Up to nearly a half of Russian casualties in the war against Ukraine could be men who had few or tenuous links to Russia, or were living on the margins of society, according to new research by the BBC. Their deaths are largely ‘unseen’ by ordinary Russians.
Alongside the independent media outlet Mediazona, and with the help of a network of volunteers, BBC Russian uses open source data to chart the names of Russian soldiers killed in the war. To date, we have confirmed the names of more than 95,000 of them – implying a true death toll of up to 235,000.
This figure doesn’t include those who were killed serving in the militia of the self-proclaimed Donbass republics which we estimate to be between 21,000 and 23,500 fighters.
BBC Russian, independent media group Mediazona and volunteers have been counting deaths since February 2022.
A Russian and Italian citizen, an electrician from [the Russian city of] Ryazan, an industrial tourist, a bike traveller, an anarchist and a partisan — all this can be said about 36-year-old Ruslan Siddiqi. In the summer of 2023, he dispatched four drones with explosives to attack the Diaghilev military airfield near Ryazan, and in the autumn, he decided to act “from the ground” — damaging railway lines with two bombs and derailing 19 freight train wagons. Siddiqi is currently awaiting trial in a Moscow pretrial detention centre, with the prospect of a life sentence hanging over him. In these letters to Mediazona, he explained why he decided to “take up explosives”, how a fox spoiled his first sabotage, and how torture by field telephones (known as “tapiki” in slang) differs from torture by tasers. (The security forces used both against him.)
Attacking a military airfield: “I took four drones with explosives to the field on a bicycle”
The hum of the Tupolev Tu-22 and Tu-95 aircraft outside my window coincided with the strikes on Ukraine, and this determined my choice of target: Diaghilev military airfield, just ten kilometres from home. I lived with my 80-year-old grandmother and understood how hard it was for the elderly and sick without heat and light in winter. As I filled a tub with hot water, I thought about those deprived of basic amenities a thousand kilometres away, because of someone’s geopolitical ambitions. Yet at the same time they talk about “fraternal nations” and say that “Russia is not at war with civilians”.
Tomorrow in Ukraine, Russian soldiers will attack Ukrainians. Russian drones and bombs and rockets will target Ukrainian homes. A criminal war of aggression will continue.
Tomorrow in Saudi Arabia, Russian officials will discuss the future of Ukraine with a handful of Americans, delegated by a president who sympathizes with the Russian view of the war. The Russians will have the luxury of talking about Ukraine without the presence of Ukrainians.
The headlines are about “peace negotiations.” But what is really going on? How should we think about this unusual encounter in Saudi Arabia?
Here are ten suggestions, drawn from years on working on relations among the three countries, and from some recent personal observations at the Munich Security Conference.
1. Be critical of the words on offer. Question the word “peace.” The term used in the media is “peace negotiations.” The United States and Russia are not at war. Russia is at war with Ukraine, but Ukraine is not invited to these talks. Russian authorities, for their part, do not generally speak of peace. They present the talks with the United States as a geopolitical coup, which is not the same thing. The highest Russian officials have repeatedly stated that their war aims in Ukraine are maximalist, including the destruction of the country. Informed observers generally take for granted that Russia would use a ceasefire to distract the United States and Europe, demobilize Ukraine, and attack again. This is not a plan that the Russians are working very hard to disguise. It is a simple point, but always worth making: there could indeed be peace tomorrow in Ukraine, if Russia simply removed its invasion force.
Today, there was one happy man in the Kremlin. Vladimir Putin banked his legacy on an all-out war that, at one point, looked all but lost for him. But he waited long enough to see the tides change in his favor.
Three years in and hundreds of thousands of deaths after, the U.S. president is calling Putin, offering peace talks on Russia’s terms.
Hi, my name is Oleksiy Sorokin, I’m the deputy chief editor of the Kyiv Independent, and this is the latest issue of our Russia-themed newsletter.
Today we will talk about how Russia is about to win the war.
It’s a topic of debate when authoritarian Russia began morphing into a totalitarian state, but Feb. 24, 2022, is a point that finalized this transformation. A point of no return.
The all-out war was supposed to be quick. It was supposed to be a victory of a new world order and of a new Russia, once again a force that would decide the fate of the world, a force that people would fear.
Taking Kyiv, installing a new Russian-controlled government, and forcing Ukraine to recognize Crimea, Donetsk, and Luhansk as Russian was to be achieved within months, if not days.
The country Putin attempted to subjugate, however, was fiercely resisting. Something that Russian political and military leadership didn’t expect and didn’t prepare for.
Yet, over and over, Russian President Putin was bailed out by the West.
In 2022, Russia was making fortunes on selling off its energy resources to the West. When Russian troops were murdering civilians of Mariupol and nearing Kyiv, Moscow’s war chest was being replenished by Europeans.
The slow phasing out of Russian energy resources in the West allowed Russia to iron out its pivot to the East, building a formidable shadow fleet to transport its energy resources to anyone willing to buy.
When Russia began to lose ground and prepare for a Ukrainian counteroffensive, the U.S. was slowing down military shipments, giving Moscow further breathing room.
Seeing that the West was unwilling to support Ukraine to the fullest and was willing to allow Russia to continue, Russia, well, continued.
Russian leadership doubled down, increasing attacks on Ukraine, making committing war crimes a state policy, and simultaneously choking all forms of dissent at home.
Ukrainian civilians and prisoners of war were tortured and often murdered, and children from occupied territories were abducted.
Domestically, Russia outlawed speaking against the war, with people receiving hefty prison terms for criticising the invasion.
For the majority, however, the state made sure their economic well-being and daily routines remained unchanged, allowing ignorance to flourish. The Russian economy was doing fine.
All this made Putin confident. He knew that time played in his favor. The U.S. would surrender, and Europe would be in no position to object. He was right.
While on the campaign trail, Donald Trump had made it clear that he has little interest in continuing to support Ukraine’s fight against Russia.
His comments of ending the war in “24 hours” were a figure of speech, but it was clear that some sort of peace plan would be presented by the incoming administration.
Russia listed its demands, Ukraine listed theirs. Both waited. The fighting went on along the front line.
Russia was in a better position to negotiate. The West’s unwillingness to truly stop Russia, especially if it meant causing any sort of inconvenience at home, allowed it to regroup and begin a major offensive, ongoing to this day.
What came next was too good to be true… for Russia.
On Feb. 11, U.S. Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth began his European tour. Off the bat, he made public the U.S. position concerning the upcoming peace talks.
Hegseth said, “Returning to Ukraine’s pre-2014 borders is an unrealistic objective,” and that NATO membership for Ukraine is not an option, effectively agreeing with Russia’s demands.
Then, Trump called Putin.
“We both reflected on the great history of our nations and the fact that we fought so successfully together in World War II, remembering that Russia lost tens of millions of people,” said Trump following the call, parroting the Kremlin’s favorite line of the huge sacrifice Russia undertook in a war that ended 80 years ago, and how it is for whatever reason relevant today.
“As we both agreed, we want to stop the millions of deaths taking place in the war with Russia/Ukraine. President Putin even used my very strong campaign motto of ‘common sense’,” Trump added.
“We agreed to work together, very closely, including visiting each other’s nations. We have also agreed to have our respective teams start negotiations immediately, and we will begin by calling President Zelensky of Ukraine, to inform him of the conversation,” he went on.
The next day, Trump proposed to return Russia to G7, the intergovernmental political forum of the most developed democratic countries from which Moscow was kicked out following the start of its war in 2014.
Russian officials and pro-war public figures were openly excited about Trump’s moves.
“The movement that has begun is the result of the heroic work of our fighters and the principled position of Vladimir Putin, who speaks of openness to negotiations but firmly defends Russia’s national interests,” said lawmaker Evgeniy Revenko, deputy head of Putin’s United Russia party.
“Zelensky’s days are numbered, and Trump’s arrival at the Victory Parade in Moscow no longer seems like a fantasy,” he added.
“The phone call between Putin and Trump will go down in the history of world politics and diplomacy. It is not a breakthrough yet, but perhaps the first step towards one. I am sure that in Kyiv, Brussels, Paris, and London, they read Trump’s lengthy commentary on his conversation with Putin with horror and cannot believe their eyes,” said Russian Senator Aleksey Pushkov.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I agree with Mr. Pushkov.
Following the call, the Kremlin said, “We, of course, understand that our main counterpart in this process is Washington.”
