22 Jan 2026 | Europe and Central Asia, Features, Russia, Volume 54.04 Winter 2025
This article first appeared in the Winter 2025 issue of Index on Censorship, Gen Z is revolting: Why the world’s youth will not be silenced, published on 18 December 2025.
It’s something of a surprise to learn that the rap music genre in Russia dates as far back as the Soviet era – and that then, it came about thanks to a woman, Olga Opryatnaya. Second director of the Moscow Rock Club, sometime in the mid-1980s she heard a performance by the group Chas Pik. Struck by their innovative funk-rock fusion overlaid with an MC’s flow, Opryatnaya invited them to record an album. And thus, Russian rap was born.
Today, Russian rap music made by women coalesces around Zhenski rap, a sub-genre that emerged in the mid-1990s. Starting with Lika Rap, the 1994 album by Lika Pavlova (aka Lika Star), women have “represented” in what remains in Russia – as elsewhere – a male-dominated genre.
But this has not been a smooth ride. And as the curious case of Instasamka, the first female rapper to be subjected to state censorship shows, double standards abound – with women being targeted, unlike their male counterparts, with ambiguous charges of “moral inappropriateness”.
The censorship of women musicians in Russia is not, it should be said, a recent phenomenon. Pussy Riot, the feminist political collective, have been persecuted for more than ten years, with five of their exiled members sentenced in absentia in September 2025 to long jail sentences for speaking out against the war in Ukraine. But their cause went largely unnoticed within Russia’s rap community.
Now the war between Instasamka and the authorities, beginning in late 2021, has added cultural censorship to the well-established category of suppressing political speech.
A vlogger and social media personality before becoming a musician, Instasamka’s older Instagram posts give a good sense of her defining aesthetic – accentuated physical features interspersed with tattoos, tropes often featured by her counterparts in the USA. Rubbing against the conservative – anti-foreign – values that have been in ascendency in Russia in recent years, it was no surprise that she would, in due course, attract the wrong sort of attention.
The offensive against Instasamka (real name Darya Zoteeva) was initially led by state organisations and civic organisations on 24 November 2021. The Rospotrebnadzor, the Federal Service for the Oversight of Consumer Protection and Welfare, cancelled her concert after complaints from members of the Surgut city Duma in Khanty-Mansia. The day after, the media watchdog Roskomnadzor cancelled her concert in Sverdlovsk due to similar complaints from local officials. The censorship campaign against her picked up, though, after being taken up by conservative parental groups like Fathers of Russia. A concerted campaign accusing her of promoting debauchery and prostitution among children starting in December 2022 led, ultimately, to the cancellation of her February 2023 tour.
Wilting under the pressure, Instasamka temporarily relocated to the United Arab Emirates, albeit in a precarious financial position – her bank account had been frozen by the Ministry of Internal Affairs due to an investigation on charges of tax evasion and money laundering.
The fraught situation that Instasamka found herself in only began to unwind in the late spring of 2023, following a meeting between her and Katerina Mizulina, head of the Safe Internet League. At the meeting, Instasamka and Hoffmannita (a fellow female rapper similarly targeted by conservative pressure groups) publicly apologised to concerned parents, and undertook to reform their public personas.
Her travails were far from over, however. Instasamka’s unapologetic pop (read: commercial) sensibilities had always set her out on a limb. In a music form that has traditionally (if not always consistently) prided itself on social awareness and political literacy, Instasamka’s peers themselves labelled her with one damning word: inauthenticity. By late 2023, the perception of Instasamka in Russia’s rap community was one of vocal disgust rather than silent tolerance, “I forbade my children from listening to Instasamka,” Levan Gorozia from rap group L’One told Index. “They need to understand what’s good and what’s bad.”
Similarly award-winning, rapper Ira PSP noted: “I haven’t heard of such names. They’re probably pop projects; all the rappers know each other.” Kima, another well-known rapper in the community, explicitly questioned the artistic credentials of her “peer”. Instasamka, she said, “is a successful commercial project. She’s great at copying Western artists. I don’t think of her as a rapper. […] A girl who raps can call herself whatever she wants, but she’s not a rapper if someone writes lyrics for her. I haven’t heard decent female rap lately that has both substance and a decent flow.”
But there is, perhaps, another dimension to Instasamka’s support – or lack of therein – within Russia’s female rap community.
As one member of rap group Osnova Pashasse – one of the oldest all-female rap groups in Russia – pointed out (anonymously but speaking for the group), the issue goes far deeper. “In our country, many still don’t take rap with a female voice seriously,” she said. “Perhaps this is the fault of the female MCs themselves who don’t focus their work on something interesting, with intellectual or spiritual themes, or even some captivating abstraction in their lyrics, but instead constantly emphasise their gender in their lyrics and sometimes try to compete with men.”
