ movement was declared “extremist” in Russia, the Parni Plus team was forced to flee the country.
“We became ‘foreign agents’ twice: first as Phoenix Plus, and then as Parni Plus. Practically all our reporters were also declared ‘foreign agents’, and we racked up over twenty fines, totaling two million rubles,” Pisemsky recounted.
He argues that remaining open matters most of all.
“The ‘extremist’ label makes you worry about family members, and the authorities have been trying to erase us, but we have been surviving against the odds. It is vital to LGBTQ+ people that [our] organizations remain visible,” said Pisemsky.
80% of transgender people in Russia want to leave
Centre T is an organization specializing in assistance to trans people. It emerged in 2020 from a therapy group run by Yan Dvorkin, who is non-binary, and his colleague.
“We didn’t plan on founding a special organization. We were just psychologists who did sessions for trans people. But we quickly realized that our clients had a huge number of unmet needs in different areas, and that there was nowhere in Moscow for them to turn. There was nowhere to refer people for medical care or for meeting people and relaxing,” Yan explained.
That was how Centre T came into being. Its first project was called “Plush Toy Cat”—monthly tea parties featuring board games and dancing. These events took place for several years and, according to Dvorkin, would draw as many as 150 people.
“People from the regions would even come to hang out with other transgender people. It was an unbelievably positive experience: the participants found friends, partners, and future roommates at the get-togethers.”
Centre T gradually expanded. Its staff began providing consultations on emigration and means of obtaining medical care. They engaged in public education and community building, opened a shelter in Moscow, and set up regional associations.
After Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the Centre T team immediately sensed that negative changes were afoot in Russian society. According to Dvorkin, the active persecution of trans people in Russia kicked off precisely after February 2022, culminating in the 2023 law banning “sex change” (the correct term is “gender transition”).
“We worked with a medical board based at a clinic, and its physicians treated transgender people with respect. They issued diagnoses of ‘transsexualism’—a classification that enabled individuals to start redoing their identification papers and getting ready for surgeries. The passage of the law banning gender transition changed everything. We had fought against its adoption, and it was largely for this reason that our organization was designated a ‘foreign agent’ in 2023,” he said.
Dvorkin has no regrets that Centre T put up such a fierce fight. The team received many words of support in return.
Centre T staff members attended court hearings of cases involving LGBT individuals. Members of ultra-right gangs would occasionally attack them at the entrance to the courthouse.
Dvorkin described how the Centre T team coped with tough times.
“One time they attacked us with pepper spray and a child passing by got caught in the crossfire. His mother came to our defense and went with us to the police station. But our arguments about dangerous radicalization or the literal example of who was actually harming children fell on deaf ears in court. After losing such cases we would go to my place to ‘celebrate’ by eating a cake baked in advance and singing along to a guitar,” he recounted.
After the “LGBT movement” was ruled “extremist,” it became much harder for Centre T to operate, as many organizations voided their cooperation agreements with them, and they had to cancel in-person events. The situation in Russia changed drastically, and Centre T began moving its staff members abroad; many of them had been charged with violating the anti-LGBT “propaganda” law. Centre T also made the decision to close its Moscow shelter, which had attracted unwanted attention.
“This dude tried to kick down the door. We called the police. Our people saw through the window that he went outside, shook the policeman’s hand, and they went their separate ways,” recounted Dvorkin.
Currently, Centre T continues to operate online: it helps people access medical care and responds to crisis calls, providing support not only to trans people and their families but also to professionals at various levels. Centre T has also been providing more robust counseling on emigration matters.
“It has become clear that transgender people can no longer live a normal life in Russia. Eighty percent of transgender people in Russia want to leave and are looking for a way to do so,” concluded Dvorkin.
Although he sees Centre T’s new status as an “extremist organization” as dangerous, he has no plans to go into hiding.
“If I’m detained and extradited, then that’s life,” he said.
The MCC has gone underground
Unlike the majority of LGBTQ+ organizations, the Moscow Community Center for LGBT+ Initiatives (MCC) is still engaged in offline work in Russia and make it their emphasis. The MCC was formed in 2015 and conceived as a place where people could drop in, feel safe, and have a good time by reading books, drinking coffee, attending themed events, and meeting new eople. In 2019 it was transformed into a co-working café.
“We wanted casual passersby to be able to walk into our café, see the special ‘signs,’ and immediately realize they were in an LGBT space,” notes Olga Baranova, the MCC’s non-binary president.
Another of the MCC’s big projects is the queer festival OpenArt. Launched in 2017, it still takes place, under wraps, in Russia. Although it is hard to imagine now, the festival’s first edition was even guarded by police officers.
“An FSB officer arrived and asked what was going on. I told him to come in and have a look. He was afraid of possible riots and that skinheads would go after the festival attendees on the dark streets and beat them up. So we were assigned a police patrol. The provocateurs showed up at the doors, of course, but our guards kept everyone safe. No one inside noticed a thing,” Baranova recounts.
Despite the law against “gay propaganda” among children, the MCC managed to navigate the obstacles and and engage with a young audience: in 2022, for example, the festival was held in a two-story venue, with a 16+ area on the first floor. Nevertheless, it wasn’t without its challenges.
“Center ‘E’ officers [the Russian Interior Ministry’s anti-“extremism” police] came and talked with me. They asked me to shut everything down. Ultimately, though, the festival was a huge success,” Baranova recalls.
When the “International LGBT Movement” was declared “extremist” by the Russian authorities, the MCC went underground. The organization is now focused on emergency assistance, whether that means moving people abroad or getting them into a shelter.
“It’s important to remember that we cannot help everyone because we simply don’t have the resources,” Baranova points out. “If the police are pounding on your door, if you’re up against a tough situation in life, then you definitely should write to us and submit a request.”
Otherwise, the MCC continues to hold events on important topics, and their goal is to ensure that people do not end up being isolated.
“We see what are our beneficiaries need and every three to six months we change the focus of our meetings,” notes Baranova. “For example, right now many of them are looking for jobs.”
The community center wanders among various venues, and Baranova regrets the constant need to move from place to place. “In your own home you can put your favorite pillow on the bed and your favorite glass on the table. These are the things that create a sense of home, not bare walls,” she complains.