And here we are today. It took three years, but Russia is where it wanted to be from the start — at a table with the U.S. deciding the fate of the world without the world’s consent.
Putin will push for more, seeking to squeeze the most out of Washington, and give nothing in return.
Russia would demand to keep the territories it controls, and most likely try to take the ones it doesn’t. According to Russia’s new constitution, Russia sees Ukrainian Crimea, and four oblasts — Donetsk, Luhansk, Zaporizhzhia and Kherson — as its own. Russia doesn’t have full control of any of the four.
With NATO off the table, other demands might be thrown at Trump, reducing Kyiv’s army or legalizing Russian language and influence in Ukraine.
Whether the U.S. will agree, and most importantly, whether Kyiv and the EU will go by the agreements that Moscow and Washington are set to achieve behind their backs, remains to be seen. There’s a strong chance that they won’t.
But overall, the sun is now much brighter for Putin than it was just a few days ago.
Eleven years of fighting against Ukraine, three years of all-out war and thousands of war crimes committed, Putin isn’t a pariah anymore. His worldview is on track to become mainstream, and it’s the leader of the free world who is leading him back to the table.
Russians refuse to sell insulin and other vital medicines to Ukrainians without Russian passports, reports Ukrainian intelligence (Ukrainska Pravda, February 7th)
How can Ukraine solve the problem of documents from the occupied territories? Human rights defenders share their vision with international partners (Zmina, February 7th)
A janitor, a cook, an informer — who is being tried for collaborating with the enemy? (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 6th)
Russian FSB carry out new terror raids and arrests by quota in occupied Crimea (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 6th)
Human rights and humanitarian legal norms: 2024 review (Crimea Human Rights Group, 5 February)
Viktor Dzytsiuk was almost tortured to death in occupied Donbas. Now Russia is continuing his torment (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 5th)
ZMINA took part in a discussion on the cultural decolonisation of Crimea (Zmina, February 4th)
Russian FSB uses shoddily faked video to charge 63-year-old woman abducted from occupied Ukraine with ‘terrorism’ (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 3rd)
Ukrainian Holocaust survivor: Hitler wanted to kill me as a Jew. Putin is trying to kill me because I’m Ukrainian (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 3rd)
How Ukraine lost faith in the Red Cross and UN (Kyiv Independent, January 22nd)
Prison medicine: ways to humanize it (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 7th)
UN monitors report sharp increase in executions of Ukrainian POWs, and point to Russian officials’ effective incitement to kill (Kharkiv Human Rights Protection Group, February 7th)
The Centre for Civil Liberties Participated in the First World Congress on Enforced Disappearances (Centre for Civil Liberties, February 6th)
“I Urge You to Make Every Effort to Release Ukrainian Prisoners of War And Unlawfully Detained Civilians ” Maksym Butkevych at the UN Security Council (Centre for Civil Liberties, February 6th)
Saturday 15 February, 11.0 am — 4.0 pm, Conference: End the Russian invasion and occupation. National Education Union, Mabledon Place, London, WC1H 9BD. Register here.
Saturday 15 February, 11.0 am – Palestine solidarity demo. To join the Ukraine-Palestine solidarity contingent, with our banner, “From Ukraine to Palestine – Occupation is a crime”, meet outside Banqueting Hall, corner of Whitehall and Horseguard Avenue, London SW1A
This bulletin is put together by labour movement activists in solidarity with Ukrainian resistance. To receive it by email each Monday, email us at 2022ukrainesolidarity@gmail.com. To stop the bulletin, reply with the word “STOP” in the subject field. More information at https://ukraine-solidarity.org/. We are also on twitter, Bluesky, Facebook and Substack, and the bulletin is stored online here.
Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022 prompted a refugee crisis in Europe. News footage showed people piling onto trains and into cars, desperate to escape the threat of bombs and Russian occupation. In Kharkiv, a taxi driver named Sergii told me how in those chaotic early days of war, he had helped evacuate people as Russian missiles turned his bustling neighbourhood of Saltivka into a ghost town.
“I survived by praying to God,” Sergii said, pointing to the icon of the Virgin Mary dangling from his cab’s rearview mirror. “I helped people with no money get out of Saltivka, because people with money had already left.” He narrowly avoided death himself, he added, explaining a rocket had destroyed his apartment as he went out to his cab to retrieve the mobile phone he’d left on the front seat.
Nearly seven million people have now fled Ukraine. The majority have settled in European countries, many of which responded to the war by waiving visa requirements for Ukrainian refugees. Around 250,000 came to the UK, which decided not to fully lift restrictions but to instead introduce two emergency visas: the Ukraine Family Scheme and the Homes for Ukraine scheme.
At their outset, both visas granted Ukrainian nations the right to live, work and study in the UK for up to three years. Now, as the third anniversary of Russia’s invasion rolls around, anybody who arrived in the early days of the war is about to see their right to remain expire.
Yet this week, many Ukrainians faced the prospect that they may never be able to return to their homes. US President Trump announced he had spoken to his Russian counterpart, Vladimir Putin, to begin peace negotiations that risk handing over occupied regions of Ukraine to Russian control.
Residents of Ukrainian towns and cities previously liberated from Russian control, such as Bucha and Izium, have spoken about the reign of terror and cruelty they endured under occupation, including torture, rape, summary executions and false imprisonment. Should the peace deal go ahead on Putin’s terms, Ukrainian refugees in the UK face an increasingly uncertain future, with those whose homes are in the occupied territories potentially unable to return.
But even before the announcements from the White House and the Kremlin, the UK’s visa schemes have long presented problems for the vulnerable Ukrainians they are supposed to support.
“Before the full-scale invasion, I had a normal life,” Nastya*, aged 24, told openDemocracy “I worked in a supermarket and a fabric factory. Everything was absolutely good. And then on 22 February 2022, the war started.”
At the time, Nastya lived in Uzhorod, a city near the Slovakian border. As missiles battered the country’s major cities and the Russian forces occupied cities such as Izium and Mariupol, committing war crimes in Bucha and Irpin, she decided to flee with her husband.
“It was a stressful time,” she admitted. “I did not know what the future would be and my family were scattered around the world, some in England, some in Germany and some in Ukraine.”
Nastya and her then-husband travelled to Germany, where her mother was living, before coming to the UK on the Ukraine Family Scheme in August 2022. “It was hard to get a job in Germany, especially as I don’t speak German,” she explained. “I didn’t want to live on benefits, I wanted to support myself and live independently. I had heard in the UK there were opportunities for work, so I relocated.”
Nastya and her husband’s visas took only a few days to be approved, and the pair moved in with her sister-in-law in Leeds, where Nastya found a job in a local factory. “The work was hard and physical with lots of heavy lifting but I was earning some money which is good,” she said.
After three months in the UK, Nastya discovered she was pregnant with her first child. It was happy news, but it came as her marriage was falling apart. “It was quite difficult,” she said. ‘My husband was very sad and there were a lot of horrible moments. I decided to separate from him and go to Germany to be with my mother to have the baby.”
Nastya gave birth to a beautiful baby girl, who shares her bright brown eyes and dark hair. While she had wanted to be with her own mother during the birth, as a newly single mum Nastya was keen to return to the UK, where her father and grandmother were living, to get a job, support her daughter, and start a new life.
She had assumed that as she had the right to live and work in the UK, her daughter would be able to join her on the same family visa scheme.
But what Nastya did not realise is that while she was caring for her newborn in Germany, the Conservative government had been quietly restricting Ukrainians’ right to enter the UK. The family visa scheme had been closed and Ukrainians were no longer allowed to sponsor fellow refugees to arrive on the Homes for Ukraine visa.
Now, if Nastya wanted to come to the UK, she would have to leave her daughter behind.
War in Europe
When the Homes for Ukraine scheme was launched in 2022, members of the British public could open their homes to Ukrainian refugees in exchange for an initial monthly payment of £350 from their local council, while Ukrainians who successfully applied for the scheme were granted the right to live, study and work in the UK for three years.
But in February 2024, the then-Tory government brought in a series of changes. It halved the length of time a new Ukrainian applicant would be able to stay in the UK to 18 months, and amended the rules so that only people with British citizenship can sign up to become hosts. At the same time, it cancelled the family visa scheme, meaning Ukrainian nationals living in the UK can no longer sponsor family members to join them.
