Democracy Lab

The Government Ban on Just About Everything

Russia's officials are reverting to old instincts: When in doubt, forbid.

MOSCOW —  The spirit of protest is coming awake again in St. Petersburg, the birthplace of Russia's revolutions. It's a city where artists and writers have been bucking censorship for centuries. Today they're railing against the spirit of zapret, the Soviet-era Russian word for "ban" that has remained firmly embedded in the collective cultural memory despite the nearly two decades that have passed since the end of the USSR.

But unlike the dissidents of the past, today's activists are not plotting to foment violent uprisings by murdering a tsar. They have a smarter and more humane plan.

Recently I listened as a group of young Petersburgers discuss the recent country-wide bans on swearing in public, on smoking, on the adoption of children from the United States, and on so-called "gay propaganda" (basically meaning any positive statements about homosexuality). Gathered on an open balcony at Pushkinskya 10 Art Center, the heart of the city's contemporary art scene, they also talked about the disappearance of their favorite festivals and court trials against opposition activists.

Frustration with the government's decisions was palpable. A few weeks ago, St. Petersburg police arrested a poet for reciting poetry at a street protest organized in support of political prisoners. His offense? There was one curse word in the last line of the poem.

But that's not the worst of it. Inane bans and restrictions are bombarding Russia's provinces. To prevent unspecified "chaos," the Krymsk city authorities forbade people from having their own independent day of memory for victims of a flood that took lives of 168 people and destroyed 72 thousand homes last July. A popular cultural festival in Perm failed to take place this month as scheduled, since authorities decided that the festival "threatened the stability of political situation in the country." Authorities say "no" tothe most harmless initiatives. Just last weekend, thousands of Russians trying to celebrate Ivan Kupala night, a popular traditional holiday, found out that it was forbidden to swim naked and jump over fires, since the Orthodox Church is aggressively fighting against Russian pagan customs.

The voices on the balcony grew louder as the conversation heated up. "Back in the 1990's, I felt like St. Pete was a European city," said Lena, an intelligent, skinny girl in glasses. "Now it feels like it's on a different planet. We're living in a police state." Two lesbian girls next to me seemed more amused than upset by the news. "The state is trying to ban hugging, kissing, and cursing," said Natasha, a girl with lilac and black hair. "Their laws will never stop us from having fun, loving, or feeling free." To prove it, she rattled off a long list of gay clubs in the city.

Similar scenarios seem to repeat themselves in St. Petersburg every few decades. Russia's greatest poet Alexander Pushkin irritated the tsar's secret police by supporting the Decembrist revolt and pronouncing anti-government statements. (Even today, there are still some Russian censors who are trying to "cleanse" his words.) Nicholas II responded to Pushkin's mockery of senior officials by exiling him from the capital. A few decades later the young Petersburg writer Fyodor Dostoyevsky spent seven months behind the bars of the Peter and Paul Fortress for joining revolutionary circles. The police put him in front of a firing squad -- then changed their minds at the last minute. In Soviet times, the city's writers and musicians went right on producing forbidden works for decades despite the threat of the gulag.

Censors ruled out certain words. The KGB silenced groups and gatherings. The police arrested people for piercings, tattoos, or colorful punk hairdos. But the result was always the same: The mechanisms of repression only inspired artists to come up with more sophisticated ways of encoding their messages and spreading their thoughts around the country.

It was only in the late 1980s, when Soviet censorship collapsed, that we could finally buy once-forbidden literature or watch Antonioni movies at the Spartak cinema. By the time Vladimir Putin and Dmitry Medvedev came to work for St. Petersburg Mayor Anatoly Sobchak, the Art Center had become internationally famous for its avant-garde art exhibits, its so-called Parallel Cinema shows that experimented with pseudoscience, and its kvartiniki (from the Russian word for "apartment"), rock music concerts held in squats.

Today Pushkinskaya 10 is not quite as unusual as it used to be. St. Petersburg is booming with subculture venues, galleries, concert halls, cafes, and clubs of all flavors. (Natasha's list of St. Petersburg gay hangouts contrasts sharply with the situation in Moscow, for example, where there's really one good gay club left.)

There's a wind of anarchy that hits your face the minute you arrive in St. Petersburg, and this appears to be just the thing that has irritated legislators throughout time. The laws recently passed by deputies of the St. Petersburg municipal assembly ban swearing in movies, literature, or media -- not to mention "homosexual propaganda" and cats making noise at night. One of the most creative authors of banning strategy, Vitaly Milonov, explains that the laws are necessary "to defend the rights of majority." Once again Russia is split into those who are keen on forbidding and reporting violators to police and those who cannot in good conscience obey the bans.

Minorities have never found support in Russia; the law against "gay propaganda" has exacerbated growing homophobia. A few days after our meeting on the balcony, Natasha and her girlfriend witnessed a violent scene: A large crowd of enraged anti-gay protestors attacked an LGBT protest on Marsovo Pole, throwing stones, eggs, and bottles filled with urine at the small group of activists.

Russian artists, writers, and poets make fun of officials and their policies, but so far, at least, they don't have to resort to writing their texts in code. One of the most popular modern writers, Dmitry Bykov, devoted a poem to the subject of deputy Milonov's views on gays in his sarcastic series documenting Russian politics. The poem was recited on national television.

St. Petersburg poets have their own strategy, which is partly reflected in a book by Edward Lukoyanov entitled We Want Some Cultural Terrorism and Preferably Right Away. The author's friend Pavel Arsenyev -- the man who was arrested for reciting a poem with one swear word -- explained to me how the writers are planning to react to the "absurd environment" created by policymakers. "The forms of ironic protest are growing more popular," Arsenyev said. "The laboratories of art will produce new ironic tools to respond to what to our mind makes no sense."