Members of the Russian LGBTQ community are persecuted for their identity
Eighteen years ago, a small community center called Coming Out opened in St. Petersburg. Since then, it has grown into one of Russia’s leading LGBTQ+ rights organizations. Coming Out also provided free psychological counseling and ran in-person solidarity groups, but its primary activities were legal support and consultations.
Thanks to Coming Out, there is an archive of accounts of discrimination against queer people in Russia.
“Long before 2022, we gatherd accounts of discrimination against queer people by law enforcement, of workplace and domestic discrimination, and of discrimination at medical and educational institutions. We analyzed the messages transmitted by the state propaganda machine and corroborated the existence of worrying trends with the numbers. We annually presented the outcomes of our work to Russian and international officials,” Denis Oleinik, a cisgender man and Coming Out’s executive director, explained to DW.
Coming Out was designated a “foreign agent” by the Russian authorities in December 2021. A few months later, realizing they could no longer work in Russia because they could not guarantee their own safety, the organization’s staff gradually fled Russia and moved its entire operations online. When Coming Out was declared an “extremist” organization, in March 2026, all of its staff members were ready for this turn of events, according to Oleinik.
“Over the past four years, we’ve learned to do everything remotely, put together a secure volunteer system, and set up systems for gathering and storing information that are as anonymous as possible. It’s really important to us that the beneficiaries of our assistance are safe and that the help we provide doesn’t harm them. To date, there have been no cases of people being persecuted for receiving support or assistance,” he explained.
Oleinik wants anti-queer discrimination to disappear in the future, but Coming Out’s research paints a completely different picture.
“In 2025, members of Russia’s LGBTQ community were subjected to persecution and discrimination not only for things they said or wrote but also for their very identity. Thus, in 2025, posting personal photos featuring kissing, publishing a blog about the lives of a same-sex couple, and organizing meetings in one’s own home were classified as ‘propaganda’ and ‘extremism,'” its report says.
This means that Oleinik and his colleagues have their work cut out for them.
Kolya* says they would not dare to go to a state health-care facility for the therapy they are receiving for a mental health condition. The 19-year-old from a city in Russia’s far-east, who identifies as non-binary and gay, tells The Lancet they fear that information about their sexuality could be passed on to other state institutions and used against them in some way. “I wouldn’t have told the mental health specialist treating me about my sexuality if they weren’t a private doctor. I wouldn’t tell the municipal clinic, I wouldn’t want them to have that kind of information about me in case they passed it on somewhere”, they say.
Kolya chose a private clinic because, like many in the LGBTQ+ community, they perceive them to be less likely to divulge their gender identity or sexuality to others, and less likely to be discriminatory. Kolya’s distrust of the Russian health-care system, and their avoidance of it, is becoming increasingly common among the heavily marginalised LGBTQ+ community, according to one of the largest surveys of how LGBTQ+ people are living in Russia, released in May.
The survey of more than 6000 people in Russia by the Coming Out and Sphere Foundation organisations showed a significant rise in the number of LGBTQ+ people avoiding seeing a doctor for fear of discrimination or biased treatment last year, reaching 35%.
Many of the respondents who reported discrimination said they had faced inappropriate comments, jokes, or offensive remarks from medical professionals, as well as experiencing reproductive coercion. Others specifically mentioned issues that arose when seeking help from psychologists and psychotherapists. In such cases, respondents reported instances of outing and breaches of confidentiality, including the disclosure of information about sexuality or gender identity without their consent.
The report’s authors say LGBTQ+ people, and especially transgender people, are losing access to medical services due to this distrust. “In our latest survey we saw a 6 percentage point year-on-year rise in people avoiding seeing a doctor. Historically, annual increases for this indicator have been in the range of 1–2 percentage points. A 6-point rise represents a marked departure from that trend—that’s why it is significant”, Denis Oleinik, Executive Director of Coming Out, told The Lancet.
“If this rate of increase were to continue at the same pace annually, within 5 years a substantially larger proportion of LGBTQ+ people would be avoiding medical care, with serious consequences for both individual health outcomes and broader public health. The 6-point rise may not sound dramatic in isolation, but viewed against the historical baseline and the potential trajectory it represents a genuinely concerning shift”, he added.
Over the past decade, a series of repressive anti-LGBTQ+ laws have been passed in Russia, including bans on any public information or activities supporting LGBTQ+ rights or displaying non-heterosexual orientation, on same-sex marriage, and on transgender people officially or medically changing their gender. A 2023 ruling by the Supreme Court also banned the international LGBT movement, declaring it extremist, allowing people to be fined or prosecuted for anything that could be construed as promoting “non-traditional sexual relations”.
In previous years, authorities have used these tools to crack down on groups and activists taking action to support LGBTQ+ rights, but now they are increasingly being used against individuals, with prosecutions even for displaying or wearing rainbow-coloured materials. “The persecution has moved to people being targeted not for something they have done, but just for being LGBTQ+,” said Oleinik. This in turn has made many in the community concerned about going anywhere, including health-care facilities, where their gender identity or sexual orientation could be identified and possibly disclosed.
Vitaly Djuma, Executive Director at the Eurasian Coalition on Health, Rights, Gender and Sexual Diversity told The Lancet that, in many cases, an LGBTQ+ person with a particular complaint that could be linked to non-heterosexual sexual behaviour would “not give up that kind of intimate information unless they really trusted the doctor, especially if they thought it could lead to disclosure [of their sexual orientation]”. Instead, he said, they would be forced to go to a private clinic, if they could afford it, or risk seeking treatment within state health care. “They would have to just try and deny the complaint is any indication of their sexuality”, he added.
Groups providing harm reduction services in Russia say that LGBTQ+ people are accessing their services, which they can legally provide to other key populations, to resolve health issues. “The LGBTQ+ community is increasingly reaching out to us in a more discreet way, sometimes through third parties. People are afraid to disclose that they are LGBTQ+”, a worker at a non-governmental organisation in a major Russian city, speaking on condition of anonymity, told The Lancet.
The situation is especially difficult for transgender people, who, the survey shows, are more likely to face discrimination in health care, and more likely to avoid going to a doctor, than other members of the LGBTQ+ community. Oleinik said there were “few cases where doctors or clinics outright rejected providing services to someone just because they were gay or lesbian, but for trans people, it’s much worse”.
He added that there had also been cases of transgender people who, with medical changing of gender banned, turned to the black market to get the medicines they needed to transition, administered them unsupervised, and subsequently became ill.