These changes have effectively made it impossible for Ukrainian nationals in the UK to help loved ones to settle here to escape the war. Now, Ukrainians wanting to come to the UK are reliant on there being an available British citizen who will take them in. But this, too, has suffered changes that have made it a less appealing prospect for many hosts.
In November, the Labour government announced all British citizens signed up to the Homes for Ukraine scheme will be paid £350 a month, regardless of how long they have been hosting. Households who have been hosting for more than a year are currently paid £500 a month.
Even before this announcement, the number of hosts was in decline, according to openDemocracy’s analysis of government data. In the third quarter of 2023, 100,061 households in England received the monthly ‘thank you’ payment, but by the third quarter of Q3 2024, this had fallen to 48,533 households, the lowest number since the full-scale war began.
This decrease in hosts was also apparent in our review of Homes for Ukraine Facebook pages. While at the start of the war, posts from Ukrainians looking for sponsors received multiple comments from potential hosts, these days they often garner no responses or are met with ‘jokes’, with one commenter saying: “I’d rather be in Mykolaiv than London”. Others respond telling those who wish to relocate to the UK from another European country, like Nastya, that the scheme is not for them: “People in the UK would prefer to sponsor people who are in Ukraine and need to be saved from war.”
“Instead of putting more and more administrative barriers in front of people fleeing war, the UK government must show it can match the solidarity and empathy shown by the people of the UK,” said Alena Ivanova, committee member of the Ukraine Solidarity Campaign, which is organising a march to the Russian embassy in London to mark the third anniversary of the full-scale invasion.
“We know that the vast majority of Ukrainians in the UK are vulnerable women, small children and elderly people who carry significant trauma as a result of Russia’s brutal war. The least we as a country can do is not put them further at risk and increase their anxiety but help them settle and rebuild their lives,” Ivanova added.
Those who arrived in the UK through either the Homes for Ukraine or Ukraine Family Visa scheme in the early days of the war are about to see their right to remain expire. But with the conflict ongoing, they can extend their visas via the Ukraine Permission Extension Scheme.
While this extension is undoubtedly needed, the process for obtaining it is fraught – and may put vulnerable people at risk of falling out of the system.
People needing an extension can apply only when they have 28 days or less left on their right to remain, which may impact their ability to work or be housed, with landlords and employers nervous about accepting Ukrainians who may not have the legal right to be in the country. Those who miss the extension window are at risk of becoming undocumented and therefore will be considered to be in the UK illegally. Although the war means it is unlikely these people will be deported, they would be unable to work or access housing, and are at risk of being removed in the future.
And applications for extensions can only be made from within the UK – a problem for women like Nastya in Germany, or for anyone visiting family in Ukraine.
Polling by the Office for National Statistics found that while the majority of Ukrainians are aware of the visa changes and the need to apply for an extension, a small minority of mainly vulnerable refugees, such as the elderly or young, are not.
Uncertainty is also built into the extension scheme. People will be able to extend their right to stay in the UK by only 18 months, half the three years they were initially granted. If they stay for the full term, a Ukrainian refugee’s total residency in the UK will have been four and a half years – six months short of the five years that a person must have continuously lived here to be eligible for the right to settle permanently.
There is also uncertainty for those British nationals hosting Ukrainians. If their guest is granted an extension, their host will need to reapply for thank you payments.
openDemocracy asked the UK government how it plans to deal with the temporary nature of the visas should the conflict continue for another 18 months. We also asked what plans they have in place should a peace deal cede Ukrainian territory to Russia, with those fleeing the occupied regions unable to return home. They did not respond.
‘I feel loneliness’
Nastya had always planned to return from Germany to the UK with her daughter. Here, she could work and have her own home where she, her daughter and her new partner, who is also Ukrainian, could live as a family.
Now, the changes to the visa schemes have cut her and her daughter off, leaving her living in limbo. She and her daughter face a choice: living in Germany where she struggles to find work and faces eviction from her refugee accommodation in the coming year, or returning to Ukraine which endures daily bombardment by Russian bombs and drones.
“In Germany, I face going into a refugee camp, which is no place to raise a child,” Nastya warned. “My mother lives in a separate city and so we cannot see each other regularly.”
Worse, the heartbreak of being separated from her father and grandmother has been devastating.
“They have never had the chance to meet their granddaughter and great-granddaughter,” she said, the pain of separation clear in her voice. “I have not been in touch with them face to face, and they would really like to meet. I want to see my father and grandmother and it is impossible.”
The changes to the visa schemes have left women like Nastya experiencing a double displacement. First, the full-scale invasion forced them from their homes in Ukraine. Now, changing government policy has separated them from family members in the UK.
“I have cried a lot,” said Nastya. “I feel loneliness, it is so hard that I can’t put it into words. I am crying a lot but I don’t want to blame anyone. If I would receive a visa for my daughter it would be really nice and I would be able to meet my family.”
Nastya has some hope. Last month, the Labour government partially reversed the changes made by the previous administration, allowing Ukrainians to bring their children to join them in the UK, a change described as a “welcome step in the right direction,” by Mubeen Bhutta, British Red Cross director of policy, research and advocacy. The charity has supported Nastya and her family.
“Our teams have supported people who had been unable to reunite with young children,” she said. “We’ve seen their pain and suffering and know this will mean a lot to families who have been torn apart. However, even with these changes many family members will remain separated.
“It is still very difficult for displaced Ukrainians to help elderly parents or partners find safety in the UK. It is vital that the government addresses these obstacles and helps more Ukrainians reunite with their loved ones.”
Nastya, who has a legal right to be in the UK, can now apply for an extension and for her daughter to join her. Her partner, however, must find a British national to sponsor him.
“It is really hard to be a refugee,” she said. “It is impossible to see a future for Ukraine. It would be really nice to go to the UK to work, to rent a flat, to pay taxes. This is what I need, simple things to be satisfied. I want my daughter to be happy, to have a good education.”
The Center for European Policy Analysis (CEPA) has called for increased economic pressure on Russia as well as secondary sanctions on companies supporting its war efforts in a new report, released Monday, timed with the Munich Security Conference kickoff. The public policy institution states that the former U.S. administration’s foreign policy had been too cautious, resulting in a “war of attrition that neither side can win.”
Despite heavy sanctions on gas and oil, the EU has continued to buy commodities such as fertilizer from Russia since its invasion of Ukraine in February 2022. Data from Eurostat shows that some 3.9 million tonnes of Russian fertilizers were imported to the EU in 2023 and 3.7 million tonnes were imported in the first nine months of 2024. In July 2024, 574,000 tonnes of fertilizers were imported to the EU, up 50 percent from July 2021, the summer before the war.
Last month, the European Commission finally proposed raising tariffs on fertilizers from the current 6.5 percent in proportion to the value to 100 percent in three years. If implemented, this means Russian fertilizers will likely continue to be imported until 2026. The proposed tariffs would bring a tonne of nitrogenous fertilizers to the sum of €315 and other fertilizers up to €430 per tonne. The measure is intended to support domestic production, allow for diversification of supply and cut off a financial flow to Russia’s economy. Until now, the EU has been resistant to placing sanctions on agricultural products from Russia due to global food security concerns.
While the proposal includes protective measures, European farmers warn of the risks associated with increased production costs as well as concerns over whether domestic production will be able to meet demand in time.
Every day Russian fertilisers move from the Vainikkala border crossing point to the Port of HaminaKotka in southeast Finland, where the major Russian fertiliser company Fosagro [sic] operates.
For food security reasons, the EU has allowed the import of Russian fertilisers since Moscow invaded Ukraine. This is why a freight train owned by North Rail Oy, a subsidiary of the Finnish logistics company Nurminen Logistics, makes daily transports of Russian fertilisers from the eastern border to the southeastern port.
These fertiliser-filled trains continue to run despite Russia’s nearly three-year war in Ukraine and the European Commission’s recent decision to impose import tariffs on Russian fertilisers in the bloc.
The Kremlin is now generating record-high revenues from fertiliser exports. Seven of the world’s ten largest fertiliser exporters are Russian companies, which collectively earned an estimated $1.4 billion last year.
Fosagro, with its presence in Kotka, is one of the world’s largest producers of phosphate-based fertilisers. It is backed by Andrei Guryev, a Russian oligarch and Vladimir Putin ally. He stepped down from the company’s leadership in 2022 after the EU sanctioned his son. Later, both the US and UK imposed sanctions on Guryev himself.
According to business magazine Forbes, Guryev and his family still own nearly half of Fosagro.
