HOW DO YOU SLAY A DRAGON?

It was Mark Zakharov’s cult film, “To Slay a Dragon”, that gave me the title of this book. In the film, the archivist, in justifying his conformist views to his Knight, said, “The only way to get rid of someone else’s dragon is to create your own”. And that’s exactly how we live: first of all, we tolerate for a long time being tormented and oppressed by a foreign dragon (in reality, it’s our own, but it’s an old one), then we finally rid ourselves of it – and create a new dragon of our own. But after a while this one becomes old and foreign to us. I am absolutely convinced that this vicious circle of Russian history can be broken, and that Russia is fully capable of living with its own mind and its own conscience, and without dragons. But in order to do this, the young knights of the revolution must bear in mind that it’s not enough simply to slay the old dragon, even though this in itself is no easy task; it is vital also not to grant power to a new  dragon, and one that may prove to be even worse than its predecessor. This book is about how this can be achieved in Russia.

As a country we’re in a difficult situation. Society already understands that “we cannot go on like this”; but at the same time we’re frightened that “things will be worse”.

Aside from the president, the powers-that-be fear that there isn’t a good way out; but simply hope that “suddenly we’ll find a way”.

The opposition has an overwhelming desire to sweep away the regime; but has no concept of “what will happen next”.

Because of this, I believe that it’s essential to explain clearly to the people what we’re proposing and what answers we’re offering to life’s key philosophical questions. People have the right to know what to expect if they stand alongside us, and particularly what are the principles for which it’s worth giving up a quiet life and risking their freedom and the safety of those dear to them.

But there is one thing we can say for sure: the time for burying your head in the sand and for turning a blind eye to the most serious social issues – that time has gone.

“We’re not interested in politics, we’re only concerned about people turning our yard into a dumping ground”; “we’re not interested in politics, we just don’t like despotism”; “we’re not interested in politics, we’re just concerned about artistic freedom, corruption, free access to the internet”… Yes, the time for such lovely little cunning phrases has gone. If you’re “not interested in politics”, then just stand on the sidelines and wait. Maybe they’ll be in a good mood and be so kind that they’ll give you something; but with the way things are today it’s more likely that they’ll kick you down and you’ll be the last to be carried off.

But if, on the other hand, you really want to stand up for your rights and the rights of others, then that means getting involved in genuine politics. It means making choices, and it means standing up to be counted, with all the risks that this brings.

I occupy a unique place amongst the ranks of the opposition (true, this doesn’t exactly make me jump for joy). I have huge managerial experience, having worked in the government and at the head of a number of the country’s largest companies, companies that were of strategic significance to the country, and that were linked to dozens of towns and villages which were solely devoted to these industries. But despite all this, I am deprived of the opportunity to carry out practical organisational work on the ground.

When they kicked me out of the country, the authorities slammed the door shut behind me and turned the key, making it absolutely clear that in the event of my returning I would face the rest of my life in prison.

At the same time, I am one of the very few who has personal experience (we could say, “fortunately, very few”, although this experience came with a high price) who has actually told Vladimir Putin to his face exactly what I think about corruption at the highest levels of government. And just a month after doing this I faced criminal charges and ended up being locked up for more than ten years (six in a prison cell and four in a labour camp). Added to which I staged four hunger strikes, including two where I refused to take even liquids; and I carried out all of them – until my demands were met in the case of three of them – as a sign of solidarity.

Ten years. That’s almost as much as my friend, Platon Lebedev. It’s immeasurably less than my colleague, Alexei Pichugin, who’s still in jail. It’s easier than the fate that befell another of my colleagues , the lawyer Vasily Alexanyan, who only a year after his release died from a disease for which he was refused treatment while in prison…

I have something to put before these authorities; some things that will be remembered and some things that must never be forgotten.

But this is exactly why I don’t want to talk about the past; rather, I suggest that we look to the future.