Lucy Shtein of the North Caucasus SOS crisis group, which evacuates persecuted LGBTQ+ people from Russia, pointed out that following the ban, transgender people had become even more vulnerable as a group. “After the ban on gender transition, access to medical care became even more restricted for them”, she told The Lancet.
Furthermore, anti-LGBTQ+ legislation has forced groups which provided health services for members of the community, such as harm reduction, prevention of sexually transmitted infections, or psychosocial help, to either close down or leave the country, cutting off another line of access to health care for people who do not trust state medical services. Experts say it is difficult to determine what effect this avoidance of, and inability to access, health care, is having on health among the LGBTQ+ community in Russia.
Data for some common health indicators in the community, such as numbers of HIV/AIDS cases and other sexually transmitted infections, as well as depression and other mental health conditions, are not always available or lack relevant detail. Although there are official figures for the number of people currently living with HIV and new infections, specific data on epidemiological trends among key populations is either not publicly available or, according to experts, not reliable.
Routes of transmission—according to some reports most new infections are now transmitted through heterosexual contact—are determined through self-reporting, while historical data have shown the proportion of overall HIV testing carried out among key populations is decreasing year on year.
This makes it very difficult to get an accurate picture of the epidemiological situation for the disease among the community, which could indicate potential wider consequences of individuals avoiding health care.
“Data for transmission routes is unreliable with the use of self-reporting and a large amount of unidentified transmissions. The HIV epidemic is absolutely still ongoing among men who have sex with men and other members of the LGBTQ+ community, especially in big cities where the practice of chemsex is burgeoning”, Djuma said.
Oleinik added that systematic research on LGBTQ+ people has become essentially impossible as researchers, non-governmental organisations, and public health professionals cannot gather such data without risking being associated with extremist activity. “If anything does exist in official sources, it tends to appear exclusively in negative framing—for example, linking same-sex behaviour to HIV transmission in ways that stigmatize the community rather than support it. Such studies or statistics cannot be trusted as objective public health data”, he said.
Additionally, apart from physical health, there are serious concerns of a deterioration of mental wellbeing among the community, with studies having previously established links between discrimination and mental health among LGBTQ+ people.
There are no specific data available on mental health in the community— statistics for relevant indicators, such as suicide, are not up to date—but there is some anecdotal evidence of worsening mental health in the general population, and all those who spoke to The Lancet said mental health among the community was inevitably being impacted by the government’s repressive legislation and an increasing normalisation of homophobic discourse among politicians and society.
Kolya says that “aggressive government anti-LGBTQ+ narratives” were one of the key reasons they were in psychotherapy and taking anti-depressants. “It’s stressful as hell sometimes. Every queer person I know feels that same stress [caused by these narratives]”.
Groups working with LGBTQ+ people in Russia said they had seen a rise in demand for their mental health services. “We have received significantly more requests for psychological support, especially from young LGBTQ+ people. Many have become more willing to seek support, are less afraid of psychotherapy, and are more open to working with psychologists and psychiatrists. This is likely connected both to the deterioration of mental health due to repression and to a broader understanding of the importance of mental health in general”, said Shtein.
“The number of people who come to us seeking psychological support is higher than last year and it’s growing every month”, added Oleinik. “The number of people thinking about suicide or who [harmed] themselves is also growing every year”, he said.
Kolya, and others who spoke to The Lancet, said that suicidal ideation and attempts were common among the community, again especially among transgender people. However, Oleinik said that despite the grim situation facing the community, groups like his would continue to help LGBTQ+ people access health care. “Our role in the current situation is increasingly important. We understand that people in the community need us—a lot of organisations have closed, stopped offering some programmes, but we can still reach the community. It might look like there is little hope at the moment, but we won’t stop”, he said.
A magistrate in Moscow has been delivered a complaint of “LGBT propaganda” (as defined by Article 6.21.3 of the Russian Federal Code of Administrative Offenses) filed against Olga Baranova, program director of the Moscow Community Center for LGBT+ Initiatives. Apparently, this is her first fine—coming after the MCC was designated an “extremist” organization.
The hearing will take place on July 8, according to the court’s website. The court has not disclosed which agency drafted the report. Cases involving “LGBT propaganda” can be launched by various agencies: the Interior Ministry, the Prosecutor’s Office, or Roskomnadzor. However, in politically motivated cases, the instigator is most often Center “E”—the Interior Ministry’s department for “combating extremism.”
In late April, a court ruled in favor of the Justice Ministry and designated the MCC an “extremist” organization. It is one of ten LGBT groups that were given this designation in 2026. The Center is currently appealing the decision, so it is not yet listed in the registry of extremist organizations.
Alexander Klimov, art director of the Orenburg bar Pose. Source: Social media/Moscow Times
A court in the Orenburg region on Monday handed down prison sentences to a bar owner and two of his employees in Russia’s first criminal case targeting people accused of belonging to what authorities call the “International LGBT Movement.”
The trio was arrested on LGBTQ+ “extremism” charges in March 2024, representing the first instance of criminal charges being pressed in connection with the Russian Supreme Court’s designation of the non-existent “LGBT movement” as “extremist” the year before.
Bar owner Vyacheslav Khasanov received a seven-year sentence, according to Ostorozhno Novosti. Manager Diana Kamilyanova was sentenced to six years and three months, while art director Alexander Klimov received two years and three months.
All three were accused of organizing events that demonstrated “affiliation with individuals of unconventional sexual orientation under the guise of running a nightlife venue.” According to the exiled news outlet Mediazona, the bar hosted drag shows.
The trio denied the charges during the court proceedings, which were held behind closed doors.
While the case represents the first instance of criminal charges being brought under the LGBTQ+ “extremism” designation, Russia’s first actual prison sentence under the ban was issued separately in January 2025 in the Kemerovo region.
The Orenburg court said Monday that its verdict has not yet taken effect and remains subject to appeal.
In addition to the prison terms, the court seized 1 million rubles ($12,800) in revenue from Khasanov. It also barred all three defendants from working in the entertainment and hospitality industries for two to three years following their release.