Yle asked how a sanctioned fertiliser oligarch’s exports are still flowing via Finland.
While Finnish Customs director general Sami Rakshit declined to comment on individual companies, he said that if a sanctioned individual holds a controlling stake in a company, the sanctions will also apply to the company.
At the same time, if Customs cannot demonstrate that the product, person, or company is subject to sanctions, the agency will not intervene.
“Fertiliser transport through the Port of Kotka is possible primarily for food security reasons,” Rakshit told Yle.
“When sanctions are being circumvented, shell company arrangements are often complex, making it very difficult to identify the true beneficiaries,” he added.
Russian connections
At the Port of HaminaKotka, Finnish firms Rauanheimo and Fertilog load the fertiliser onto ships. According to information obtained by Yle, Fertilog’s subcontractors employ Russian-background Finnish citizens and workers from the Baltic states.
The chairman of Fertilog Group’s board is Aleksei Sladkov, a Russian national living in Austria. The rest of the company’s leadership also has Russian-sounding names, though Yle does not know their nationality or whether they hold Finnish citizenship.
Fertilog has stated that it accounted for ten percent of the Finnish port’s traffic in 2020.
Most of the Russian fertilisers passing through Kotka are exported to North African countries and South America. Some also travel to other European countries, as long as they are not subject to sanctions.
In addition to Finland, Russia also exports fertilisers through Estonia and other Baltic countries.
In communicating with Fertilog via email, the company said its focus is on business and does not take a position on politics.
“We only handle fertilisers that are not subject to sanctions,” the company said via email.
The firm also claimed to have invested 80 million euros in the HaminaKotka port over the past 15 years.
“We’re a significant taxpayer and job creator in Kotka, both directly and indirectly,” the company stated.
According to Fertilog, the fertilisers they handle are exported to developing countries, where they play a crucial role in global food security, as well as to EU countries, where they contribute to the EU’s preparedness and security supply.
PhosAgro is a Russian chemical holding company producing fertilizer, phosphates and feed phosphates. The company is based in Moscow, Russia, and its subsidiaries include Apatit, a company based in the Murmansk Region and engaged in the extraction of apatite rock. The company is Europe’s largest producer of phosphate-based fertilisers.
Ownership history
The original owner of PhosAgro’s assets (most notably Apatit, a Soviet-era mining company) was exiled Russian billionaire Mikhail Khodorkovsky via his company, Menatep. In 2003, Khodorkovsky was arrested for tax evasion and fraud; the charges against him were ostensibly connected to Menatep’s purchase of shares in Apatit. However, some have seen the charges as punishment for publicly clashing with Vladimir Putin.
During Khordorkovsky’s trial, the state seized Menatep’s stake in Apatit. In 2004, Andrey Guryev, who at the time ran Apatit on behalf of Khodorkovsky’s Menatep and was also a Russian senator [sic], wrote a message to Khodorkovsky in prison to convince him to sell his remaining 50% stake in PhosAgro to Guryev. Khodorkovsky sold his shares to Guryev for a low price.
In July 2011, PhosAgro raised $538 million in a London IPO.
In 2012, PhosAgro paid $344 million at a state tender to buy back a 26.7% share in Apatit, bringing the company’s ownership to 76%.
As of 2012, Andrey Guryev and his family owned 5.47% of PhosAgro via various trusts.
PhosAgro is 19.35% owned by Vladimir Litvinenko, who oversaw Vladimir Putin’s plagiarized doctoral thesis in 1996.
In 2022, the company’s revenue amounted to 164 billion rubles.
In early 2015, current CEO Andrei Guryev Jr, Andrey Guryev’s son, was reported as saying, “PhosAgro is the most profitable phosphate fertilizer company in the world.”
PhosAgro is structured so that Guryev and his family are recipients of a trust, rather than outright ownership in their names, though Evgenia Guryev, Guryev’s wife, owns 4.82% of PhosAgro in her own name.
In July 2016, Forbes estimated his net worth at US$4.3 billion.
He is vice president of the Russian Union of Chemists.
[…]
Guryev is married to Evgenia and they have two children, Andrey Guryev, Jr. and Yulia Guryeva-Motlokhov. Andrey Guryev, Jr, is CEO of PhosAgro. Yulia Guryeva-Motlokhov is married to hedge fund manager Alexei Motlokhov, they have twin sons, and live next door in Highgate.
The Guryevs own Witanhurst in Highgate, London’s second largest house after Buckingham Palace, through an offshore company registered in the British Virgin Islands. He owns the five-storey penthouse of St George Wharf Tower in London. Guryev has never given an interview to the press.
Guryev owned a yacht, Alfa Nero, through an offshore company which is planned to be auctioned off in Antigua and Barbuda due to his sanctions.
US aid suspension hits Russian independent media and NGOs
The decree by US President Donald Trump’s decree halting American aid to foreign countries and suspending the work of the United States Agency for International Development (USAID) hits exiled Russian media and NGOs hard. For many organizations and publications, grant funding is the sole means they have of ensuring their continued existence.
As soon as the new US administration announced the suspension of all international aid programs, there was panic among the Russian emigrant community. Most exiled Russian NGOs and media rely on grants as their major—and sometimes sole—source of funding, with a significant chunk coming from Washington. The topic has been high on the agenda for Russia’s opposition and anti-war communities— though only behind the scenes. Affected NGOs and media outlets do not want to admit publicly that they receive American funding, as it could lead to criminal prosecution by the Russian authorities. They are also reluctant to publicly discuss financial problems.
Dozens of organizations are under threat from within the Russian-language anti-war diaspora community, including those who help persecuted individuals to leave Russia, try to protect minority rights and bring accurate information about the war to audiences within Russia. According to the Moscow Times, citing a source in Washington, up to 90 organizations have already lost their funding. As one example, The Ark, which offers temporary housing, legal aid, psychological support and other assistance to Russians forced to flee their homeland, immediately lost half its budget.
Former political prisoner Andrei Pivovarov (released in the summer 2024 prisoner exchange) wrote that Trump’s decree would lead to the cancellation of one-off events and the abandonment of long-term projects. “You can cancel a conference, but you can’t, for example, stop paying the rent. You can’t tell your landlord: ‘wait, Trump will work it out’. He’ll just cancel the contract. And many simply do not have the kind of safety net that can pay for these three months, or raise money via crowdfunding,” he explained. “It will be even more difficult with people. There are many countries where residency is tied to a work contract, and if there is no money for that it raises questions about the basis for extending [residency].”
Russian propaganda channels are jubilant. For decades they have been telling Russians that the opposition lives on Western money and carries out orders from abroad. Trump’s decree offers them a great opportunity to say that these claims have now been proven and that “independent” media is nothing of the sort. Of course, nobody on the pro-Kremlin side is bothering to look at the details of how Western grant funding actually works. Maria Zakharova, a representative of Russia’s Foreign Ministry, has already claimed that USAID forced “countless grant-eaters” to remain silent about alleged Ukrainian war crimes.
Not all funding for Russian civil society came from US state grants. Private foundations as well as European governments also support Russian initiatives. But removing perhaps a quarter of the support from Russian journalists and organizations can only lead to ever more fierce competition for the remaining funds—not every project will survive.
Why the world should care
Trump’s radical measures are hitting activists and NGOs around the world. Russian organizations and media outlets, cut off from their homeland, face greater problems than many as they have far fewer sources of alternative funds.
Written by Peter Mironenko, translated by Andy Potts and edited by Jake Cordell
If Russia had a wish list, it would include gutting the DOJ and FBI to eliminate counterintelligence operations and successful prosecutions, crippling U.S. sanctions enforcement by weakening the Treasury Department, fracturing America’s alliances to isolate the U.S. on the global stage, and dismantling USAID to eliminate vital democratic and humanitarian aid programs worldwide. That wish list is now being fulfilled—not by the Kremlin, but by Elon Musk and Trump.
Each of these attacks is a direct blow to U.S. national security and global influence but I’m going to focus on the dismantling of USAID—a move that Russian officials and state media are openly celebrating.
This isn’t just about shutting down an aid agency; it’s about deliberately weakening U.S. power while handing a geopolitical victory to authoritarian regimes in Moscow and Beijing.
Gutting USAID—A Gift to Russia
With Trump’s full backing, Musk has taken aim at USAID, calling it “a criminal organization” that “needs to die,” and branding the agency “a viper’s nest of radical left Marxists who hate America.” Shortly after, he announced that Trump had personally agreed USAID should be shut down.
