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Alexei Navalny

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“If you are a Russian bureaucrat, you are required to obey every order, even if it is illegal, and with each passing year this comes to seem more natural. When the Kirovles case was brought against me, Belykh, who knew perfectly well the charges had been fabricated, kept his mouth firmly shut. That was one of the reasons the case was able to proceed to trial. It is fundamental to Putin's power, however, that the rules can change and at any moment be used against you. Seven years later I turned on the television and was stunned. Nikita was shown being arrested in a Moscow restaurant in the act of accepting a bribe. He got eight years in a strict regime facility and, as I write this, is still in prison.”

“The standard and completely moronic response of the Soviet-and subsequently of the Russian-authorities to any crisis is to decide that it is in the interests of the population that they should be lied to endlessly. Otherwise, the reasoning goes, people are sure to run out of their homes, rush around in a state of anarchy, set buildings on fire, and kill each other! The truth of the matter is that nothing of that sort has ever happened. In most crises the population is prepared to behave in a rational and disciplined manner, especially if the situation were to be explained to them and they were told what needed to be done. Instead, as I have since seen on a less dramatic scale many times, the first official reaction is invariably to lie. There is no practical benefit to the officials doing so; it is simply a rule: In an awkward situation, lie. Play down the damage, deny everything, bluff. It can all be sorted out later, but right now, at the moment of crisis, officials have no option but to lie, because the imagined idiot population is not yet ready for the truth. In the Chernobyl affair, it is pointless to look for even a scintilla of rationality. God forbid the people should have been told to stay indoors for a week and not go outside unless absolutely necessary. In Kiev, the capital city of Ukraine with a population in the millions, a May Day parade was held just five days after the explosion, for the same propaganda purposes-to pretend that all was well. We know now how these decisions were made. The leaders of the Communist Party, sitting in their offices, wanted foremost to ensure that neither the Soviet people nor-horror of horrors-foreigners should know anything about the atomic disaster. The health of tens of thousands of people was sacrificed in the cause of a grand cover-up that was ridiculous, because the radioactive fallout was so extensive it was registered by laboratories all over the globe.”

“The Soviet Union was amazingly effective at producing propaganda and telling lies, but what was needed here was the ability to build houses in a hurry, and that it was something it could barely do and certainly couldn't do well.... The question most puzzling even to my ten-year-old self was why the authorities were lying like this when everybody around me knew the truth. What kind of pathetic attempt at deception was this? If you are going to lie, you should at least be expecting to benefit from it in some way. You claim to be sick and you don't have to go to school; that at least makes sense. But what was the point of these lies? Describing the way the Soviet Union worked, Vasily Shukshin, a Russian writer, memorably said, "Lies, lies, lies . . . Lies as redemption, lies as atonement for guilt, lies as a goal achieved, lies as a career, as prosperity, as medals, as an apartment . . . Lies! The whole of Russia was covered with lies, like a scab." An excellent description of the situation. If the Chernobyl disaster had never happened, I would probably have heard less talk of politics. It would certainly have been less personal, and my political views would have been slightly different. But things happened as they did, and many years later, when I was a grown man, I watched the newly appointed acting president of Russia, forty-seven-year-old Vladimir Putin, on television, far from sharing any enthusiasm about the country's new "energetic leader," I kept thinking, He never stops lying, just as it was in my childhood.”

“This routine of "Come with me," "No," "Come," "No, I don't have to. Here is my lawyer," "No, come with me" is something I know so well I could repeat it in my sleep. What is important right now is to think strategically. I have a single-use mobile phone in my pocket (I feel it). Kira has the backpack with the laptop. I give the suitcase to Yulia; it is unlikely she will be detained too. That seems to be everything. I am ready. I say goodbye to Yulia, kissing her on the cheek. The standard dialogue has already reached the stage of "If you refuse to comply with the instructions of police officers, forcible action will be taken." There is no point in refusing to go with them and be dragged off by the arms and legs like at protest rallies. What if all they are planning to do is hand me a summons to appear in court? In fifteen minutes the whole confrontation would look pretty silly. I kiss Yulia again and go on my way, accompanied by an escort of police.... Everyone in Russia is familiar with the phrase "a theater performance for one spectator." It starts within a few seconds. Two characters in plain clothes turn on cameras, while a third (you call tell he is in charge from his jacket) produces some papers, goes over to the major, and begins solemnly intoning, "Comrade blah blah blah, I report that in the case of blah blah blah there is blah blah blah evidence, blah blah blah Navalny, blah blah blah search." Having absorbed this, the major turns to the border guard, who reports that based on a review of blah blah blah documents citizen Navalny has been identified. At this I start laughing at them. "Why are you behaving like lunatics? Who are you putting this shown on for? There's only me here; relax and speak normally," I say. They cannot relax, however, because of those two cameras filming the proceedings. Their superiors, who have scripted this performance, are invisibly present in their camera proxies. Nobody reacts to my words.”