Credibility for female rappers, it seems, does not sit easily with commercial kudos. But then again, even commercial success is predicated on staying with the boundaries of social and cultural norms – which, in effect, sometimes operate as a form of artistic censorship.
***
The success of female rappers in Russia is, by and large, contingent upon the approval of a male-dominated culture and male-dominated ideas of quality. The historical antecedents of female rappers working in the genre notwithstanding, fair evaluation of their capabilities is not a given. As branding expert Nikolas Koro noted, a small fan base has a marked limiting impact on the visibility and commercial viability of female rappers. “In financial terms, the number of female rap fans is mere pennies. So, the fate of almost all women rappers in Russia is either to leave the stage … or change the musical format.”
Ira PSP expressed the challenges trenchantly. The issue, she said, is that “we are neither heard nor seen. The girls and I have dedicated our lives to culture, but there is no [financial] return.”
So, where is Zhenski rap heading? The balance that its practitioners must try to strike can be found somewhere between the desire to be seen as “authentic” (legitimate in the eyes of the rap community) and being themselves. They must appeal to both the dominant cultural norms within rap and assert their individuality, as women and as rappers. In the 2000s, this meant balancing skill, sex-appeal, and objectification, which only become more pronounced from the 2010s on. And they, of course, must take into account the very real prospect of censorship – creative or cultural, by peers or by the state.
The Instasamka saga did not end with her apology of 2023. After another scheduled tour was cancelled in 2024, on the grounds of her “provocative appearance”, Instasamka finally threw in the towel, declaring that she would rebrand herself and embrace a more socially acceptable demeanour. This she has played out by re-inventing herself as a champion of child safety – and by showing rather less cleavage on Instagram. In July 2025, she participated in a roundtable discussion on a proposed legislative initiative to limit the access of minors to blogging platforms. Instasamka has shifted her entire public persona behind vocally supporting a “pro-child” agenda – completely distancing herself from her past in the process.
She has also, it seems, changed her views about artistic censorship. In July this year, she openly criticised fellow rappers Dora and Maybe Baby for allegedly “anti-Russian” behaviour. Their transgression, in Instasamka’s opinion? Performing covers of songs from firebrands like the rapper FACE. Real name Ivan Dryomin, FACE was a vocal critic of the Putin regime. Forced out of the country, he was labelled a “foreign agent” by the Russian government in 2022.
5 Sep 2025 | Israel, News, Opinion, Palestine, United Kingdom
We run this piece the week five spokespeople, who were due to give a press conference about protests against a ban on Palestine Action, were arrested by the Metropolitan Police on suspicion of encouraging support for a proscribed organisation
The right to protest is under unprecedented attack in the UK. I should know. l’ve been campaigning for 58 years and participated in more than 3,000 protests, witnessing first-hand the way protesters’ rights have been progressively eroded.
The recent restrictions are merely an escalation of repressive legislation that has long existed and has often been used to stifle peaceful protest.
In the 1990s, under the ancient “breach of the peace” statutes I was arrested simply for holding placards urging LGBT+ equality. The police said that such a “controversial” demand could cause a violent reaction by members of the public, so I had to be arrested to prevent the possibility of violence. In other words, I was held liable for the potential criminal behaviour of others.
The public order laws against behaviour likely to cause “harassment, alarm and distress” were introduced in 1986, supposedly to combat football hooliganism and violent street disorder. But they have since been used overwhelmingly to suppress peaceful protesters. I was arrested under this law in 1994 for publicly condemning the sexism, homophobia and antisemitism of the Islamist extremist group Hizb-u-Tahrir. The group called for the execution of LGBT people as well as women who have sex outside of marriage. No police action was taken against Hizb-u-Tahrir[1]. But when I cited and criticised what they said, I was arrested for behaviour likely to cause “harassment, alarm or distress.”
In recent years, the criminalisation of peaceful protesters has been further expanded to include mere disruption and nuisance. Disruption? Isn’t that one of the objectives of a protest? To disrupt business as usual. Nuisance? Most people would associate nuisance with a noisy dog or a late train. But a peaceful protest?
The new legislation has given the police a green light to crackdown even more harshly, as my two recent brushes with the law illustrate.
I was arrested at the Palestine solidarity protest in London, on 17 May 2025. The police claimed I had committed a ”racially and religiously aggravated breach of the peace” by marching with my placard: “STOP Israel genocide! STOP Hamas executions! Odai Al-Rubai, aged 22, executed by Hamas! RIP!”
The police claim is nonsense. My placard made no mention of anyone’s race or religion. Detained by the police for nearly six hours, I was finger-printed, DNA-sampled, photographed and denied the right to speak to a solicitor. The police have since admitted I was arrested in “error” but only after adverse publicity and my production of video evidence of the police’s behaviour. It was the 103rd time I have been detained or arrested by the police during my nearly six decades of campaigning – in all cases for peaceful protests.