Now, its funding is frozen, employees are locked out of headquarters in Washington, lawmakers are barred from entering the USAID building, and critical aid programs are being dismantled.
USAID is set to be merged into the State Department, but it will be a shell of its former self—stripped of its resources, workforce, and influence, ensuring it can never have the same impact.
For decades, USAID has been a pillar of American influence abroad, supporting independent journalism, anti-corruption initiatives, election monitoring, and providing critical, life-saving humanitarian assistance across the globe. It has played a key role in countering Russian, Iranian, and Chinese influence, providing a lifeline to civil society organizations resisting authoritarian regimes or strengthening their democracies. Now, that support is disappearing.
Russia’s reaction? Celebration as Kremlin propagandists and state officials are jubilant. And they’re right—USAID has been one of the biggest obstacles to its authoritarian expansion. With its demise, Russia gains a clearer path to spread its influence, undermine democracies, and prop up pro-Kremlin regimes worldwide.
Who Benefits from USAID’s Collapse? Russia and China
The closure of USAID isn’t about cutting spending—it’s about weakening U.S. global influence while empowering our adversaries. With American aid disappearing, nations that once relied on USAID for support will turn to Russia and China for funding.
This is a seismic shift in global power. Russia and China will step into the vacuum left by the U.S., using economic leverage to expand their authoritarian agendas. This is exactly what Moscow and Beijing have wanted for decades—and Trump and Musk are delivering it on a silver platter.
At the same time, Musk is propping up pro-Kremlin far-right parties across Europe—or, as I like to call them, ‘Kremlin projects’—while interfering in the elections and internal affairs of our allies.
Trump and Musk Are Lying—USAID Was Critical
Trump and Musk have claimed USAID was corrupt and ineffective. That’s a lie. USAID has been one of the most scrutinized and audited agencies in the federal government, and their accusations are baseless and an excuse to dismantle a tool that supports democracy, transparency, and independent governance.
The truth is simple: dismantling USAID doesn’t benefit the American people—it benefits authoritarian regimes. Its closure will leave a vacuum that Russia, China, and other adversaries will quickly fill.
Their claims of “fraud” are just a smokescreen for a broader effort to undermine democracy and erase America’s ability to support those fighting for freedom worldwide.
Musk’s Expanding Control Over Federal Systems
Simultaneously, Musk’s influence over the federal government is growing at an alarming rate, giving an unelected, unvetted billionaire, and his unvetted associates unprecedented access to highly sensitive data. His aides have locked career federal workers out of their systems at the U.S. Office of Personnel Management, effectively cutting off access to vital personnel records and personal information.
Meanwhile, his team has gained unauthorized access to General Services Administration systems, deploying AI tools to reshape the agency in ways that remain undisclosed to the public. Adding to these alarming developments, Musk’s handpicked allies—including unvetted college students—have taken over Technology Transformation Services, which manages critical government IT systems, sparking chaos and raising significant security concerns.
Musk and his unvetted, unelected team now have access to everything— our Social Security records, Medicare payments, tax filings, federal employee data, and other sensitive and classified files. Even our children’s information is now in their hands.
What will Musk do with it? Who will he share it with? This isn’t hypothetical—it’s a direct national security threat and threat to all of us and we need immediate answers.
Demand Accountability
We cannot allow this to happen without a fight. Contact your Senators, Representatives, and local officials and demand answers:
Did Trump give direct authorization for Musk to have access to sensitive government systems and all our private data?
What safeguards exist to prevent him from sharing Social Security numbers, tax filings, and federal employee records with foreign actors or private interests?
What steps are being taken to prevent further infiltration in government operations?
Who is ensuring our personal, financial, and national security data isn’t exploited for political or corporate gain?
Flood their phone lines, send emails, and make noise on social media platforms. We need answers because none of us want a billionaire beholden to Russian and Chinese interests to have our private info.
The website of the United States Agency for International Development went dark over the weekend and employees were put on leave, as Elon Musk said Monday that President Donald Trump wanted to shut down the largest disburser of U.S. foreign aid. The remarks were made by Musk during a live stream discussing the work of his government task force, the so-called Department of Government Efficiency, that he was announced to be leading by the president. Media reports meanwhile said that USAID could be absorbed into the State Department while many of the projects its supports – from health to infrastructure and disaster-relief programs – would be slashed significantly. USAID spending equals less than 1 percent of the federal budget.
The United States Agency for International Development, USAID for short, is the biggest dispenser of U.S. foreign aid, according to the federal website Foreignassistance.gov. It disbursed almost $44 billion in the fiscal year of 2023 (latest available), with $16 billion going to Ukraine. The number represents more than 60 percent of all U.S. foreign aid listed on the website. The agency pays out only economic aid, with military aid being handled by the Department of State and the Department of Defense.
After Ukraine, USAID payments were predominantly going to the Middle East and Africa in 2023. Ethiopia, Jordan, Afghanistan and Somalia all received more than $1 billion from USAID that year. U.S. aid recipients are found all over Latin America, Africa, Asia and Eastern Europe. Together with the Department of State/Defense spending, which focuses on the Middle East even more due to military aid components, it is the widest-ranging U.S. foreign aid paid out.
German Chancellor Olaf Scholz criticized U.S. President Donald Trump’s proposal to tie military aid for Ukraine to access to the country’s rare earth resources, calling it “very selfish and self-centered,” Spiegel reported on Feb. 4.
Speaking after an informal meeting of European leaders in Brussels, Scholz reportedly stressed that Ukraine should first be helped to “get back on its feet” and that its resources should be used for reconstruction after the war.
This comes as Trump told reporters on Feb. 3 that he was seeking a deal where Ukraine would “secure what we’re giving them with their rare earths and other things,” though he did not specify which materials Washington is targeting.
A source in the Presidential Office told the Kyiv Independent that sharing Ukrainian resources with allies is already part of President Volodymyr Zelensky’s “victory plan,” which has been presented to foreign leaders, including Trump.
Trump’s remarks come amid uncertainty over the future of the U.S. aid to Ukraine.
The U.S. has provided $65.9 billion in military aid to Ukraine since the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion, with assistance remaining unaffected by the current aid freeze, Zelensky confirmed on Jan. 25. Non-military programs run by the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) have lost funding under the new administration.
USAID has provided Ukraine with $2.6 billion in humanitarian aid, $5 billion in development assistance, and over $30 billion in direct budgetary support. In response to the funding cuts, Ukraine’s parliamentary committee on humanitarian and information policy has begun consultations with European partners to temporarily replace U.S. funding.
Under Scholz’s leadership, Germany has become Ukraine’s second-largest military donor after the U.S. However, the chancellor has resisted providing Taurus long-range cruise missiles, citing escalation concerns.
Scholz has also blocked the proposed additional security assistance for Ukraine worth 3 billion ($3.09 billion) euros unless it is covered by additional government borrowing.
The plan, backed by German Foreign Minister Annalena Baerbock and Defense Minister Boris Pistorius, included three additional Iris-T air defense batteries, 10 howitzers, and more artillery ammunition.
“A first-year salary of 5,000,000 rubles [approx. 48,000 euros]. A one-time [signing bonus] of 2,500,000 rubles. Monthly pay starting at 210,000 rubles [approx. 2,000 euros] in the special military operation zone. THE HERO CITY HAS ITS OWN HEROES. 16 Republican Street, Saint Petersburg, +7 931-326-8943.”
The signing bonus for volunteering for combat duty has been raised to 2.5 million rubles in Petersburg
The amount was increased by 400,000 rubles. Previously, those wishing to go to the front were paid a lump sum of 2.1 million rubles. On the poster, which was published in the Red Guards District administration’s chat group, the amount that can now be earned for a year of service in the war zone is listed as 5,000,000 rubles.
Judging by the information on the Smolny’s [Petersburg city hall’s]website, the signing bonus was increased three days ago, at the expense of the city budget. Rotunda was told the same thing at the military service recruiting center in the Central District.
Low-price chain store seeks a sales assistant-cashier.
Responsibilities: serving customers at the cash register; restocking products in the sales area; maintaining order and cleanliness. The candidate should be energetic, trainable, and ready for intensive work.
On-the-books employment. Schedule: two days on, two days off. Salary: 56,000 rubles[a month, i.e., approx. 540 euros a month].
