People did not read his early posts and investigations because public procurement had suddenly become exciting. They read them because Navalny had a gift for making complicated, technical subjects feel immediate and personal. Behind the dry language and bureaucracy, he revealed a simple truth: money was being stolen, people were being misled, and it did not have to stay that way.

He drew people in with his outrage, but he also gave them a sense of what could be done. Over time, supporters gathered around him — people who no longer wanted simply to follow his work, but to take part in it and act alongside him.

Through the ACF, Navalny and his team turned anti-corruption investigations into a sustained public effort. They investigated officials, state companies, business figures, security services, and people close to Vladimir Putin. Navalny often described it as an endless series about corruption in Russia: the team uncovered luxury estates, filmed them with drones, traced ownership records, compared assets with officials’ declared incomes, and published supporting documents. But the investigations were never just about exposing corruption. Navalny encouraged people to turn outrage into action — to protest, vote, and speak openly with those around them.

Ahead of the 2011 State Duma elections, he launched the campaign Against the Party of Crooks and Thieves, a slogan aimed at the ruling party that quickly entered public discourse and was followed by large opposition protests across the country.

The campaign marked a turning point. Navalny went from being a well-known opposition figure to someone an entire city came to know personally. Many people already knew him through his blog, investigations, and protests, but the mayoral race brought him closer to voters. He went into neighbourhoods, spoke directly with residents, answered questions, debated, and tried to persuade people face to face. Moscow suddenly started seeing that politics could be different: not something happening on television or inside state institutions, but as a real conversation with someone who wanted to change the city.

For many people, it was the first genuine political campaign of their lives. They signed up as volunteers, stood at campaign cubes, handed out leaflets, talked to neighbours, argued with relatives, donated small amounts of money, and felt — often for the first time — that their participation mattered. Only electoral fraud prevented Navalny from winning. But even the official result made one thing clear: the authorities now faced a strong, dynamic political opponent with genuine public support.

The presidential campaign soon grew beyond Moscow and became a nationwide movement. Navalny traveled across Russia, visiting dozens of cities, opening campaign headquarters, meeting voters, and speaking to people in places where national politics had long felt distant and out of reach. The regional headquarters became hubs for staff, volunteers, observers, and activists — people who, often for the first time, were taking part in politics rather than simply watching it.

Navalny had a rare ability to inspire and unite people. He traveled the country, opening headquarters and meeting supporters, while volunteers and campaign teams organized locally and carried forward the message at the heart of his campaign: tell the truth and demand justice.

Although Navalny was ultimately barred from running, the campaign left a lasting mark. It drew an entire generation into politics and inspired thousands across Russia to become active participants in public life.

In August 2020, Navalny was flying from Tomsk to Moscow after a trip filming regional investigations when he suddenly fell seriously ill on board. The plane made an emergency landing in Omsk. The days that followed became a race against time. Yulia Navalnaya and Navalny’s supporters fought to secure his transfer from the hospital in Omsk and permission for him to receive treatment abroad.

That permission came only after intense public pressure and prolonged negotiations. Later, laboratories in several countries concluded that Navalny had been poisoned with a Novichok nerve agent.

After recovering from the coma, Navalny helped expose the operation behind the attempt on his life and obtained what amounted to a confession from one of those involved. He then released what would become his most-viewed investigation: the film about Vladimir Putin’s palace.

The conditions Navalny faced are difficult to imagine from the outside. Russian prisons are harsh even by their own standards, but in his case, supporters often described it as a prison within a prison. He was repeatedly placed in solitary confinement, denied visits, cut off from the outside world, and transferred from colony to colony, each one farther from his family and lawyers. He was subjected to constant physical and psychological pressure: sleep deprivation, denial of food and medical care, and conditions designed to turn each day into an ordeal.

And yet he continued to support those who remained free. He kept writing with the same clarity, irony, and determination; speaking about the war, the future, and the importance of refusing fear. Despite the isolation and the pressure, Navalny remained a voice that thousands of people continued to listen to — and one that helped many of them not lose hope.