In this video, we follow Daiaana through a typical Saturday in Yakutsk as the temperature drops to –54°C. You will see how she heats her home where radiators run at maximum power to keep the cold at bay. Daiaana shows how she keeps her food in the frozen air outside her window and uses solid blocks of frozen milk for her morning coffee. You’ll also see how she dresses in 11kg of heavy layers and reindeer fur boots just to step outside safely. You will also discover how her sister drives in the thick “Ice Fog” using insulated car blankets to survive the Arctic winter. From the high cost of fresh fruit to a night out in high heels on solid ice, this is the reality of daily life in the coldest city on Earth.
This village was once alive. She was thriving. Now it is a quiet monument to a fading lifestyle. Empty houses stand as silent witnesses, and the fields are gradually being developed by the forest. But “dying” does not mean «dead.» I live here. My companions are my animals. And my ritual, my act of self-preservation, is cooking. The process is slow, physical, and closely related to nature and the seasons. Join me to spend the day caring for the animals, cooking dishes that tell a story of resilience, loss, and quiet beauty.
Even Lunacharsky Street is so transparent Bicycles and horses race home On these streets, my love, I honed my style I touched the air with my hand Even Lunacharsky Street can be so gloomy and wicked at times And a cloud with a pointy beard delivers a delicious jolt And it groans languidly
There is nothing beyond the black sky And nothing will be first Perhaps the gods played a trick on you And scattered their plywood arrows in the corners Somewhere far away I take you without asking Somewhere far away I bury myself alive In letters and numbers I’m drowning and floundering With an artificial belly Like a clown in a circus
Upward and downward This is Real life This is The fleeting joy of a glance on the street A smile, warmth Your shadows kiss You don’t care, you keep going Leaving behind perhaps another life I can’t do it—this thought terrifies me so I can’t do it
There is nothing beyond the black sky And nothing will be first Perhaps the gods played a trick on you And scattered their plywood arrows in the corners Somewhere far away I take you without asking Somewhere far away I bury myself alive In letters and numbers I’m drowning and floundering With an artificial belly Like a clown in a circus
Upward and downward This is Real life This is The fleeting joy of a glance on the street A smile, warmth Your shadows kiss You don’t care, you keep riding Leaving behind perhaps another life I can’t do it—this thought terrifies me so I can’t do it
Amnesty International has published its annual Death Sentences and Executions report for the year 2025, with data showing a sharp increase in the number of executions carried out. At least 2,707 people are known to have been put to death by the state last year, up 78 percent compared to 2024. As our infographic shows, the death penalty continues to be quite widespread in Asia, with China, India, Thailand, Singapore and Indonesia, among others, employing it. The use of capital punishment is very rare in Europe: it only exists in Belarus, and Amnesty International notes that 2025 was the first year it recorded neither new death sentences nor executions since President Alexander Lukashenko assumed office in 1994. While Russia technically also retains the death penalty in its law, the country is considered abolitionist in practice, meaning no executions have been carried out in at least ten years.
In the Americas, the death penalty is also mostly a thing of the past, with the notable exceptions of Guyana, Cuba and the United States. Last year, the U.S. executed 47 people across 11 states, almost twice as many as in 2024 (25 executions). Florida alone accounted for almost half of these executions (19). Capital punishment is still more common in Africa and the West Asia. In 2025, Iran executed at least 2,159 people, more than double its 2024 figure and the highest number on record since 1981, and the Islamic republic has been consistently using the death penalty as a tool of political repression.
113 countries and territories around the world have abolished the death penalty completely, most recently Zambia. In 2023 and 2024, African nations Equatorial Guinea, Ghana and Zimbabwe abolished the death penalty for all but very serious crimes. 87 nations still have capital punishment on the books, but 24 of them are considered abolitionists in practice. In March of this year, the Israeli Knesset voted to expand its death penalty law in such a way that applies only to Palesinians and dismantles fundamental safeguards to prevent the arbitrary deprivation of life and protect the right to a fair trial, a decision condemned by Amnesty International. The NGO has called on Israel to repeal the decision.
A personal account of day-to-day life in Iran told through the calls of two Iranian sisters – one in the UK, the other in the Iranian city of Shiraz. Since the outbreak of war at the end of February, a near total internet blackout and a shutdown of international phone lines by the Iranian authorities has meant limited information has got out of the country. Despite the risks involved, the sisters have made recordings of their conversations which have been shared with the BBC. They discuss when the bombs land, the destruction of places they love and the realities of an economy that’s being brought to its knees. They struggle to sleep at night. Salaries don’t come through. It’s a roller coaster of emotions. But there are also moments of calm and comfort…a spot of dark humour and the scent of hyacinths.
Actors: Leila played by Lisa Zahra Gita played by Zahra Ahmadi
This Census chart shows changes in where Hawaiian and other Pacific Islander populations were living in 2010 and 2020.By 2020, more than half of Native Hawaiians (at the top left, in blue) were not living in Hawaii, something local Hawaiian leaders attribute to the high cost of living on the islands.
This week, Rafia Zakaria won the 2026 National Magazine Award in the category of Columns and Essays. The winning piece, “Water Pressure,” was published in Issue 150 of The Believer and is available to read in full on our website. It follows Zakaria’s father on his search for clean water in Karachi, Pakistan, where the mounting climate crisis has crept into all aspects of daily life. Zakaria discussed the prize and the celebrated essay with our managing editor, Ginger Greene.
THE BELIEVER: You won a National Magazine Award last night in New York for your essay, “Water Pressure.” What did it feel like to see this piece recognized in that way?
RAFIA ZAKARIA: It was a tremendous surprise… It is very difficult to place personal essays, but it is the personal story that can ultimately make an abstract issue—such as water scarcity in a faraway city like Karachi—seem as real as the heat wave that was happening in New York on the day of the award ceremony. I was so grateful to work on this project, and to have the freedom and latitude to explore what extreme heat can do to ordinary people in an ordinary megacity.
BLVR: Your story explores the many difficulties of procuring water and power in Karachi, in an ever-warming world. What inspired you to approach this subject? And what were some of the difficulties you faced as you developed the essay?
RZ: I feel like a lot of climate journalism focuses on the deterioration of beautiful natural environments and the loss of wild ecosystems. I wanted to focus on how extreme heat, as well as water and power scarcity, affect human relationships, how it erodes and corrodes the scheme of relations between people and the environment. Sometimes it is not possible to see how it is happening, when you are in the midst of dealing with these problems every day. But as someone who is in and out of Karachi, I was able to perceive these dynamics.