The employer pays for training and a medical examination, offers corporate discounts at all stores in the chain, provides material assistance in difficult situations, and arranges for gifts for children.
In 2025, Russian authorities are continuing to increase payments for contract soldiers participating in the war in Ukraine.
From January, men who sign a military contract in the Samara region will receive a one-time payout of up to 4 million rubles ($38,900) — the highest of any region in the country.
In addition to these one-time payouts, which vary by region, military personnel also receive a monthly salary of at least 210,000 rubles ($2,000). In the event of a soldier’s death, their family is entitled to a “funeral allowance,” which can amount to up to 5 million rubles ($48,600), according to a presidential decree.
The substantial payouts to contract soldiers are part of the authorities’ efforts to turn the military into the country’s new elite, says historian Dmitry Dubrovsky.
“One of the key outcomes of the ongoing war is the attempt to construct a ‘Putin Elite 2.0’ to replace the original elite that emerged in the early 2000s, built on oil and gas revenues,” Dubrobsky said. “This process began as early as 2014, when the ‘heroes of the Russian Spring’ gradually started integrating into Putin’s regime. However, it became fully evident with the onset of the full-scale aggression [against Ukraine].”
In addition to million-ruble payouts, the state also provides military personnel with subsidized mortgages and free university education for their children, including at prestigious institutions such as Moscow State University and the Higher School of Economics.
Nearly 15,000 soldiers who fought in Ukraine, as well as their children, were admitted to Russian universities under this program in 2024 — almost double the number from 2023. And increasingly, Ukraine war veterans are being appointed to political roles, though not on a wide scale.
“The privileges of military personnel are evident in the growing practice of integrating ‘veterans’ into various political projects and regional administrations, often as deputy governors,” says historian Dubrovsky. “Overall, the families of military personnel see themselves as part of a superior class, a perception eagerly reinforced by Putin’s propaganda.”
I was brought up in the Soviet Union to believe that when a malicious, cruel aggressor attacks civilians, you have to take up arms and go do battle with him, and that if you cannot bear arms, you help the people who are doing battle and call on others to do the same.
All my work as a political commentator has been about calling on people to go do battle with the aggressor which has attacked Ukraine, to assist Ukraine with weapons and ammunition.
No one had attacked or threatened Russia.
It was Putin’s Nazi regime which attacked Ukraine, only because of the megalomania of the regime’s ringleaders, because of their inhuman thirst for power over all they survey.
Murdering hundreds of thousands of people is their way of bolstering their self-esteem. They are degenerates, scum, and Nazi riffraff.
The guilt of Putin’s Nazi dictatorship in plotting, unleashing, and waging a war of aggression is obvious and does not need to be proven. We also do not need to prove our right to offer armed resistance to this aggression on the battlefield and in the aggressor’s rear. It would be laughable to expect this right to be acknowledged by a regime which tosses people in prison for morally condemning its aggression out loud. All legal means of protesting Putinist Russia’s aggression have been eliminated.
My calls to resist the aggressor’s regime with armed force have caused me to be charged with terrorism.* I won’t deign to argue with the aggressor’s officials even if they claim my actions constitute pedophilia. Russia’s courts have long ago shown themselves to be appendages of the Nazi tyranny and seeking justice from them is pointless. I will never stand up before these people, who are the lackeys of murderers and scoundrels.
I see no point in arguing with puppets of the dictatorship about how conscientiously they execute their own laws. In any case, these laws are the laws of a totalitarian state and their aim is to stifle dissent. I do not recognize these laws and I will not obey them.
I also have no intention of appealing any rulings made by or actions taken by representatives of the Nazi regime.
The Putinist dictatorship may murder me, but it cannot force me to stop fighting against it. Wherever I find myself, I will keep calling on honest Russians to join the Ukrainian Armed Forces. I will keep calling for airstrikes on military facilities deep in Russian territory. I will keep calling on the civilized world to inflict a strategic defeat on Nazi Russia. I will keep trying to prove that the new Hitler’s regime must be routed militarily.
Putin is the new Hitler, a vampire driven insane by impunity and drunk on blood. I shall never grow tired of saying, “Crush the viper!”
Death to the murder, tyrant and scoundrel Putin!
Death to the Russian fascist invaders!
Glory to Ukraine!
[Grani.Ru:] Thanks to Alexander Valeryevich’s dedicated wife Olga Shcheglova (pictured above). Thanks to SotaVision for filming at the Petersburg military court (Skobov is participating in the trial via video link from Syktyvkar). Thanks to those who didn’t unsubscribe from Grani.Ru after it closed. It’s as if Skobov timed his brave deed to coincide with the final moral collapse of numerous media brands. And yet he will be heard by a handful of his contemporaries. But he has already gone down in history.
* Skobov has been charged with “publicly calling for terrorism,” “publicly condoning terrorism or promoting terrorism using the mass media, including the internet” and “organizing a terrorist community and participating in it.” If Skobov is convicted on these charges, he faces a maximum penalty of ten to fifteen years in prison and fines of up to one million rubles (approx. 9,500 euros)— TRR.
Kirill Medvedev,* a poet, publisher, and member of the band Arkady Kots, left Russia in 2023 and returned in late 2024. At Republic Weekly’s request, he explains his winding road, what Moscow looks like when one hasn’t seen it from the inside for a long time, and what remainers have to say about leavers.
After a year and a half of living in other countries for personal (but, of course, political) reasons, I have been living in Moscow for several months now. Despite certain risks, I really don’t want to leave, and I am terrified of everything having to do with living in exile. I’m willing to speak in allegories or even to keep silent altogether just to be able to live in my hometown. Although what could be more important than waking up in the morning and smacking the Putin regime in the face without pulling your punches?
Everything in Moscow is still familiar and homely. I am indifferent to Sobyanin’s renovations. Things have improved in some places, while in other places it’s the reverse. Half-abandoned spots have suddenly emerged even in the most expensive neighborhoods, as if the money had suddenly been hoovered out of them. I’m certain that’s literally what happened.
I don’t see any particular feasting amid a plague, but I guess I’m just not hitting the right spots. Moscow has become more desolate and wild on the whole. When the capital is finally moved to Siberia, the Moscow I know and love will look even better. But for now, it is still what it is: a crazy quilt fashioned from Eurasian chaos, absorbing a million shades of the glitz and poverty of the entire country and its neighbors, and tempting us with new revolutions somewhere in its squares and back alleys.
All of Russia can be found in Moscow, and yet, as everyone knows, Moscow is not Russia. Thanks to this fun fact, it is easier for Muscovites than for anyone else to love the entire country, albeit an imaginary and unfathomable country, shaped from different scraps. “I stand as before an eternal riddle, / Before a great and fabulous land,” sang one remarkable Muscovite. I repeat another poet’s line about another city, thinking that love for one’s capital city and one’s country is an enormous, complicated privilege: “May it not be my lot / To die far away from you.”
Online public communication habits have actually changed a lot because of the risks involved. It no longer feels like your event didn’t happen if it wasn’t written up online and if you didn’t post a photo of yourself with a crowd of happy spectators.
There are [now] more personal channels of communication within communities and more word of mouth. Reactions are more reserved in public and more emotional among friends. Pardon my sentimentality, but there is little to compare with physical hugs with friends and family in a city charged with your own and other people’s memories.
Of course, there are a lot of new problems, and I’d rather deal with some variety of internet addiction than the nightmare in which everyone has found themselves. And yet there is the perception that the war has ushered in the degradation of all ways of living in Russia. This is not true. Humans are ultra-creative and crafty creatures. Violent shocks do not neutralize life but propel it into new forms. A caveat: no new ways of living and creating can justify the mass murder of people who will never wake up to life again. But cultural, activist, educational, and other communities who persist and change, albeit semi-clandestinely, albeit at the cost of compromise or risk, increase our chances of transitioning to a different way of living in this country in the future. The more allies we have here at home now, the more likely they are to be in the right place at the right time—that is, if the first flights our friends who have been shoved out of the country plan to take are delayed a bit.
Irony or irritation towards the people who have left [Russia] for one reason or another is evident among almost all those who have stayed, except for those who are definitely planning to leave. One of the frequent complaints is “They left to live in safety, and they did the right thing—they just shouldn’t pass it off as a political act.”
