“Shame, wrath, compassion” How the Russian translator of the UN Bucha report was prosecuted for participating in an “undesirable organisation”

“I learnt about the annexation of Crimea from a meme.” Politics and family

Due to family circumstances, I was not allowed to have my own opinion. My mom would say over and over: “Oh, politics is a dirty business.” Despite that, when the war started, I was really offended when she turned out to be a fan of pro-war Telegram channels. Turns out, she was still interested in politics after all.

For example, I learnt about the annexation of Crimea from a meme—‘Nyah-meows, Crimea’s ours’, but I didn't understand what was going on, my brains were way too small for that. Then I met my husband. He used to hang out with the National Bolsheviks at rallies in Krasnoyarsk and Moscow. He introduced me to the vast experience of Navalny rallies and political activism, to Ekho Moskvy—and little by little I formed my opinion about the policies of the Russian government.

We had a baby. During maternity leave, I listened to YouTube a lot, and it was all political. Navalny was good in that he was like a political tutor, when the basic truths were slowly hammered into you, consistently and coherently. Navalny implanted a strong feeling that you have the right to your opinion, and that politics itself is a practical and legal matter.

The first time I participated in street protests was when [in January 2021 Alexei] Navalny returned to Russia from Germany after his poisoning. I remember Navalny under the portrait of [Genrikh] Yagoda, when he looked into the camera and said, “Come out—not for me, but for yourself and for your future.” And I said to myself then, “Damn! I think it's time to go out—for myself.” And at first, all three of us were going to protests: me, my two-year-old and my husband. After that, I'd go with my child and sometimes I'd try to call my friends. People often refused because they were scared.

When Navalny was flying to Russia, we hung a poster on the balcony, very elusive: “What are you all doing? Leha is coming.” Like how can you all be so indifferent if Alexei Navalny is coming back. Shortly after that, the cops came to the flat and demanded to hand over the poster. And then, on the eve of one of the protest rallies, they came again: with a warning in my husband’s name not to come to rallies.

I also did all sorts of underground stuff. There was [Vladimir] Milov, who was collecting a base of translators to translate his videos. I signed up. Since then, I’ve been translating their videos from time to time. But they rarely do it now. Or the Feminist Anti-War Resistance (FAR) called for help if you have design skills. I'm not a designer, but I like to fool around with Photoshop.

I told my dad about my views for the first time. He is a fan of aggressive propaganda and conspiracy theories. At some point I got tired of listening to him. So one time, close to New Year, we were all hanging out together, and it was so fun, I felt such a drive, that I told my dad that I support Navalny, finance Navalny, and work for Navalny. In short, I am actively involved in opposition work. Since then, my dad has been tormenting me for a fortnight with his desire to change my mind, not letting me go with endless calls, and I blocked him everywhere. He was deeply offended and hasn’t spoken to me since.

“It felt like I was committing treason.” Activism during the war

My husband used to tell me, “There’s gonna be a war.” I couldn’t imagine it. In Kharkiv, for example, someone pays a mortgage for a beaten up 1960s apartment and a rocket flies into it. It’s impossible to imagine, you can’t rationalise anything of the sort.

In the days following the invasion, I wrote a lot and discussed what had happened with friends and acquaintances. Many people told me that they wanted to take their own life because they were unbearably ashamed [of the actions of the Russian authorities], others thought about going to the front to fight on the side of Ukraine.

I myself was putting anti-war leaflets in mailboxes - in my building entrance and in the neighbouring one. I left some of the leaflets in supermarket trolleys. I also took pictures of cars with the letter Z—it was like a personal insult, they made me angry every time. So I decided to make an archive of these cars, and I posted it on my Telegram channel. I thought that one day someone would find a photo with the licence plate number in the archive and shame the driver.

When some time since the start of the full-scale war passed, I went round Krasnoyarsk cemeteries, searching of graves of Russian servicemen killed in Ukraine. I made an Excel-table for ten cemeteries in Krasnoyarsk and neighbouring towns. I thought to myself: while the child is in kindergarten, I can go round all of them. It was disturbing to look for graves in cemeteries, plus my camera is pretty heavy. I sent the photos to independent media, maybe even to Mediazona.

It felt like I was committing treason, i.e. the state is obviously very uncomfortable when you make public what they are trying to hide.

You look at these dead people and you don’t know whether to hate them because they took part in all this, or to feel sorry for them: they could still live. Somehow, it’s all unfair. And it’s all associated with your life being ruined.

When the war started, I wrote to my mom. I was hoping that if my mom said that war was bad, it would stop. I really believed in that a little. But mom said: “Well, I have different information.” I was like, “Mom, shit, missiles are flying, everything is bad, the war is real.” She said: “Well, I feel sorry for the Ukrainians, of course. But in general it’s all the USA, the hegemon.” And trash like that. Since then, relations with my parents have been very bad.