One of the difficulties I faced reporting this story was a lack of precedence for this sort of exploration. For instance, there is excellent and deep reporting on natural or man-made disasters and their aftermath. But there is less writing on persistent issues, like decades-long water shortages, where there is no single cataclysmic event on which to center a story. I wanted to show that the story of chronic scarcity can also be told in an impactful and interesting way.
BLVR: The piece opens with a vivid scene from your family’s neighborhood in Karachi, in which a man is angered when he notices your aunt receiving an overflow of water into her underground water tank, such that it’s wastefully flooding out onto the street. Their confrontation ends when your aunt begins to throw rocks at him to get him to leave her alone. I was curious: What was your first reaction when you heard this story? Was it relayed to you as a problem of “water envy,” as you call it?
RZ: I will admit that my aunt’s reaction was a bit extreme, but it crystallized how chronic scarcity can create levels of seething frustration that can bubble to the surface in absurd ways. The story was told to me in the context of: Is she OK? But actually no one facing this sort of privation day after day is really OK. Water is a mainstay of existence, so the fact that you can now have an iPhone but not access to clean water is a bizarre juxtaposition of privilege and paucity.
I also felt that my aunt’s actions put into stark focus what people likely want to do but usually don’t. I came up with the term “water envy” because I wanted to start creating a vocabulary for phenomena that are felt, but for which there are often no words. I think the phrase encapsulates how policing resource consumption becomes just another part of living in a neighborhood. In most cases people will not challenge each other to the extent they do in this instance, but that is why it is such an apt story: Both characters had reached the end of their rope.
BLVR: Water politics in Karachi are complicated. For one thing, there are the daily strategies middle-class Karachiites have developed to procure water, which involves pumping water from the main lines into private underground water tanks. Navigating the uncertainty of main-line waterflow has become a full-time job for your father, as you point out. At the same time, there are many more people who don’t have access to these “pump games,” because they can’t afford a private tank. They are forced to purchase water from private companies that hike up their prices. How has the situation with Karachi’s water mafia progressed since you reported this piece?
RZ: I think the situation is much more dire now, because the pressures have become more acute. The population has grown dramatically and grows further still on a daily basis. Temperatures have risen, owing to climate change phenomena like the heat domes I talk about in the piece. As a result, people increasingly have to resort to taking their chances and obtaining water without knowing its source or even if it is potable.
In the summer there are thousands of deaths that are ultimately caused by lack of clean water, but they are not often tallied under this category. As the heat index rises in Karachi, these situations are pushed to the limit and people—particularly the very old and the very young—begin to die. The water mafias are more entrenched and merciless now; they know how to throttle competition and work with street gangs and land mafias to ensure that the consumers in a specific area have no options but to pay them.
BLVR: As we approach the summer months, Karachi is already reaching excessively high temperatures. In early May, the city recorded a peak of 111 degrees Fahrenheit, the city’s highest reading since 2018. This heat, as you describe in your piece, compounds with power outages and water shortages, which seeds the ground for long-term public health crises. How are you feeling about the upcoming summer?
RZ: I dread the summer months for Karachiites. If you fall sick during the summer, it is hard to get reliable care in a timely fashion and, most of all, to find a relatively cool environment to recover in. Any illness could threaten survival. Since there is no easily available large-scale refrigeration in poorer areas, there is also a huge risk of eating spoiled food. There is no way of telling if something in a store fridge was left out for hours the night before, or if the energy source powering the fridge is reliable. So it’s Russian roulette all summer long.
This summer will not be any different. The political rift between Karachi and the rest of the province means that the city is constantly starved of resources and the federal government seems disinterested in the plight of the people that live there. Many Karachiites are the children of people who migrated from India in 1947 and hence distinct from Punjabis, who make up the majority ethnicity. All of these divisions make the situation one of constant chaos. People are living a bit of a Hobbesian existence there.
BLVR: How has the situation in Karachi shaped your relationship to your experience of the US? You recently moved to Salt Lake City in Utah, which is also in the midst of a climate-related disaster. Have you noticed any similarities between the two places?
RZ: Well, there is a war over water underway in Utah as well. Last week, three county commissioners in Box Elder County, Utah, passed a proposal to build a 40,000 acre data center in the area—that is twice the size of Manhattan. The residents, aghast at what their elected representatives have done, are now trying to organize a referendum that will stop the plan. If the data center is built, the project will suck up all the water left in the already drying Great Salt Lake. It is estimated that it will also increase nighttime temperatures by 8 to 28 degrees Fahrenheit.
This situation really reminds me of Karachi, and it is difficult for me not to feel a bit like a Cassandra. Utahns have little idea of what that sort of scarcity and extreme heat can do to the fabric of society. It transforms our individual and collective relationships with the natural environment, but also the relationships we humans have with each other.
May 21st marks Circassian Remembrance Day, or the Day of Remembrance for the Victims of the Russo-Caucasian War. This war, spanning from 1763 to 1864, resulted in the loss of independence for the North Caucasus region and, for the Circassians (one of the region’s indigenous peoples), in genocide and mass exile from their historical homeland.
In the 1990s, Circassian activists, public figures, politicians, and scholars successfully secured official recognition for this date as a day of mourning. Since then, two official narratives have coexisted in the North Caucasus, particularly in Kabardino-Balkaria, Adygea, Karachay-Cherkessia, and the Krasnodar Krai: one asserting the voluntary integration of North Caucasians into Russia, and the other describing a colonial war, genocide, and expulsion.
The state actively supports the first narrative in every way possible, while the second is methodically squeezed out of the public discourse.
Every year on May 21st, a mourning procession, comprising both walkers and horsemen, winds its way through Nalchik. They proceed along the central thoroughfare, passing the monument to Maria Temryukovna, the Circassian wife of Ivan the Terrible, which bears the inscription “Forever with Russia,” before continuing on to another monument: Psezhig (The Tree of Life), created in memory of the Circassian victims of the Russo-Caucasian War.
Since 2016, Ored Recordings has been releasing projects timed to coincide with this somber date. The liner notes for these albums remains unchanged: again and again, we speak of trauma, and of the immense difficulty in discussing it, as the state systematically closes off any space for dialogue. While in the early years we opted for highly neutral phrasing, since 2022, officials have begun banning commemorative events; consequently, finding the right words has become increasingly challenging. We are permitted to remember, mourn, or reflect only within strictly prescribed forms. Thus, cultural projects and musical releases serve as an insufficient, yet absolutely necessary, form of resistance against assimilation and suppression.
