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Russia’s drive against lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgendered people continues unabated as the country’s Duma considers a law banning “homosexual propaganda”, Elena Vlasenko reports from Moscow.
Before 1993, being a homosexual in Russia meant the possibility of being sent to either a mental institution or prison — and it wasn’t until 1999 that it was dropped from the country’s official list of mental illnesses. Even though homosexuality was eventually decriminalised twenty years ago, there is still an active campaign to silence Russia’s gay community.
More than 70 per cent of Russians consider the LGBT community to be “dissolute” and “mentally retarded”. The government has nourished the already negative public opinion around homosexuality. Ten Russian regions have implemented laws banning “homosexual propaganda” since 2006, and the country is currently considering passing a countrywide ban.
Related: Ukraine holds first gay pride parade amidst intolerance and suppression
Andrew Connelly reports from Kiev on the backlash faced by participants in the country’s first gay pride march.
The bill was passed unanimously in a preliminary vote at the start of this year, and this month it will be considered by the State Duma. The law forbids promoting information about homosexuality amongst minors. If caught spreading the message that “traditional and non-traditional relationships are socially equal” to minors, offenders face criminal charges and a fine of up to 500,000 Roubles (£10,782).
Activists have expressed concerns over the law, which they say gives the authorities ground to fine organisations and activists for public work — in the name of protecting minors.
In addition to its campaign against “homosexual propaganda”, the country has never sanctioned a gay pride parade. Approximately 30 LGBT activists were arrested on 25 May for attempting to hold unsanctioned protests against discrimination, in front of the State Duma’s building. In 2011, the European Court of Human Rights (ECHR) declared the ban to be illegal. According to gay rights activist Nikolay Alexeev, the annual bans on pride parades as well as his own appeals to the ECHR should make it clear to the court that Russia’s violations of gay rights are systematic.
Russia was recently rocked by a violent homophobic murder: Vadislav Tornovoy was allegedly brutally beaten and murdered by 2-3 drunk acquaintances last month. Investigators say that Tornovoy came out to his friends, and they then broke his ribs, and pushed beer bottles into his anus. After a failed attempt to set him on fire, the men smashed unconscious Tornovoy’s head with a 20 kg stone. Alexeev told Index that the authorities’ policies towards the LGBT community reflect a deep-seated homophobia in Russia, and unless they change the country would still continue to see cruel and homophobic attacks.
Self-censorship has poisoned Russian media, art and other spheres.
In the past few years, criminal prosecution of artists and new laws have made it clear for those who criticise the Kremlin or Russian Orthodox Church in their creative work, will face consequences for portraying either of these institutions negatively.
Just last week, the State Duma passed two controversial laws in the first hearing. One forbids obscene language in movies, books, TV, and radio during mass public events. The other stipulates criminal punishment — including five years in prison — for “insulting believers’ feelings”. Both laws, as far as human rights activists are concerned, limit artists’ freedom of expression, and encourage self-censorship.
Index spoke to three notable artists to find out how the art community deals with self-censorship, and the ever-increasing restrictions on freedom of expression in Russia.
Artyom Loskutov, an artist from Novosibirsk, is famous for holding “monstrations” — flash mobs with absurd slogans like “Tanya, don’t cry” and “Who’s there?”. In 2009, he was arrested on drug possession charges, but he claims that the marijuana was planted on him by police. A blood test proved that he had not taken any drugs, and his fingerprints were not found on the package. Three years on, he faced three administrative cases, and paid a 1000 rouble fine for creating icon-like images of Pussy Riot members Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alekhina and placing them on billboards. He was accused of insulting believers. He is currently appealing the court ruling in the European Court of Human Rights.
The artist told Index that the cases against him are acts of censorship, but vows to remain defiant and continue with his work:
The icons idea concerned two kinds of mothers: one mother is honoured as a saint, the two others — Tolokonnikova and Alekhina — were thrown in prison. The authorities, including the court, are becoming more insane, and one wouldn’t want to cause persecutions. But I can’t say that given that, I refuse to implement any of my plots. In the 90s my generation felt that we had nothing, except free speech, and all the 2000s attempts to take it away meet nothing but incomprehension
In 2010, The prosecutor’s office in Moscow’s Bassmany district examined the works of Moscow-based artist Lena Hades, “Chimera of Mysterious Russian Soul” and “Welcome to Russia”. Russian nationalists appealed to the authorities claiming these paintings insult Russians. The case did not go to court, but Hades told Index that Russian galleries feared exhibiting her paintings after the incident.