“Our departure offended a great many people.” Emigration

Back in February 2022, my husband wanted to take out a loan for another car. Good thing he was turned down. We paid off our mortgage, lived in a flat which we renovated to our taste. And I think we were ready to raise a baby in peace. Maybe think about a second one. But when the full-scale invasion started, I began to go crzay from anxiety, from all this news. And then the mobilisation came [in September 2022], so we left. On the other hand, I always wanted to try life abroad. I was inspired by travelling and the people I met on my trips. But it’s not easy to start life in another country from scratch.

When the mobilisation was announced, my husband got a call from the university where he worked and was told that there was a summons for him. They asked him whether he had served in the army or not. He hadn’t, so they told him that they’d hold on to the summons for the time being. In the end they, didn’t give it to him, but said he shouldn’t expect an exemption from the draft either.

So then he gave me a power of attorney to sell the flat. I took out a loan: 100 thousand rubles for the ticket. And he left for Turkey during the so-called referendums in Luhansk and Donetsk. I was very scared that suddenly the borders would be closed. And I thought: “I’ll kick him out [of the country], and then I’ll manage on my own.” And the child and I sold the car, sold the flat and went to Turkey to live with him.

My husband left on 1 October [2022] and we joined him on October 30th. Another month passed, and we got to the US through Mexico and asked for political asylum.

When I was leaving Russia, I kept thinking how I would tell my mom about it. One thought was just to call from the beach and say we are taking a trip, simply lie.

But mom found out about our departure before we left the country, when her friend sent her photos of our flat for sale. It was clear that she felt uncomfortable and uneasy about a “traitor of the Motherland” in her family.

We settled in Miami, my husband’s relatives gave the three of us a room, and so we lived there. We waited six months for a work permit.

I found a job translating various texts and documents. A lot of people need help and language support. People have problems with bureaucracy and other things because they don’t know English. And now, after two years, I have a sufficient base of clients. My husband got a job repairing phones.

Since January 2023, I sometimes visit Navalny’s underground headquarters in the Tor browser: I take tasks like making leaflets or writing letters to local US congressmen. I also called Russia several times with Navalny’s Agitation Machine. It’s very pleasant to listen to Navalny’s voice when you try to get through to the interviewees under the guise of a social survey, but I can’t stand the half an hour to an hour of answering machine. Anti-spam robots answer, people hang up.

On the one hand, we sometimes think that mayve it would be possible to return, especially when nostalgia hits hard. But fascism at home is a little frightening. If people go back, they go back to where their family is, to where their friends are, to where their work is. We had jobs at the university, but the head of our department is very pro-war. She sits down with every new secretary, as colleagues write, and tells them what “traitor of the Motherland” the Boiko family are. Our departure offended a lot of people.

The bright side of our forced departure was the opportunity to speak out. At home, there was this cycle: the authorities are going wild, I am getting more and more angry, but too scared to express myself. I suppressed anger with fear. I found comfort in food and attempts to express myself ornately. And I got relief by inventing underground activism. After I left, there was the thrill of not being punished for my words by the state. That said, the harsh heckling from my mom, her friends, family, my acquaintances is embarrassing. I remind myself that I have to speak up for those left behind. And those left behind then give signs that they’re glad to hear from me.

“You get furious and start whiping out defenceless people.” Translation of the Bucha report

In a group chat, my husband came across an advert for a translation of the UN report into Russian. I responded. I would have done such work as a volunteer, but they offered to pay for it. We agreed on the amount for the volume: $240, they were satisfied. It was a good, decent payment, but not something enormous. I didn’t know at that time that Russian America for Democracy in Russia was an “undesirable” organisation in Russia. And I didn’t object to the publication of my name as the author of the translation.

By that time, of course, I knew everything about Bucha, including details of extrajudicial executions. But there was a generalisation in the report: this wasn’t happening in Buch alone, but the whole Kyiv region. And in a vey very dry, formal, clear language cases of rapes, executions, beatings were listed. That is, there was nothing radically new there for me, because I followed the news closely. But if you aggregate the information, it’s amazing to read the report, everything becomes so clear.

The most striking thing in the Bucha story for me was when iStories got through to a guy who said he killed [civilians]. You’re scared that [Ukrainian troops] are coming from Kyiv to knock you out of Bucha and Irpen, so you get furious and start whiping out, torturing more defenseless people. There’s a feeling that you’re watching hostages being abused. Reading the report, you experience shame, wrath, and compassion.

Mediazona told me about the case of participating in an “undesirable organization.” I was shocked, appalled. I should have been mentally prepared, but I wasn’t. I was shaking for half a day.

From the day to day life point of view, I don’t give a damn about the case. It’s obvious that it’s not safe to return to our homeland, with or without a criminal case. Russian America for Democracy in Russia insisted on consulting with human rights defenders. I was told that people live with several administrative protocols for participation in “undesirable activities,” but this does not develop into a criminal case. As a result of the conversation, I decided that they [Russian authorities] should judge themselves for whatever they want. I will not shut my mouth anymore.

Editor: Anna Pavlova