This year, we decided to shift our focus away from the trauma itself or the specific subject of the Russo-Caucasian War, choosing instead to present a cross-section of new Circassian music — music that is not merely being preserved, but is actively evolving.
Shyshagh (ЩIыщIагъ, meaning “underground” in Adyghe) offers a snapshot of an imagined Circassian underground scene, as curated by Ored Recordings.
Three artists have contributed their distinct visions of independent Circassian music to this compilation.
For this release, Cherim (Maykop born, Tbilisi based) has departed from his signature industrial hip-hop and hauntological ambient styles, recording two indie-folk ballads featuring lyrics that are at once simple and deeply poignant. The tracks contain echoes of both Soviet-era pop music and the lo-fi underground tradition exemplified by acts such as Low or Rivulets.
Temir (from Nalchik, based in Paris) is an electronic producer, collagist, and vocalist who translates Circassian aesthetics into the realms of deconstructed club, ethereal pop, and other forms of emotive avant-garde music. Ethnographic archives from the last century, along with rehearsal raw recordings from Jrpjej, served as the foundation for these qafe without dancing.
Two additional tracks come courtesy of duos featuring Timur Kodzoko (originaly from Nalchik, Göttingen based), a co-founder of Ored. From our archives, we unearthed an old rehearsal recording by Zafaq, a dormant Circassian Black Metal project. It is raw, instrumental bm-rooted in traditional melodies, yet one that explicitly rejects the aesthetics of folk metal. In 2020, the drums were handled by Amar Abazov, founder of the Zhest records.
The second track comes from Shkhafit (meaning “free” in Adyghe), a drone-folk project by Timur and his son, Astemir Kodzoko. It is a semi-improvised acoustic ambient piece performed on the shichepshin (Circassian fiddle), as well as various other string and wind instruments. It evokes the ghosts of an unfulfilled future and the spirit of new pshynatles-sagas. It is a soundscape where Mark Fisher visits Murdin Tesh.
Shyshagh stands as Ored Recordings’ most ironic and chaotic release to date. As yet another May 21st passes, we see no immediate light at the end, yet we remain ready to unite and carry on!
Cherim – recorded in Tbilisi, Georgia, in 2026. All music by Cherim Tsei. Production for the song “Pari (Nothing)” by Temir.
temir – recorded in Paris, France, in 2026. All music by temir. “Duguj” based on Jrpjej rehearsal recordings. “Zechir” based on archival Circassian recordings.
Zafaq – recorded at the House of Radio, Nalchik, Kabardino-Balkaria, in 2020. Timur Kodzoko – guitar Amar Abazov – drums
Shkhafit – recorded in Göttingen, Germany, in 2026. Timur Kodzoko – strings, bowed instruments, and effects Astemir Kodzoko – physharmonium and wind instruments
Cover photo: Tulip tree in the village of Golovinka, Lazarevsky District, Krasnodar Krai/Shapsugia. Photo by Lilit Matevosyan Cover design: Milana Khalilova Text: Bulat Khalilov (English translation by Bella Mirzoeva)
Source: Ored Recordings (Bandcamp). I have included the entire album here for your listening pleasure, but I would urge to download it from Bandcamp, paying what you can to Ored Recordings to support their fine mission. That’s what I just did. \\\\\ trr
The following two stories turned up next to each other in my inbox several mornings ago. The first story (about the hidden costs of common areas in Petersburg’s new estates) was promoted as its “Article of the Week” by the business daily Delovoi Peterburg, whose chronicles of post-Soviet capitalism on the march in my favorite city I have been reading and sharing here for two decades, usually against the grain. The second story (about how the authorities in Kaliningrad hushed up the recent death by self-immolation of an antiwar protester at the city’s main WWII memorial) was published by the exiled investigative journalism website Important Stories aka IStories, which is celebrating its sixth birthday. Seemingly written on different planets in different languages, they give an accurate sounding of the bewildered, muted condition of the “Russian soul” (i.e., Russian society) after four-plus years of a vicious, genocidal war unleashed by a thoroughly corrupt “post-fascist” dictatorship. ||||| TRR
Photo: Sergei Yermokhin/Delovoi Peterburg
When she buys a flat—a fifty-square-meter flat, for example—a tenant also gets into the bargain several hundred square meters of lobbies, corridors, and stairways, for whose upkeep she will pay monthly. Those same square meters determine whether she will be able to squeeze past her neighbor in the lift lobby, whether it is easy to push a pram into the building , and whether coming home is a pleasurable experience.
The common areas are the only part of the apartment block the buyer does not choose although she passses through them every day.
How many square meters are not allocated to flats
The proportion of sellable space in apartment blocks depends primarily on their category.
“In the comfort class, the average is sixty-five to seventy percent; in the business segment, sixty to sixty-five; in the premium class, sixty; and it’s fifty to sixty for the elite class,” explains Olga Ryankel, head of residential property research at Nikoliers.
ELEMENT product director Alexander Matyushkin cites a target figure of up to seventy percent in his firm’s projects, with the actual average standing at around sixty-five percent
Lenstroytrest reports a ratio of seventy-five to eighty-two percent, and considers this to be balanced. According to Maxim Zhabin, development director at the Edino Group, the range for market heavy hitters hovers between sixty-five and eighty-five percent.
“If a developer artificially ‘squeezes’ common areas for the sake of the ratio, this is usually interpreted in practice as cutting corners on the facilities,” he says.
What constitutes non-residential space
An increase in total floor area is determined not by a single factor, but by a combination of factors, and the contribution of each depends on the project category and architectural designs.
In the mass-market segment, the primary contributors to floor area are landings, corridors, and stairwells. And yet, an increase in the number of lifts expands the non-sellable area by fifteen to twenty percent, smoke-free stairwells add a further eight to ten percent, and complexly designed building exteriors also increase the non-sellable perimeter, notes Matyushkin.
Zhabin also cites lift lobbies and stairwells as primary factors, adding to them the utility areas and entrance lobbies.
Optional spaces the developer includes over and above the standard requirements comprise a separate category.
Natalia Kukushkina, head of product and analytics at the CDS Group, differentiates between two categories of common spaces.