“Galleries are afraid of financial sanctions,” Hades says, “Although 95 per cent of my paintings are about philosophy rather than about social events, they are only exhibited in Tretyakov Gallery and Moscow Museum of Modern Art”.
Despite reduced chances of her work being exhibited, Hades still painted Pussy Riot’s members, and went on a 25-day hunger strike against their prosecution. The artist is no fan of self-censorship, even if it comes at a cost. According to her, no artist that responds to reality can accept self-censorship:
This is not courage, this is aristocratic luxury of doing what you want. Self-censorship is more harmful for a modern Russian artist than censorship. He is frightened of scaring away galleries and buyers and prefers to paint landscapes with cows — anything far enough from real social life
Artist Boris Zhutovsky has a long-standing relationship with censorship. In 1962, he was slammed by then Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev, who banned work by Zhutovsky and his colleagues. For several years following the incident, the artist faced difficulties in finding employment, and his work was not exhibited in the USSR.
Zhutovsky continues to court controversy today: in the past few years he has painted the trials of Russia’s most well-known political prisoners, businessmen Mikhail Khodorkovsky and Platon Lebedev, who were first convicted in 2005. He explained Russia’s culture of self-censorship to Index:
Self-censorship is based on fear, and the amplitude of this fear has changed throughout my life. In the times of Stalin, it was the fear of the Gulag and execution. In the times of Khruschev it was the fear of loosing a job or a country – a person could be forced to leave the Soviet Union. After Perestroika the fear shrank, and now the fear which nourishes self-censorship is the fear to anger your boss
He is optimistic that a younger generation of artists will not accept self-censorship as a standard, as the the era of Putin is far from that of Stalin, but only time will tell.
Stanislav Samutsevich, 73, is the father of the imprisoned Pussy Riot member, Ekaterina Samutsevich. She, together with Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alekhina, was sentenced to two years in the women’s prison colony on charges of hooliganism motivated by religious hatred after performing an anti-Putin protest songin Moscow’s Christ the Saviour Cathedral.
With the opening of the Pussy Riot trial in Moscow this week, Elena Vlasenko explains why the feminist punk collective is a threat to the church-state axis of Putin’s Russia
The destiny of Pussy Riot members Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, Maria Alekhina and Ekaterina Samutsevich has merged with the future of Russian democracy.
The three members of feminist protest group Pussy Riot face charges of hooliganism, after allegedly staging an anti-Putin performance in Moscow’s Christ the Saviour Cathedral.
If they beat the charge the civil society which raised its voice against Vladimir Putin in December 2011 will be considerably emboldened.
The question is, what is it about these women, that made them — not Mikhail Khodorkovsky, mothers of Beslan hostage crisis victims, Sergei Magnitsky’s colleagues or Chechen refugees — the reason for such optimism? What exactly made people think Pussy Riot are most likely to trigger change?
The answer lies in the beginning of 2000s, when Russian intellectuals began exchanging their independence for what they thought was stability, and thereby lost their right to establish moral standards. The same happened to one of the biggest institutions, the Russian Orthodox Church.
It is telling that two church patriarchs — Kirill and his predecessor Alexy II — received honorary doctorates from Russian Academy of Public Service under the president of the Russian Federation. The Church’s merger with the State was sealed, and the evidence of that merger is clear:
The Church has traditionally called LGBT people “sick”, echoing the opinion of the Moscow mayor and his counterparts in the rest of the country.
The Church has started a campaign of taking ancient icons out of national museums. The Ministry of Culture, for exampe approved patriarch Kirill’s wish to take a fourteenth century Virgin Hodegetria icon from the Russian Museum in St Petersburg to a new church built by a Russian entrepreneur.
The Church supported establishing radical orthodox nationalist movements, which complied with the government’s youth policy. Most of the activists, whose activities these days boil down to beating and trolling Pussy Riot supporters and regularly protesting against abortions, are publicly hailed by archpriest Vsevolod Chaplin — the head of Synodal department for church and society’s relationship and one of the most influential church bureaucrats. The pro-Kremlin youth movement Nashi has been using the same aggressive methods against those orthodox nationalists hate: rights activists, journalists and artists.