“A billionaire senior manager stood up and said, "We are giving this special award to Vladimir Leonidovich Bogdanov." Bogdanov, the CEO and a billionaire too, got to his feet, accepted the award, and began reading his report: We have extracted this quantity of oil. We have made that huge amount of profit. Eventually, the host of the event stood up and asked, "Are there any questions?" Three hundred fifty shareholders sitting in the auditorium remained silent. "Does anyone want to say anything?" Silence. I raised my hand and told him, "There is something I want to say." The look on the young host's face suggested a flying saucer had landed in the hall with little green men emerging from it. It was obvious that in all his working life he had never before encountered anyone who wanted to say anything. "Fine," he said eventually. "Please come forward." I went up onto the stage and said, "There is an oil-trading company called Gunvor. It is owned by Gennadiy Timchenko, a very close friend of Putin's, and you sell your oil through it. Why was it chosen? Was there a tender? If there was, which other companies took part? How much oil do you forward to Guvnor, and what are the terms? I am demanding these explanations because at present everything suggests that the company's profit is simply accruing to Gunvor, and because of this shareholders are not receiving the dividends due them." To judge by the expressions of those sitting on the stage, little green men not only had landed but were now firing their ray guns while tap-dancing. You could read in the eyes of those onstage that they were wondering where I had come from. "Had he been sent by the Kremlin? The FSB? How dare he publicly accuse them of corruption!" I spoke with extreme courtesy, peppering my speech with legal terms. I followed up my question about Gunvor by demanding to be told who the real owners of Surgutneftegas were. It was widely known that as of 2003 the company had been publicly identifying only ordinary shareholders in its reports, presenting an incredibly convoluted scheme of corporate ownership from which no one on the planet could deduce who actually owned this gigantic oil enterprise. While I was speaking, there was absolute silence in the auditorium, but as I went on, I could see people becoming animated, first of whom were the journalists. It was part of their job to sit through these incredibly dull meetings, but now, for the first time in living memory, something besides the predictable was happening and things seemed to be livening up. Next, the shareholders showed signs of life. At first they just stared at me in bafflement, trying to work out who I was, but then they realized I was just an ordinary person like the rest of them, except that I was not afraid to get up on the stage. When I finished, the audience applauded. That was a moment to treasure, a triumph and a mind-numbing moment when I knew that now I really was battling corruption. I started attending all the shareholder meetings. Before they began, the main topic of interest to the journalists was whether Navalny was there. Everyone loved watching a battle between David and Goliath. I would put up my hand, and start speaking, and the company management would look sour because there was nothing they could do to stop me. Of course, they did not answer any questions. They could hardly say, "You're right, Alexei. We're thieves just like Putin." Their response was, "Thank you for raising such an important issue. We will look into it." Of course, nobody in the hall expected them to say anything meaningful. Far more important was the fact that someone was asking questions.”

“I finish writing the emails and send them. I check that Yulia has access to the banking apps-a fairly pointless exercise because all my accounts have been frozen for months by lawsuits filed by "Putin's chef," Yevgeny Prigozhin, a man who, in the days of the U.S.S.R., was convicted of aggravated robbery but has now become, thanks to his friendship with Putin, "a successful entrepreneur" with a monopoly on the food supply to the day cares and schools of Moscow. We are running out of time. One more meeting is scheduled. I call Leonid Volkov, our chief of staff, Maria, and Kira. Yulia joins us. We briefly discuss the plan of action for each possible scenario: we get home without hindrance; I am arrested at the airport and jailed; I am detained, then released, and the Kremlin waits for the indignation to subside and then has me arrested; nothing happens, but I am arrested in a couple of weeks on a different charge, and so on. These scenarios are approaches the Kremlin has already used on us. In the twenty-first century you are confronted not just by the machinery of a repressive state but by the PR machinery of that state. Public opinion is what matters to all the players. The same action performed in subtly different ways can either leave people unmoved or enrage them and bring them out onto the streets to demonstrate. Everything has to be taken into account, including what day of the week it is and the weather.”