That is true, though with many caveats. Bravo, of course, to the activists who have been helping people who have to leave to get out of the country and to adapt to life abroad. Bravo to the journalists who have moved to relatively safe places and continue to fulfill their professional obligation to their fellow citizens. Regular albeit serious news, reported with respect for themselves and the audience, without unnecessary harshness (“so that you can send it to your grandmother”) is needed desperately: almost everyone talks about it. But pessimism and aggression about life inside the country on the part of fellow citizens who have left the country is completely out of place. It is clearly old-fashioned exile self-therapy and should be practiced in private.
While the demand for alternative information is great (many people in the USSR who were not necessarily anti-Soviet also listened to Voice of America), one can see skepticism or simply a lack of interest in émigré politics. Why is this the case? There seem to be many examples in history when political émigrés came back home, were involved in great transformations, or even spearheaded them. Escaping from prison in Russia, making one’s way abroad, drinking to a successful adventure with comrades in Geneva, discussing future strategies in a relaxed atmosphere, and soon returning home to work underground was a typical trajectory for Russia’s radical democrats in the early twentieth century.
Things have changed since then, although today many also travel back and forth. You can talk at length to those who have stayed in Russia about the hardships of emigration, and they will agree and sympathize with you, especially if you were actually in danger here at home.
For the most part, though, people still see someone else’s moving abroad as their means of upgrading their private existence.
By renouncing your past life, it is as if you automatically renounce your past community. The propaganda, of course, does its best to inflate the resentment, but it’s not just propaganda at work. Emigration is indeed an experience of constant self-denial. Especially today, when Russian emigrants are so evidently prodded (gently and not so gently) to cancel themselves in terms of of their citizenship, background, language, identity, or even flag. Moreover, the reanimated ethical-religious discourse of the Cold War, with its confrontation between good and evil on a global scale, has played a considerable role in this.
The field where dialogue should have taken place between leavers and remainers, as well as between moderate oppositionists and hesitant loyalists, has been overrun by moralizers in proverbial white coats and rabid patriots. They are the dividers and conquerors.
The leavers more often argue in terms of negative freedom—freedom from censorship, political crackdowns, and military mobilization, from having to indirectly finance the war or live among its supporters. The remainers stay because they do not see how they can realize themselves abroad, at least not without the sort of superhuman effort and self-denial that many of them find more frightening than living under the threat of arrest or self-censorship. They often speak of duty—to elderly relatives, students, patients, voters, political prisoners, the graves of relatives, the homeland, etc. And they often hear in response that it is immoral to be involved in the normalized life in today’s Russia. The ethical conflict is evident.
I wander the Pokrovkas and the Ordynkas, thinking about where I can get money to pay the bills and pay off my debts. There are posters calling for men to sign up for the army. Somehow I don’t feel more upstanding than the guys who go off to kill for money. I would definitely not go to do that, but this certainty does not raise my moral self-esteem. I think of an old comrade who perished in the “special military operation.” His debts, low social status, and leftist anti-western ressentiment had blossomed into imperialist obfuscation.
I sit in a cafe, thinking about my plans. The people around me talk about different things, while people in a neighboring country are bombed in our name.
I’m good at displacing unpleasant things. We all are good at it.
Being here, dissolving into this life, it is difficult to feel like a member of an ethics committee. It’s easier to realize that all people are basically the same, that there are no insuperable differences between them. All our actions (whether ordinary, shameful, or magnificent), all the passivity of the masses, all the revolts of nations, are manifestations of the same human principle in different historical circumstances. The way humanness manifests itself in our present circumstances, the way my own humanness manifests itself in them, is the most interesting thing to observe. Okay, we’ve established that.
No, of course, there is a huge difference between opposition to evil, passive non-participation, and complicity in it. Putin’s propagandists have been blurring the distinction between the first, second and third to depoliticize and morally degrade society. We know this, and you can’t fool us. In both the secular and Christian systems, a person always has a choice and a responsibility for it. We should not see the individual as a unwilling victim of want and propaganda. But something else is also true: even if you believe that you have made your own super-correct moral choice once and for all, endlessly judging your neighbor, or believing they are made of some qualitatively different stuff than you, or finding them complicit in collective guilt without trial is also a quite devilish temptation, akin to the temptations proffered today in our country by various spiritual and political leaders.
Political evil is countered not by personal virtue, and even less by moralistic posturing. It is countered by political or civic ethics, but our country has a huge problem with that.
All the debates between the leavers and the remainers, all the debates over the slogans “peace now” vs. “war until the dictatorship’s defeat,” all the debates about whether Navalny should have returned to Russia, revolve around the missing answer to the ethical (aka political) question: for what are we willing to risk our private lives, for what collective ideals?
I certainly don’t have a clear answer. Russia is long past the heroic times of liberalism and socialism, when people believed that civic heroism was not weak-mindedness or recklessness, but a deliberate, mature step toward a better future. Popular willingness to take to the streets against war and dictatorship is impossible without the conviction that we are on the right side of history, that we are in a movement that both overlaps with and transcends our private interests.
The Bolsheviks believed in communism’s inevitable advent on a global scale, and were able to convince many people this would happen, which was why they won. In 1991, Russians believed that by defending the [Russian] White House and confronting the coup plotters’ tanks, they were leading Russia onto the road of progress which all democratic nations were already rolling down. Whether we like it or not, Russia is not ready to follow any well-trodden path. There is no single road anymore: the road is just going to have to be paved anew. (I’m reckoning on this.)
Today we see a faint glimmer of hope in republicanism, with its idea that community spirit is not a consolation prize for people who lack professional fulfillment and personal happiness. It is not reducible to a professional or personal virtue and is not a profession itself.
Anyone willing to stand with others to oppose tyranny and then work every day to prevent it from happening again is capable of demonstrating civic valor. And the brighter, bolder and more constructively a person commits to this work, the more they make use of their professional, creative and other kinds of potential, the greater their authority in the community will be and the more likely they will remain in the community’s memory. This sounds good as a motivation, but if the republican ethic is realizable, then it is realizable in the small and medium-size spaces of campaigns around residential buildings, courtyards, neighborhoods, and (at most) cities, where it is possible to find analogues of the ancient Greek square for people to hold meetings.
A national community is imaginary, no matter how you look at it, and it is based on a rather sketchy common historical plight and collective memory. If we do not want it to be the memory of how “everyone was afraid of us,” it should be the memory of how we survived together and resisted—secretly and explicitly, passively and actively—the extermination of others and self-extermination, of how we built ties, engaged in “culture,” taught children, supported political prisoners, and helped the bombing victims and the homeless.
This is the ground of community, a ground not nourished by moral superiority, by denying oneself and one’s roots, or by essentializing differences. It is nourished by responsibility for the people who stand or have stood next to you in the same squares and the same queues, for the people who walk the same streets, who went to the same schools, who share the same hopes for the future.
If we indeed stand on this ground, then it makes sense for us to challenge and set our hearts on something together.
* Medvedev has been placed on the Russian Justice Ministry’s registry of “foreign agents.”
A Chechen refugee in front of her destroyed apartment building in downtown Grozny, February 17, 1995. Photo: Reuters (via Julia Khazagaeva)
On the thirtieth anniversary of the storming of Grozny, the liberal Russian media reminded the Russophone audience that there had been such a war—the Chechen War. When I see this title, I don’t even open the movie, I flip through it. A couple of excerpts are basically enough for me to be convinced that these people have still understood nothing after three decades. Even over the three years of the recent, utterly treacherous imperial war in Ukraine, the obvious facts about what Chechnya means to Russia have not became obvious to them.
Almost any decent Russian would point out to you, of course, that bombing towns chockablock with civilians was a bad thing to do and foul play. Carrying out mop-ups in villages and burying the victims in mass graves was also outrageous. But then the exclamation “but!” is sure to follow. They will tell you about Chechen bandits, forged letters of credit, and the intransigent Dudayev. Yes, it was wrong to destroy a third of Chechnya’s population, this notional Russian would lament, but the Chechens were bad eggs themselves and were asking for it.
If you ever do open a Russian [documentary] film reconstructing the events in Chechnya thirty years ago, you will find that it is about the enlisted lads who on New Year’s Eve 1994 were thrown into the epicenter of hell. Not properly trained to shoot or drive a tank, alone against hordes of heavily armed rebels, they were unfortunate sons of the Motherland: may their memory live forever. This artistic device is deployed, for example, by the Maxim Katz-affiliated project Minute by Minute. The [YouTube] channels Current Time and Popular Politics have also recalled this selfsame “Chechen War.”