The Church has supported groups persecuting modern artists, in line with the government authorities using anti-extremism legislation to silence Putin’s regime critics. One of the most remarkable examples happened in 2011, when the court labelled a picture of the sermon on the mount — with Mickey Mouse instead of Jesus Christ — extremist. This was one of the paintings of a Forbidden Art exhibition which took place in 2006. The exhibition organisers, Andrey Erofeev and Yuri Samodurov, were accused of incitement to religious hatred, found guilty and fined after religious activists applied to prosecutors, saying the exhibition insulted them.
More controversial stories about Russian Orthodox Church have emerged over the past year. In April 2012, a Moscow arbitration tribunal ruled that Childhood, a rehabilitation centre for gravely ill children in the Moscow area, had to give away one of its two buildings to a convent, which submitted personally to patriarch Kirill.
The merger of the Church and State has even left a trace in Russian language. Philosopher Mikhail Epstein has been organising “word of the year” contests on the Russian-language web. One of the most popular neologisms was the word “religarchy”, which, according to Epstein, showed how close religion and the oligarchy — the actual power behind president Vladimir Putin — had become.
Meanwhile, art was becoming more apolitical. Russia’s notable rock musicians went to chat with Vladimir Putin and Dmitry Medvedev. DDT lead singer Yuri Shevchuk was criticised for “radicalism towards the authorities”.
Individual artists criticised Putin’s authoritarianism, but none of them really dared to protest against the Church’s attempts to help the government control people’s minds.
Russia still hasn’t got its own Richard Dawkins, ready to challenge religion. Between the church’s controversial activities and inteligentsia’s lack of activity in protecting the secular state, the social soil was fruitful for radical protest.
When patriarch Kirill supported Vladimir Putin in the run-up to presidential elections in March 2012, no one was shocked, or inclined to protest such scandalous bias. No-one except Pussy Riot — a new protest group yet to become famous, or to learn how to stop singing out of tune.
While the Church was quite freely merging with the State, future Pussy Riot members participated in different civil initiatives, from situationist arty Voina projects to protecting the Khimki forest.
They judged the victories chalked up to the popular theory of small deeds to be insignificant. This belief, popular among Russian opposition activists abandons attempts to influence government, and instead focuses on small, local changes.
They witnessed how indifferent many intellectuals had become towards the absurdity of the Russian political system and judged opposition leaders to be. They were political sensations a mere three months after Moscow journalists first heard the name Pussy Riot.
Pussy Riot appeared when two contexts collided: the one of the Church merging with the State and the other of Russia being a country of women.
Outside Moscow and the large Russian cities, the country consists of hundreds of small cities, which are all the cities of women, just like in Fellini’s movie. Women in these places run the most important institutions: schools, universities, museums and their families, managing to feed and dress their children with the USD 80 a month their husbands earn as drivers and builders in the big cities western journalists travel to.
It was quite likely that women would initiate a political scandal. There has been a false start in the mid-2000s when businesswoman Evgeniya Chirikova created a movement to defend the Khimki forest and gathered 5000 people — one of the biggest rallies before mass protests for fair elections — in the centre of Moscow.
Since the arrest of the three band members the group has been supported by international musicians like Red Hot Chili Peppers, Franz Ferdinand, Sting and Faith No More. Victorious slogans claim “Putin is afraid of Pussy Riot”. But the number of protesters near the court has not exceeded 300 people. Even Mikhail Khodorkovsky — an oligarch in a country of the poor — gathered at least 1,000 people outside Khamovnichesky court. The lack of solidarity in Russia is perhaps the most important context of the emergence of Pussy Riot.
The scant attention paid to Pussy Riot in Russia is the responsibility of Russian intellectuals, who, during 12 years of Putin’s regime did little to prevent violations of the right to free expression. Censorship dominates Russian television, the judicial system has became more and more corrupted and people have not had access to free information nor efficient propaganda on how to fight for it. For 12 years people have not been able to stand up for themselves, having had no back up from the Moscow elite. No wonder the majority of them aren’t supporting Pussy Riot: they are not used to protecting their own freedom.
Pussy Riot are paying for the intellectuals’ inactivity in taking care of their own people, those who live in numerous cities of women and have no-one to protect them from authoritarian state.
Support actions near the court building are often visited by poet Lev Rubinshtein and artist Andrey Bilzho. Every time they sadly and ironically note that all their counterparts must be on vacations: that must be why they don’t show up to support the women of Pussy Riot, not because they don’t care.
Pussy Riot alone may not trigger a revolution in Russia, where art, punk rock and political debate exist only in Moscow and a few other cities. But their case should stir the conscience of Russian intellectuals, who may yet define the revolutionary programme.