I can’t quite tell whether this is some kind of irony of fate—that today, December 5, I’m writing this post at the entrance checkpoint of the Investigative Committee, waiting for a pass so I can review the materials of a new criminal case that will inevitably earn me the proud title of “twice convicted of a serious intentional crime” by next spring—or whether it’s an example of the cyclical nature of any political process: people rush in, then rush away. It’s hard to say. I’m writing this because people seem to be expecting an “anniversary December 5” post from me, complete with some “reflection.” So here goes my reflection: For two years now, the country has had a completely illegitimate State Duma in session. Illegitimate not simply because it was elected through fraud, but because the entire country knows about that fraud and has no doubts that it happened. The despair and anger born of a sense of powerlessness brought many of us to that strange rally on December 5 at Chistye Prudy that seemed doomed from the start.
From here That rally marked the beginning of a real political process in modern Russia. A genuine political struggle. This political process has an interesting feature: it’s hard to define the circle of people who are actually fighting this thieving government. Just as on December 5, 2011, not a single representative of any political party showed up at the rally over the stolen votes—even though those were the parties whose votes had been stolen—so too, to this day, the “parliamentary opposition,” which has been the main beneficiary of the protest movement, is represented in that movement by exactly 1 (one) deputy out of a couple hundred. This is especially striking against the backdrop of events in Ukraine. There, half the deputies of the Verkhovna Rada (Ukraine’s parliament) spend the night on the streets of Kyiv alongside the people and form cordons between the police and the crowd. You can’t just disperse that so easily; it’s not so simple to crack deputies over the head with batons. You can, of course, but it creates more problems. Here, our deputies cautiously delegated a couple of people to two or three of the biggest rallies and ran at the first sign of trouble. So if we’re drawing parallels with Ukraine, then over there they have elected professional politicians relying on the people in their struggle. That makes the situation clearer, and the political outlook has visible direction and consequences. Here, we have people in the streets supported by an even larger number of people sitting at home. And that produces, among the most anxious and uncertain of us, the endless refrain: what happens next? So we held a rally—what happens next? I’m not going to a rally if it’s unclear what happens next. Nothing. That’s just how things are here: nothing is clear. Rally, and do what must be done—and what can be done today. Every day, look for ways to expand the possibilities for struggle. The rest will become clear later. Does that sound like a strategic plan? It is one. Only two years have passed since December 5, 2011, and yet it feels like ten—so much has happened. Today is a good day for each of us to think calmly, without self-satisfaction but also without hand-wringing lament, about exactly what contribution we have made to the common cause. What have you done to make Toad_on_the_Pipeline feel at least a little uneasy? And could you have done more? Victory really does depend on this kind of “pyramid of self-sacrifice” (Boris Akunin once wrote about it): dozens ready to go to prison (and their courageous relatives); hundreds unafraid of short-term administrative detention; thousands and thousands ready to spend a winter night outside; millions spending long hours in the streets and prepared to return again and again with patience; tens of millions supporting the protests through advocacy and/or money. And here, by the way, is a wonderful example of that from Ukraine:
Each of us has to find our place in this “pyramid.” There is nothing tragic or especially heroic about that. The history of humanity is the history of peoples struggling against tyrants, thieves, and usurpers. It has always been so. Some of us will simply be hurled by History into one point or another of this pyramid, as is now happening to the “Bolotnaya prisoners” (people prosecuted over the Bolotnaya Square protest in Moscow). They did not leave home on May 6 thinking, “I’m going to contribute years of my life behind bars to the common cause,” but it turned out that they are now examples to us of endurance and self-sacrifice. We will succeed if there are enough people among us who want, someday, to say to their grandchild sitting on their lap: you know, once I contributed 500 rubles, two days on the street, a dirty jacket, a runny nose, and 125 social media posts to the revolution. And in return, your grandfather (or grandmother) won for you 1) a court that judges honestly, 2) a kindergarten where you don’t have to “buy” a place, and 3) a fair distribution of oil and gas revenues. And political prisoners now exist only in history textbooks. I very much want to be able to say that to my grandchild someday, and I am absolutely certain there are many people who do too. We just need to remember every day that no one else will do your share of the “struggle against the regime” for you—if you stop, grow disillusioned, or “take a break,” then this beautiful pyramid will shrink, and it will become harder for everyone in it. The punishment for that will be terrible: you will have nothing to say to your grandchild, or you will have to lie. Personally, I have clearly done too little so far. I will try to do more. And I urge you to do the same. That’s all my “reflection” for another December 5.