A week later I was forcibly and unlawfully ejected by police from the Birmingham Pride parade. My crime? The police objected to me holding a placard that read: “West Midlands police refuse to apologise for anti-LGBT+ witch-hunts. SHAME! #ApologiseNow”
When I challenged the police’s bid to remove me from the parade, officers said the Pride organisers told them I was not authorised to be on the march and they had requested the police to remove me. That was a fabrication. I was wearing a march wristband. The Pride CEO approved me to march in the parade and has since confirmed that he never gave the police any instructions to remove me. It looks like police ejected me in revenge for my exposure of their refusal to say “sorry”.
What’s happened to me is small fry compared to government and police sledgehammer tactics against the climate campaigners like Just Stop Oil: sentences of three to five years jail for merely discussing motorway protests. Over two years in prison for climbing on the Dartford Crossing.
The crackdown on protest has culminated in the proscription of Palestine Action as a terrorist organisation. This draconian measure is what we expect in Putin’s Russia, not in Britain.
And it only gets worse. Over 500 people were arrested outside parliament on 9 August 2025 for holding placards “I oppose genocide. I support Palestine Action.” They were expressing their opposition to the designation of the organisation as a terrorist group and supporting its efforts to stop what they regard as Israel’s genocide. What kind of country have we become when freedom of expression is a crime?
Breaking the law to non-violently challenge injustice has an honourable tradition, as espoused by Martin Luther King and the US black civil rights movement in the 1960s.
It can be ethically justified in three circumstances: when governments ignore the wishes of the majority, break their election promises or violate human rights. If these principles clash, the protection of human rights should always trump majority opinion and election promises. No government has the right to oppress people or deny freedoms and, if it does, people have a right to resist with non-violent civil disobedience.
And that is what I have done on many occasions. Until the 1990s, there had been a long-standing ban on protests within a mile of parliament, under ancient “sessional orders.” Myself and members of the LGBT+ group OutRage! were determined to challenge this unjustified restriction on the right to protest. We were repeatedly arrested in the 1990s for “unlawfully” standing opposite the House of Commons with placards demanding the repeal of anti-LGBT+ laws. Our ethical law breaking, to assert the right to protest outside parliament, which had imposed these laws, eventually changed the way the law was interpreted and enforced, thereby allowing protests where they were once banned.
Critics say that breaking the law is never justified in a democracy because elections give people the option of changing the government. But Britain is not a fully formed democracy with a fair voting system. No political party has won a majority of the popular vote since 1931.
We’ve had decades of unrepresentative parliaments, and governments ruling with minority public support. Labour won only 34% of the vote in the 2024 general election but bagged 63% of the seats and 100% of the power. That is not democracy. Keir Starmer has no majority mandate for his crackdown on the right to protest.
* For more information about Peter Tatchell’s human rights work: www.PeterTatchellFoundation.org
[Editor’s note: After taking legal advice, Index removed a section of this article pertaining to Palestine Action, because of draconian terror legislation and the lack of a defence of free speech.]
[1] Hizb-u-Tahrir were proscribed in 2024 as a terrorist group
28 May 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, News, Newsletters, Russia
My predecessor Ruth Anderson used to joke that we weren’t working hard enough because we hadn’t been banned in Russia. Perhaps she was onto something. We’re still not banned there, as far as I know. Amnesty International though appears to have met the mark – or rather crossed a Kremlin red line. This week, Russian authorities labelled Amnesty an “undesirable organisation”, accusing it of being a “centre for the preparation of global Russophobic projects”. Any association with the group is now a criminal offence.
This is no empty label. Just ask Galina Timchenko, co-founder and CEO of the independent Russian-language news outlet Meduza. She’s now facing criminal charges for organising the activities of an “undesirable organisation” – namely, Meduza itself, which earned that designation back in January 2023 for its reporting on Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. The charges stem from her publishing two videos, one in September 2024 and another in March 2025, which authorities claim were designed to “foment protest sentiment”. If convicted, she could face six years in prison.
But it’s not just human rights organisations and independent journalists in the Kremlin’s crosshairs. This week, a Russian court fined tech giant Apple 10.5 million roubles (approximately $130,900) across four administrative cases. Three related to alleged violations of the country’s anti-LGBTQ+ “propaganda” laws, which were made even more draconian in 2023. The fourth was for allegedly failing to delete content at the request of the Russian authorities.
A journalist from Mediazona, one of Russia’s last remaining independent outlets, covered the court proceedings and offered a glimpse into how such hearings operate. Here’s a telling moment: “Our reporter notes that the judge read the decision at such a rapid pace it was virtually impossible to grasp the precise details of the claims. We then approached the court’s press secretary to request that a summary of the official court record be released for clarity. The response was terse: ‘The hearing is closed.’”