Minute by Minute, “The New Year’s Eve Storming of Grozny: A Minute by Minute Reconstruction” (December 31, 2024)
Semantically, the construction “Chechen War” operates the same way as the coinage “captive of the Caucasus.” It conceals the aggressor, suggesting we look at the object of the aggression as the aggression’s cause. In this logical trap, Chechnya seems to have gone up in flames by itself. It was its inhabitants who shelled and bombed themselves silly. It was not Russia that invaded the Caucasus, it was the Caucasus which for some reason held Russia’s soldiers in captivity. It is not without reason that when people say “he was killed in Chechnya,” it is the place where he was killed that appears to be the malefactor. The listener is not prompted to wonder what this soldier was doing under arms in a foreign land. It is as if Chechnya had shown up in Samara and killed an innocent tanker.
When we think, write and say “Chechen War,” we automatically interpret it from the point of view of the colonizer and the aggressor. We accept the interpretation imposed by Moscow, which insists that Chechnya is part of Russia, not a sovereign country it attacked. If Russia is not mentioned in the nomenclaturee of this historical event, Chechnya is automatically read as an undeniable part of the empire, and the conflict itself sounds akin to the November Uprising or the Tambov Rebellion.
In fact, it was the Russo-Chechen War which began on December 11, 1994. The war deserves to be identified as such both in terms of the nature of the hostilities and the status of the warring parties, because by the time the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria was invaded by Russian troops, it had been three years since it had legally, by popular vote and a declaration of independence, withdrawn from the USSR on an equal footing with the RSFSR. The Chechens had NOT been part of the newly minted Russian Federation for a single day.
The independent journalist Vadym Zaydman has written about this better and more clearly than anyone else. There is no need to paraphrase him when I can instead quote what he has written:
“At the time of the USSR’s death/colllapse, Chechnya was no longer legally related either to the defunct Soviet empire or to the RSFSR. By that time the Chechen-Ingush ASSR had existed as a Union Republic for over a year. Thus, by definition it could not be a part of the Russian Federation, as proclaimed on December 25, 1991. When the Russian Federation was born, Chechnya was initially not a part of it.
“Russia itself did not regard Chechnya as part of Russia during this period. On March 31, 1992, the Federation Treaty was incorporated into the Russian Constitution. It changed the status of autonomous republics to sovereign republics within the Russian Federation. The treaty was signed by representatives of twenty federal subjects of the Russian Federation. Neither the Chechen-Ingush Republic nor Chechnya was involved in the treaty.
“It was only in the wake of the notorious events of October 1993, when Yeltsin was adopting a new Russian constitution, that he unilaterally incorporated Chechnya into the Russian Federation. In fact, Yeltsin committed a fraud like the one committed by the Russian authorities when, after the Soviet Union’s collapse, they declared Russia a member of the UN Security Council as the USSR’s legal successor, although Russia was not even a rank-and-file member of the UN. Ukraine and Belarus were members of the UN, but Russia aka the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic was not! Having incorporated Chechnya, a year later Russia started to establish ‘constitutional order’ in Chechnya as its own fiefdom! Clever, isn’t it?!”
End quote.
The term “Chechen War” is thus as illegitimate as the use of the term “Ukrainian War” is unacceptable. Ukrainians would not allow the latter, and the entire civilized world would not agree to it. For everyone, the current war is the Russo-Ukrainian War. But the same thing should happen in our minds when describing the war in Chechnya. It is the Russo-Chechen War.
Many Russians would understandably prefer it go down in history in a more modest way—ideally, not as a war at all, but as a “special military operation,” or a “counter-terrorist operation,” for it is the security forces, not the simple folk, who are responsible for such operations. “SMO” and “CTO” sound mundane and localized, like a police “amber alert,” nor are they freighted with collective guilt and responsibility. Most vitally, if correlated with these Putinist terms, western sanctions come to be regarded as an exorbitant and unwarranted punishment, since they make “ordinary people suffer.”
Why do you think various Putinist and anti-Putinist institutions have spent the last three years relentlessly measuring public opinion on whether Russians want war? Yes, it’s simple: because of the sanctions—and Russia’s slightly tarnished image in the eyes of the international community. But if the West is shown the relevant polls quite often and reminded that “public opinion polls don’t work in a totalitarian society,” this mantra will work like a charm the thousandth time. It will then be much easier for Brussels officials to explain to themselves and their electorate why they are lifting restrictions: because they oppress an already “downtrodden” civil society, which in no way wanted war, but which was forced by Putin to want it.
Meanwhile, to answer the question of how much the Russian populace shares its leadership’s imperial mindset, it is enough to take the case of the Russo-Chechen War. From the sociological viewpoint, it is a scientifically pristine experiment. In 1994 (as in 1999, when the second phase of the war began) there was no totalitarianism in Russia. There were no western sanctions, and there were no Russian émigréscriticizing the regime from abroad. U.S. President Bill Clinton expressed “concern” when he learned that civilians were being killed in Chechnya. France supported the establishment of constitutional order on Russia’s own territory. They all thought that the new Russian Czar Yeltsin was better than any Communist, even if he fought like one.
Enjoying the full favor of the international community, Russia razed Grozny to the ground along with the remnants of its civilian population on New Year’s Eve 1994. This did not cause any outcry in Russian society. The first protest rally in Moscow took place on January 10, 1995: organized by Yegor Gaidar, it was a partisan affair and sparsely attended. Noticeable civil protests against the war in Chechnya would not begin until 2001—that is, five years later. [My comrade Antti Rautiainen, who was very much in the thick of things in those years (he was a co-organizer of the first antiwar street protest in Moscow, in November 1999), has pointed out to me (in a comment to Ms. Khazagaeva’s original post in Russian) that the biggest protest in Moscow against the Second Chechen War took place in January 2000, not in 2001 — TRR.] However, even then, according to Radio Svoboda, which interviewed passersby, “Muscovites were in no hurry to join the protesters: everyone was rushing about their business.”
Protests during the first phase of the Russo-Chechen War were isolated and (one might say) personal in nature. From the very first days of the invasion, the Soviet dissident, Russian human rights activist and Russian human rights commissioner Sergei Kovalev traveled to Grozny. He tried to stop the bombing of the city. In March 1995, he was removed from the post of human rights commissioner for supporting the “wrong” side. TV news presenter Svetlana Sorokina took liberties on air: after a commercial break she emotionally remarked that “no laundry detergent can wash clean the conscience of the Russian generals.” Independent Chechnya and its legally elected presidents Dzhokhar Dudayev and Aslan Maskhadov were subsequently supported by Valeria Novodvorskaya. Boris Nemtsov tried to stop the war by circulating a petition [which was allegedly signed by a million Russians—TRR]. But there was no grassroots public outrage in Russia, apart from the campaign led by the mothers of the conscripts, neither in the first phase of the war, much less in the second.
This was how sociologist Yuri Levada described attitudes to the war in Chechnya in 2001: “Sentiments against the war are strong in [Russia], but unfortunately we cannot overestimate their significance. The fact is that many people think that more decisive actions, with greater loss of life, perhaps could have led to success. Disavowing the war does not exclude, for example, approving such savage measures as ‘mop-ups,’ which are now quite difficult for the authorities in Chechnya and Russia to cope with. So, an unwillingness to continue the war is an expression of fatigue, not an expression of conscious, directed protest.”
Sociologist Lev Gudkov described Russians who supported Chechnya’s return to the bosom of the empire as follows: “They are younger and better educated Russians who argue that the Chechens must be crushed at any cost and this problem must be solved by force, that no negotiations with Maskhadov are possible, that he represents no one, and that there is only one solution—the total, crushing defeat [of the Chechens]. On the contrary, those who argue that it is necessary to seek a peaceful resolution however possible, including entering into negotiations with Maskhadov, are people of an older age, somewhat wiser and more experienced, and in this sense more tolerant, inclined to recognize Chechnya’s independence as long as the war is brought an end.”
So when Russian liberals, society’s cream of the crop, write and talk about the “Chechen War,” you now know their attitude toward the empire and its conquests. Were it not for the unprecedented western sanctions for invading the European country of Ukraine, you would be surprised to learn what Russians really think about the war. As a gentleman who left Russia twenty years ago once told me in a private conversation: “I still feel sorry for our guys. After all, the Ukrainians have killed more Russians in this war than the Russians have killed Ukrainians.”