Democracy Lab

Talk About Strange Bedfellows

In Moscow, sympathy for Edward Snowden crosses all party lines.

MOSCOW —  When Hollywood finally decides to make a film about the National Security Agency (NSA) leaker Edward Snowden's secret life in a Moscow airport, they'll need to be sure to include Russian politicians discussing his fate. From the very first day Snowden's plane landed in Sheremetyevo airport from Hong Kong, both pro- and anti-Putin political figures have agreed on one thing: he shouldn't be turned over to the Americans. Politicians and oppositionists alike have argued that Snowden should be allowed to stay and work in Russia rather than ending up behind bars in his home country. (The photo above shows a Russian Snowden supporter outside the airport holding a sign that reads "Resist the new world order.")

On Monday, after it emerged that Snowden had made an official application for asylum in Russia, President Putin issued a remarkable statement: "If he wants to stay here, there is one condition: he must stop his activities aimed at inflicting damage to our American partners, no matter how strange it may sound on my lips." (At the same news conference Putin made a point of comparing Snowden with the Soviet-era dissident Andrei Sakharov.)

Russia, of course, isn't the only country that Snowden has turned to for help; altogether he's applied to 19 countries for asylum, according to WikiLeaks. The Kremlin now says that Snowden withdrew his Russian asylum request after hearing about Putin's condition. Some Duma deputies, however, are proposing a compromise: instead of working publicly, they say, Snowden ought to share all of his secret data with the Russian intelligence services. His evidence that Americans spy not only on American citizens, but also on their European allies, would surely be of interest.

That, indeed, seems like a perfect option to Duma deputy Robert Shlegel, a young and energetic politician from the ruling United Russia Party. Shlegel, who works on information policy, told me in an interview on Monday that he looked forward to meeting with the former NSA contractor one day. Shlegel, who is 28, told me that he feels a certain camaraderie with Snowden, who recently turned 30. He imagines himself chatting with Snowden about the "bizarre reality" that the NSA has tried to create, an updated version of Orwell's 1984 in which the U.S. intelligence agencies aspire to know everything that's going on in the world.

Shlegel told me that, while he understands Snowden's urge to speak the truth, he doesn't necessarily approve. As someone who's close to the Kremlin, Shlegel says, he believes in loyalty to the state: "Even if he has such evidence on hand, an official should never betray his own government, under no circumstances, especially if he worked for a security agency." What if the true story was even more complicated, I ventured -- what if Snowden was originally recruited by Russian intelligence? Shlegel laughed: "I wish Snowden was our project. If he was one of ours, we'd have to build a monument to the men who recruited him."

Snowden's fate has been a big topic for Moscow's chattering classes of late. Normally squabbling politicians have found a rare unanimity as they've rushed to condemn America's efforts to eavesdrop on the world. Despite different visions of Snowden's role in Russia, there's a consensus that Snowden did the right thing by leaking information about the NSA's activities. Another Duma deputy, international affairs committee chairman Aleksei Pushkov, published post after post on his Twitter feed earlier this week about Snowden and his role in the world's political arena. "Snowden was the second one after Bush who struck a powerful blow to the image of the U.S.," Pushkov wrote. "Bush lied to the entire world about Iraq, and Snowden told the truth about international espionage," Pushkov tweeted. In yet another tweet he opined that "total surveillance ... is the essence of American democracy."

What's striking is that it's not only Kremlin sympathizers who are expressing solidarity with Snowden. Oppositionists and human rights activists seem to agree -- though for somewhat divergent reasons. "This is a remarkable example of how American critics hate repressive systems," said Yevgenia Chirikova, the popular leader of a leading anti-Kremlin ecological group. "Russia shouldn't let America lock the young dissident behind bars for life. To grant Snowden asylum is simply humane."

The majority of liberal Russians sympathize with Snowden's agenda. Ilya Yashin, a key leader of one of the pro-Western RPR-Parnas party, says that Russia should definitely be helping the leaker: "By making certain information public, he makes American, European, and even our society better, more transparent and open." As Yashin sees it, Snowden should have the right to live in Russia as a free man, able to decide for himself what he wants to do. Leading human rights activist Tatyana Lokshina agrees that Russia should save Snowden from execution, but she can't quite bring herself to agree with Putin: "Political asylum should not be given under conditions decided by the president."

The government has clearly picked up on the fact that so many of its erstwhile critics are finding common ground with Putin's position. On Sunday, Putin's spokesman Dmitry Peskov took to the airwaves to cheer on Snowden's defenders. Peskov said that the Kremlin has noticed "a very broad range of points of view that various experts and representatives of human rights organizations are expressing" on the Snowden issue. "Public opinion on the subject is very rich. We are aware of that and take it into account."

How will they take it into account? Russian TV, which is now largely under the control of the state, offers some clues. Recent broadcasts have hailed Snowden as a hero, comparing him in one case to the American communist spies Julius and Ethel Rosenberg, in another to Max Otto von Stirlitz, a legendary figure who spied on the Nazis for Stalin during World War II. On one show he was described as "the man who declared war on Big Brother and got stuck in the transit zone," and as "a soldier in the information war, who fights, of course, on the side of Russia, or maybe the side of China."

The only thing that Russian newsmakers don't agree on is the issue of who should be allowed to exploit Snowden's computers, the actual proof of U.S. sins, in case he decides to stay in Russia. Deputy Shlegel had no doubts on this score: "He should share the data with Russian intelligence and help us improve the technical side of our security system."