The sudden death at the age of forty-seven of the jailed Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny is a story that concerns all of us. It’s a story about an indifferent society, about reckless cruelty, about the loss of hope, and about private family grief. But it’s also a story about the Russian government: about its structure, which does not tolerate competition, and about its reputation, since the news of Navalny’s death, which was as much of a shock as the events of February 24, 2022, elicited identical thoughts in many people about its cause.
Russian society—or more precisely, the part of it referred to as the majority—will survive this shock, just as it survived and either voluntarily or forcibly routinized the two previous shocks: the start of the “special operation” against Ukraine, and the partial mobilization later that same year. “We were attacked, and in times of need, you have to defend your homeland.” Excuses can be found for everything; the most important thing is to keep calm and absolve yourself of any responsibility. Russia’s passive conformists—the true backbone of the semi-totalitarian regime—will manage to do that this time, too.
It’s especially poignant that Navalny died during the presidential election campaign. It might seem that Putin has no rivals, but he does: not so much in the electoral sense, but, as those in power like to say, in an “existential” sense. His rival’s name was well known. First (in December, at the very beginning of this quasi-electoral game) Navalny was sent to the Arctic Circle, to continue serving multiple jail terms widely considered to be revenge for his political activity. With his rival dead, our supreme commander is beyond competition. He is henceforth a solus rex: a lone king.
Navalny had nothing in common with the late mercenary-turned-mutineer Yevgeny Prigozhin, but their disappearance only leaves the autocrat even more lonely up on his Mount Olympus. All the goals set by the referendum in the summer of 2020 on amending the constitution to allow Putin to rule virtually indefinitely have been achieved. Power has not only been preserved, it is absolute.
Navalny’s death was merely postponed: he was supposed to have died after that same vote in 2020 when he was poisoned with the deadly nerve agent Novichok. That referendum was essentially a choice: either anoint an autocrat to the throne, or leave room for the possibility—even theoretical—of the rotation of power. The indifferent majority, the passive conformists, decided the matter for everyone.
Navalny’s death is a shock. But like the events of February 2022, it’s a shock that was to some extent expected, in that there had still been hope that the worst would not happen. Now February 16, 2024 will go down in history along with February 24, 2022—a day that didn’t just change the lives of people in two countries, but changed the world order, turning it into a world disorder—as two harbingers of worsening disaster.
The political consequences of what has happened will only add to the feeling of absolute omnipotence and unaccountability of the ruling class and its apparatus of repression. That means that the silent part of society, which prefers to applaud any initiative by the autocracy over free speech, will withdraw into itself even further, or even start to demonstrate zeal in its support for the authorities. Some passive conformists will understand that for personal peace of mind, they need to turn into active conformists.
The authorities do not feel threatened in any way: those who do not keep quiet will only confirm their reputation as enemies, and for them there is a vast machine of oppression and an equally expansive set of repressive legislation. Those who remain silent will keep their mouths firmly closed, and those who support the regime will only do so even more loudly and aggressively.
Alexei Navalny returned to Russia in January 2021 from Germany, where he had been treated following the attempt on his life, to continue his political battle from within the country. When he was immediately arrested upon arrival at a Moscow airport, it prompted the last truly massive protests the country has seen. The authorities are confident that there will be no such protests over his death. They are counting on people getting over the shock and gradually forgetting Navalny.
Even in 2021, Navalny was returning to a different Russia. It was no longer a country where he could conduct political activity, take part in elections (like he had when he ran for Moscow mayor back in 2013) and mass protests, and carry out the hardest-hitting investigations the country has ever seen into the boundless cynicism and corruption of the country’s rulers. (One such expose, titled “A Palace for Putin,” was watched online by a quarter of all Russians). In 2021, it was already a slightly different regime: a regime of eternal rule, enshrined by the 2020 amendments to the constitution. They had already tried to kill him, yet still he returned.
The regime’s expectation that memories of Navalny will fade is partly justified. In February 2022, 14 percent of respondents said they “did not know” who Navalny was, while in February 2023, that number had risen to 23 percent, according to a Levada Center survey from a year ago. This begs the question of whether this “ignorance” has become learned, and is the artificial result of caution. Attitudes toward Navalny had also worsened in that same period, with more people inclined to believe that he had been imprisoned for committing a real crime, rather than simply to settle a score.
The political regime had gotten tougher, while Navalny featured less in the field of public information, and the passive conformists drew their own conclusions. But back in 2021, Navalny was among Russia’s top four most popular politicians—and in a very hardened, cynical, conservative country that had already lost faith in everything. That same year, Navalny was the most popular politician among Muscovites (albeit with a simultaneously high disapproval rating), along with fellow opposition figures Lyubov Sobol and Ilya Yashin.
See no evil, hear no evil, distance yourself from the latest bad news, only believe the official version: the conformist majority behaved the same way in every similar situation, including when Navalny was poisoned. In another Levada Center poll carried out in December 2020, a few months after the poisoning, 30 percent of people said “there was no poisoning, it’s all been staged,” 19 percent said it was “a provocation by Western intelligence services,” and only 15 percent said it was “an attempt by the authorities to eliminate a political opponent.” It’s easier to live and think like that—or rather, not to think at all. This majority was ready for anything that the authorities might come up with, and it is no surprise that they accepted both the “special operation” itself, and all the excuses for carrying it out.
The reaction to Navalny’s arrest among the thinking part of society, according once again to the Levada Center, was shame for the Russian people, fatigue, bewilderment, and despair. Shame and despair are perhaps what many people with a conscience and the ability to reflect are now experiencing. They have felt little else for the past few years, starting with those constitutional amendments to reset the clock on presidential terms approved in 2020. Although, of course, it was also shameful in 2000, when a KGB man was invited to rule the country, and in 2004, when democracy was given up in exchange for oil rent. It was shameful in 2012, when Putin returned to the presidency after a stint as prime minister and immediately began turning the screws, and in 2018, when he was again reelected with a convincing victory. Yet in all of these cases, it’s not the people who should be ashamed who actually do feel shame.
Alexei Navalny will not be forgotten. He was a unique example of a fearless politician in a country where politics in the traditional sense of the word is directly forbidden on the threat of reprisals. In a normal situation of political competition, he would have stood a chance of becoming the head of state. What’s more, unlike the never-changing regime, which is in the throes of a protracted goal-setting crisis, he had a clearly defined image of the future of Russia. Even in conditions of severely limited competition, at one time, all of Russian politics could be condensed to the standoff between Putin and Navalny.
Nor will Navalny be forgotten in the Kremlin, in the FSB headquarters, or at other official addresses. He was an alternative to them, and he presented an alternative to an enormous nation. For the last half a century at least, only Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin have played that role: each in their own way, and with varying popularity among the masses who wanted to see changes in their country.
Unlike those who stumbled into history, Alexei Navalny marched into it with his head held high. History has its own timelines and criteria for assessing the importance of any particular person, and whether or not they served as head of state has nothing to do with it. Navalny was a rare leader in Russian history who wished the best not for himself, but for the entire nation. He stood up to be counted, and he will still be given his due. His efforts did not go unnoticed and they will certainly not be forgotten.