“Transneft is the world's largest pipeline company and moves oil all over Russia. Needless to say, it is state owned. In the mid-2000s it undertook the huge project of constructing an oil pipeline from eastern Siberia to the Pacific Ocean. Any construction project of that size is guaranteed first and foremost to involve a whole lot of embezzlement. Even if it gets completed, such a mega-project will not be finished on time; it will be done shoddily and against regulations; and a large chunk of the budget will be misappropriated. And that is exactly what happened. This was obvious to everyone, including the government, and in 2008 Transneft was audited by the Accounts Chamber, a special auditing department of the state. Scandalously, the results were kept secret at the request of Transneft itself. I went to great lengths to get my hands on this secret report and finally succeeded. I was appalled. The report's 150 pages drily laid out, with numbers and analysis, the fact that everything that could have been plundered had been. Construction costs had been inflated many times over, fly-by-night offshore companies had been selected as contractors, tenders and bidding had been conducted with wholly incredible irregularities, and the documentation relating to them had been destroyed in order to conceal what had been going on. The report was not the theorizing of experts or posts in a blog on the internet but rather an official report by the Accounts Chamber. The total amount embezzled in the course of the pipeline project was some $4 billion, "1,100 rubles stolen from every adult in Russia,' as I wrote in LiveJournal at the time. It was a huge scandal. The head of the state corporation at the time was, and to the present day still is, Nikolai Tokarev, an ex-KGB officer and a very close buddy of Putin's who had shared an office with him at the Soviet KGB residency in Dresden. Tokarev, an extremely private person, eventually spoke out. He accused me of being an opportunist and claimed I was "licked by Madeleine Albright's National Democratic Institute." And she, he claimed, virulently hated Russia. I ridiculed their understanding of the world, which had changed not a jot since the days of their youth and the Cold War. Almost immediately after publication of my investigation, an examination of the Kirovles case began in Kirov Region. It was in fact a reexamination, because I had already been investigated when I was working as Belykh's adviser. The police had unearthed nothing illegal then, and the episode was quickly forgotten. This now was evidently an attempt to prevent my returning to Russia, which was an option I did not for a moment contemplate. For several months I had been some homesick that I was devouring sorrel borscht in my dreams. The four of us packed our bags and flew back to Moscow. A new phase of my life had begun: every time I returned home, I wondered whether I would be arrested at the border.”

“The "government of reformers," as is now obvious, operated a policy of over-the-top corrupt protectionism that would turn any real conservative green with envy. Huge duties were imposed under the pretext of protecting domestic manufacturers. Then they were canceled, before being reintroduced. Customs policy could change by anyone bringing a suitcase of cash to the government. Needless to say, every decision to impose high duties was accompanied by ways of making it possible to circumvent them, exceptions for special cases. Ultimately, the most straightforward and effective idea came to dominate: redesignating goods subject to a high rate of duty as belonging to a different category, which attracted a low rate.”