In the past, Apple has received criticism for its compliance with Russian censorship demands, from removing VPNs to restricting certain apps. These are moves it has defended as the price of staying in the country. Now it’s paying a different, more literal price.
As for Index, we remain unbanned – and unbowed. We continue to report on Russia in both our magazine and online, including recently interviewing artist and musician Yaroslav Smolev, and Nadezhda Skochilenko, mother of political prisoner and Index award winner Aleksandra Skochilenko. This isn’t actually about provoking the Kremlin. It’s about doing our job: telling the truth, and shining a light on one of the most authoritarian regimes in the world.
27 Feb 2025 | Europe and Central Asia, News, Russia
“Dear Alexei, it’s been a year that darkness has fallen upon us – and yet, your ideas and your determination give us strength,” read a letter placed on opposition leader Alexei Navalny’s grave on 16 February 2025, marking the one-year anniversary of his death.
That day, more than 5,300 people attended the Borisovskoye Cemetery in Moscow where he is buried, according to the Beliy Schetchik (White Counter) movement. Despite temperatures reportedly dropping to a frosty -8 degrees Celsius, Navalny supporters waited in line outside the cemetery to pay their respects.
Artist and musician Yaroslav Smolev was one of the attendees. He told Index: “By joining in, not only did we get a chance to feel that we’re among like-minded people, but we also showed the [rest of the] Russian society what matters to us.”
In the days following Navalny’s death last year, Smolev spoke to Index for the first time. He had been arrested for staging a solo protest in support of the opposition leader in the centre of St Petersburg. Around that time, hundreds of mourners were being detained across the country, namely for laying flowers at improvised memorials.
Even so, people have returned to these locations this year to honour Navalny’s memory – and were predictably punished. According to the rights group OVD-Info, on the anniversary of Navalny’s death, at least 26 people were detained. In the city of Volgograd, for example, Alexander Yefimov from the Yabloko opposition party was jailed for 14 days for bringing flowers and a photo of Navalny to a memorial and placing them at a monument dedicated to victims of Soviet-era repression.
Carrying portraits of Putin’s main opponent – and even signs with his name on – became illegal after Navalny and his movement were declared “extremist” in 2021 and 2022.
For Smolev, Navalny is a role model who enabled him to overcome his fears. “He spoke with police officers in a natural and straightforward manner,” Smolev said. “There was not even a hint of fear in his behavior.” Smolev stressed that if it weren’t for Navalny, he would have never joined many peaceful protests, starting in 2017.
He added that if Navalny hadn’t gone as far as sacrificing his life “for his values and his ideals”, “the general public might not have realised that his lifelong battle was, in fact, heartfelt”. He was alluding to Navalny’s return to Russia in 2021 from Germany after recovering from a poisoning he blamed on the Kremlin.
For Nadezhda Skochilenko – the mother of former Russian political prisoner and Index award winner Aleksandra Skochilenko – Navalny’s death caused “much pain”. Above all, she told Index, she thinks of him as “the son of his mother”, Lyudmila Navalnaya.
When Navalny died, Aleksandra was in jail. She had been sentenced to seven years in a penal colony for replacing supermarket pricing labels with anti-war messages. She was ultimately released as part of a prisoner exchange last summer.
Asked if the news of Navalny’s death increased her fear for the safety of political prisoners like her daughter, Nadezhda responded: “I’m too well-informed about what’s going on [in Russian] prisons. I’m frightened for everyone [who’s incarcerated] from the moment they’re arrested.”
She said that people die in jails, in pre-trial detention, and even during arrest. In 2024, eight political prisoners perished; one of them was pianist Pavel Kushnir, who spoke out against the Russian invasion of Ukraine.
Over the past year, the pressure on political prisoners has increased, Nadezhda said. They are placed in solitary confinement “more frequently and for longer periods of time”. In these tiny punishment cells, people are not allowed to lie down during the day, among other restrictions.
To make matters worse, in many cases, proper medical treatment is not provided to political prisoners – a fact that “the authorities no longer try to conceal”, Nadezhda said. She is also concerned that minors accused of “terrorism” in politically-motivated cases are placed in pre-trial detention, instead of on house arrest.
She added that “on a regular basis” dissidents are denied access to letters sent by their supporters. Nevertheless, people keep writing to them – “the most useful and safest act [of resistance] within reach of everyone”, according to Smolev.
Despite the pressure of the authorities, supporters and families of jailed dissidents battle with prison administrations over human rights abuses. They also attend court hearings when they can – while some are still open to the public, many political trials are now closed, especially the ones of dissidents charged with treason, Nadezhda explained.
But acts of resistance “cannot be entirely suppressed”, she said – “hence “[Putin’s] regime responds with even more severe crackdown on dissent”.