“The total floor area includes both essential elements, such as stairwells, basements, entrance lobbies, and communal facilities on each floor, spaces without which a building cannot be constructed, as well as spaces added at the developer’s discretion. These may include non-essential spaces such as spacious lobbies, coworking spaces, pram storage rooms, gyms, swimming pools, communal terraces on top floors, and so on.”
Where comfort ends and excess begins
Ultimately, each developer decides for themself how much common space to include in their project. Yekaterina Zaporozhchenko, chief executive officer at PRO Aparty, suggests a specific indicator: arrears on maintenance fees exceeding ten percent are a sign that residents do not feel the spaces they are paying for are value for their money.
“There should be just enough common spaces for them to be used, and the maintenance budget should not exceed the average figures for the segment,” she explains.
Yudita Grigaite, marketing director at Lenstroytrest, is convinced that excessive common space increases costs and operational burdens without adding any value.
Matyushkin highlights the reverse risk: excessive optimization is also dangerous. A shortage of lifts or narrow corridors diminish the quality of the built environment more than is apparent when a tenant is purchasing an apartment.
“A well-designed common space sets down a clear daily route from courtyard to flat without imposing unnecessary obstacles, and it provides practical arrangements for dealing with prams and deliveries, adequate ventilation and lighting, and clearly defined areas of liability,” says Zhabin in describing the working model.
Inefficiency arises when maintenance costs are high yet residents are unclear about what exactly they are paying for.
How square meters of common space are converted into a line item on the bill
The ratio of sellable space to total floor area translates into two figures residents encounter on a regular basis: the price per square meter at the time of purchase and the maintenace charges they pay after they move into their flat.
The math is straightforward: the higher the percentage of common space, the more expensive each square meter of living space. Developers figure the cost of building and finishing common space into the price of flats.
“The ratio between living space and total floor area directly impacts both the cost of a square meter and future operating expenses, all of which are reflected in the maintenance rates. Therefore, a building’s economic model should be balanced. The comfort of the common areas should be in line with the project’s class and the buyer’s expectations, while maintenance costs should be reasonable,” says Anzhelika Alshayeva, commercial director at the KVS Group, when asked to describe the process.
The difference in maintenance bills among segments is tenfold.
According to PRO Aparty, the difference ranges from sixty to six hundred rubles per square meter. Kukushkina warns of the scenario that this gap generates in practice.
“All additional expenses in a maintenance bill are regarded as too high, and some residents absolutely refuse to pay them. Ultimately, a building might end up with a swimming pool which is closed, a common terrace which is not cleaned, and facade lighting which is turned off.”
The third factor is density which, as Zhabin reminds us, is manifested in “queues to the lift, acoustics, and the amount of traffic in the courtyard,” that is, in factors which are not visible when potential buyers look at flats but which are felt daily.
What buyers don’t see
Ryankel notes a systemic problem in the mass-market segment: prams.
“Unfortunately, the spaces for storing prams and bikes are not separated n the majority of new apartment blocks, ultimately giving rise to a conflict of interests and the impossibility of organizing the space comfortably. And yet, developers often mention a pram storage area without specifying its size. As a result, a space of just seven square meters ends up trying to accommodate prams, bicycles, and tires.”
“Up to eighty percent of the user experience is shaped not inside their flat, but on the way there: from the building’s entrance to their front door. This includes logistics, how the lift works, acoustics, traffic flow, and the convenience of the infrastructure,” says Matyushkin.
There is also a time-related factor that is not taken into account at all when purchasing a flat.
Zaporozhchenko points out the costs of renovating furniture in common areas and maintaining the building’s utility systems after five to seven years, as well as keeping the building’s exterior clean—expenses that no buyer factors into their budget when signing the contract.
Zhabin adds that without a cleaning schedule and proper ventilation even the most luxurious finishes in a building’s entrance lobby will cease to feel “upscale” after a few years.
According to the market players surveyed, pressure on profit margins in the mass-market and comfort-class segments will soon compel developers to increase the share of floor space sold while maintaining visible indicators of quality, such as high ceilings in lobbies and high-quality finishes in entrance areas.
Club-style venues—coworking spaces, community centers, and gyms—will remain a key marketing tool, but some of them will be switched to a fee-based model or be leased out to external management companies on a commercial basis to ease the burden on utility bills.
The gap between rates in the mass-market and premium segments will continue to grow, along with the number of conflicts over maintenance bills in buildings whose infrastructure is at odds with the financial solvency of its residents.
Information about the self-immolation of a resident of Kaliningrad born in 1988 in protest against the war was first published in an open report of the Estonian Foreign Intelligence Service. The authors of the report did not disclose the name of the deceased. We managed to find out the details of the incident together with Delfi Estonia and Lithuanian broadcaster LRT. We reconstructed what happened based on Russian Investigative Committee documents, conversations with Okunev’s relatives and colleagues, and European security sources.
Five CCTV cameras are installed in front of the 1200 Guardsmen Memorial in Kaliningrad, the USSR’s first monument to soldiers killed in the Great Patriotic War, 1941–1945. In the center of the memorial is the Eternal Flame. From time to time, various incidents occur near the memorial, which are then widely reported in the local news, and their perpetrators become the subjects of criminal cases. Since last year, for the “desecration of war memorials,” a sentence of up to five years in prison has been [stipulated].
Thus, in February this year, a drunken Kaliningrad resident wanted to light a cigarette from the fire and warmed his feet over the flames. In January 2026, a couple of residents stole a basket of flowers from the monument. In September 2025, another couple had sex at the memorial.
Six months before that, around 5 am on February 24, 2025, 37-year-old Kaliningrad resident Alexander Okunev burned himself alive at the memorial to 1200 Guardsmen in protest against the war — and no one found out about it.
“He was sitting in a corner, not where all the people were”
In the 2010s, Kaliningrad earned the title of the protest capital of Russia, and a series of large-scale rallies even led to the replacement of Governor Georgy Boos.
However, since the start of the full-scale war in Ukraine, the city has not exhibited any notable protest activity. In the first days of the invasion, a wave of anti-war actions swept through Kaliningrad. At one point, the city became a leader in the number of protocols issued for “discrediting” the army. But almost immediately, protests died down as they did throughout the country. Igor Luzin, a Kaliningrad activist and former employee of Navalny’s local headquarters, explains that the “political field” in Kaliningrad has been cleaned up just like the rest of Russia.