“The second important principle was 'normality.' The Kremlin has been trying for years to marginalize our movement and drive it underground, to turn us into a modern equivalent of the Soviet dissidents. I have great respect for those dissidents, who were heroes. But in 2012, no one in their right mind wanted to become a heroic dissident-it's dangerous and it's scary. Everyone just wanted to be normal. And that's exactly what we were-normal people with a normal office life. Although we were essentially an organization for revolution, with each person taking great risks, from the outside we looked like a bunch of Moscow hipsters. We had a spacious open plan office and a coffee machine, and we played Secret Santa. WE had Twitter and Instagram accounts. Our staff was young, everyone was friends with everyone else, we went on hikes together and threw parties (though in later years I began to notice a curious tendency for everything that was the most fun to begin after I had gone home). The only way we were different from a fancy start-up was that we were battling Putin. Of course that brought with it predictable downers, like having our office bugged. Although that was disagreeable, it was not particularly scary. Over time, however, the downers became more numerous. the pressure grew year by year, and by 2019 arrests and searches had become part of our daily lives. Our hipster office remained just as hipsterish, only now the riot police sawed through the door with a chain saw, burst in with semiautomatic weapons, made everyone lie on the floor. During one of these raids, fifty members of the staff were relieved of their computers and phones, and all our equipment, documents, and personal belongings were taken. If you managed to hide your phone behind the baseboard molding and your computer in the ceiling tiles-well done. But most often everything was confiscated. The tactic was clear enough: We needed money to replace the equipment, and we would have to ask for donations. The Kremlin was hoping it would gradually become more difficult to raise funds, but after each attack on us we saw a surge in contributions. What the Anti-Corruption Foundation does is obvious from the name. We are hybrids, somewhere between journalists, lawyers, and political activists. We come across a story involving corruption, examine the documents, collect evidence, and publish it. In the first years, we did so as posts on my blog; later, as videos on YouTube. The most important thing we do, then, is spread the story so millions hear about it. The number of independent media outlets was falling rapidly, censorship was everywhere, and no major newspaper, let alone television network, was going to publicize our work. What do you do in a situation like that? You tell the story yourself and ask others to help. Post a link on your blog, write something on social media, send the video to your friends, and if nothing else is helping, print out a leaflet and put it up in elevators. 'This is our mayor: His official salary is around $2,000 a month. and here is his apartment in Miami, which is worth $5 million.' At the end of every investigation I made an appeal: 'Guys we've done our bit. Here's a great, important story, but without your help no one is going to know about it. Send links to your friends. Join your regional group on VKontakte and leave a comment there too. Send it to your grandmother and your parents.' The result was that donors not only gave us money but effectively started working for us themselves and became an important part of our organization.”

“At the time it was de rigueur among Putin's economic operators to represent themselves as 'effective managers.' In practice, however, it was limited to the facts that they dressed in bespoke Brioni suits, bought up the priciest offices in Russia, and modeled themselves on Leonardo DiCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street, only it was the state's money they managed rather than their own. Beneath the veneer of effective management was the same bunch of crooks who, given the slightest opportunity to steal, would do so. They were effective only in being able to devise fifteen different ways of cooking the books of a government contract in less than a minute, inventing a dozen fake commercial deals to make everything look proper, and briskly spiriting the loot away to their offshore company. The top dogs in all these state corporations were totally corrupt, and most of the regular staff were even more outraged by that than I was. It was from whistleblowers that I obtained the information that provided the basis of my first high-profile anti-corruption investigation. In 2007, VTB began purchasing oil drilling rigs in China and then leasing them to Russian oil producers. The cost of a Chinese drilling rig was $10 million. VTB Leasing, however, paid 50 percent more than that through an intermediary offshore company registered in Cyprus. It seemed an entirely pointless arrangement. What did Cyprus have to do with anything, and why was an intermediary needed? Surprisingly, it turned out that this offshore company was controlled by VTB's top executives, and the price difference went straight into their pockets. They purchased not five, note ten, but thirty of these drilling rigs. It would have been impossible to find customers for so many. This deal was supposed to remain secret, like dozens of others, but on this occasion things worked out differently. I not only wrote about the business but traveled to Yamal, where, in the middle of a field, I found the orphaned rigs still in gigantic containers and covered in snow. In the summer they rusted in a swamp. This investigation was very straightforward. You didn't need a degree in economics or to be an expert on oil production to work out what was wrong. I wrote hundreds of complaints, went to court, and even won. In those days that was still possible. I urged all the minority shareholders of VTB to file complaints together with me and demand documents. They did. This lasted for years, with statements to the police, rejections, appeals, lawsuits in Russia and Cyprus. It was a particular pleasure to question Kostin personally on the topic of drilling rights at shareholder meetings. He tried to find excuses, but with a marked lack of success.”

“I've always seen my campaigns against corruption as political work of a purer form than what opposition leaders usually do. All they do is hold roundtables and release political statements, which is all well and good. But there are concrete things that need to get done in order to achieve the basic goal of every opposition politician.”