Alexander Okunev was not an activist. He avoided talking politics at work (he was a sysadmin at a firm selling retail equipment), did not argue about the full-scale war with his family, and apparently was not active on social media. Okunev had almost no friends, had no girlfriend, and lived alone.
He practically did not talk to his colleagues, could ignore even his superiors: he could keep silent in response to a greeting or not answer the questions. At corporate parties, New Year’s Eve, for example, he tried not to leave his office.
“Was sitting there in a corner, not where all the people … Somehow always in himself, lived his own life,” recalls his former colleague. “Closed. Strange.” However, there were no complaints about his work: “His programmer’s brains were cool”. His colleague believes that Alexander could have made a good career, “but it feels like he didn’t care much about money”. When Okunev decided to quit (about six months before the incident), everyone was upset.
“We asked him, have you found another job? No. Are you going somewhere? Maybe. No one had any idea what or why he left,” says his former colleague. Acquaintances call Okunev “kind, responsive, fair”: “He always helped everyone”. He was fond of origami, and when one of his colleagues had a birthday, he could secretly put “some flowers” on their table. Regarding his hobbies, people close to him say that he liked to watch movies and ride a bicycle.
After the dismissal, Okunev really did not find another job. “Sat at home, practically did not communicate with anyone,” heard his ex-colleague.
Cleanup
Having decided on such a desperate protest act as self-immolation, Alexander Okunev did not seem to be trying to attract attention. Maybe he was afraid that someone could stop him. But he obviously chose the date (the anniversary of the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine) and the place (the main war memorial in the city) for a reason. Perhaps the time too: the Russian missile struck Kyiv on February 24, 2022, began just about five in the morning.
Okunev’s charred corpse, despite the numerous cameras at the memorial, was discovered by a random passerby only at around 6:40 a.m. The snow appears to have been spray-painted with the words “No to War”. Employees of the investigative department for the Leninsky district of Kaliningrad went to the scene. In the report of the events of the night, Okunev’s self-immolation is mentioned along with reports of two other corpses and a ninth-grade girl who had left home.
The incident was reported to the head of the city administration, Elena Dyatlova. She immediately took everything under her control, the European intelligence officer knows. She was assisted by Evgeny Maslov, head of the local service for the protection of cultural heritage. The main thing for them was to quickly get rid of the body and the words on the snow — the officials were worried mostly that journalists would know what happened. The Minister of Culture and Tourism of the Kaliningrad Oblast, Andrey Yermak, was especially worried that the self-immolation took place near the monument of the Great Patriotic War — too symbolic.
Everything was settled by 9:15 am. Traces of the incident were removed, and authorities were relieved to report to the local governor and other local officials that no one had seen anything, the source of IStories Media said.
Information about the self-immolation of an unnamed Kaliningrad resident first went public only along with a report by Estonian intelligence in the winter of 2026: “On the third anniversary of Russia’s full-scale war, at five o’clock in the morning on February 24, 2025, a man born in 1988 wrote ‘No to War’ in the snow near the monument to a Russian soldier in Kaliningrad and set himself on fire in protest.”
None of the Kaliningrad media ever reported the news. There were no local or propaganda Telegram channels or other social media posts about Okunev. [Alexander’s] family did not spread the word about the incident either. “What’s the point of somehow publicizing and telling all this? What for?” one of them told reporters.
“There is another way”
An acquaintance of Okunev says that on the eve of his suicide, he behaved “absolutely normally.” There was no hint of what he was going to do, and “what happened came as a shock to everyone.” Okunev’s relatives speak of some “expert examinations” conducted as part of the investigation, which found that “there was no outside influence” on A[l]exander. The family was questioned by the local Investigative Committee; the police came to Okunev’s former colleagues for a “character [profile]” but came away with “Worked well, did not communicate with anyone.”
A close friend of Okunev recounted to IStories Media the content of his suicide note.
“He wrote that there is another way. Apparently, he meant a world with peace. And he didn’t want to live in the world we have, so he made this decision… But we are all aware that world peace is a utopia.”
The note also shows that Okunev understood that “most likely, it will not be in the news anywhere, it will not be widely covered anywhere,” the source tells IStories Media.
Elena Maslova, head of the Kaliningrad administration, and Evgeny Maslov, head of the cultural heritage protection service, have not responded to journalists’ requests.
Culture Minister Andrei Yermak replied that he was not familiar with the results of the investigation of this “accident”, so he would not comment on anything. He expressed confidence that law enforcement agencies “will comment on the situation as soon as the investigation is finalized.”
“These people are afraid not of the people, but of their superiors”
In January 1969, the self-immolation of Jan Palach, a philosophy student at Charles University, brought tens of thousands of people onto the streets and became a symbol of resistance to the Soviet occupation in Czechoslovakia. The self-immolation of street vendor Mohammed Bouazizi provoked mass protests in Tunisia, which eventually led to the resignation of the country’s president.
In Russia, the self-immolations of journalist Irina Slavina and Udmurt scientist Albert Razin did not lead to any notable collective action. Could Okunev’s suicide have provoked some protest if people had learned about it?
Sociologist Margarita Zavadskaya thinks not.
“Self-immolation is a powerful symbolic act,” she says, “but public outrage alone is not enough to trigger large-scale collective action under conditions of severe repression and limited access to information.”
So why did the Russian authorities try so hard to conceal information about what happened? To prevent “protest contagion” and imitation, she explains. Moreover, such an anti-war suicide contradicts the government’s theory of a universal public consensus on war. And local officials would look incapable of maintaining control in the eyes of their superiors.
Political scientist Ekaterina Shulman also does not believe that fear of further protests was behind the Kaliningrad authorities’ actions.
“Local authorities are not afraid of the people, not of protests. They are afraid of their superiors,” she says, “they were afraid to hear: ‘You oversaw, allowed a scandal, there are media publications, what do you eat your bread for?'”
“Authoritarian regimes are afraid of symbolic sparks. They understand that a single act of protest may not cause an immediate mass movement, but can become a moral symbol around which scattered anxiety and discontent begin to crystallize,” says Lithuanian political scientist Nerijus Malukiavicius. “That is why such regimes seek to ‘clean up’ the scene, silence history, and discredit the victim.”
