I have long been a fan of Alexei Navalny. I love his wit and sharp, wonderfully Russian sense of humour. I admire his dedication and determination. And, let’s face it, he’s easy on the eye.
I have followed his career from a distance, reading social media posts and watching his YouTube investigations. He is magnetic. He draws people in and inspires them into action. And this makes him a very dangerous individual.
I write about him in the present tense, even though he is several months dead. Having just finished reading his memoir, Patriot, he seems very much alive. At least to me.
I remember back in 2011, when he led a march in Moscow against the corruption in elections. He was just beginning to raise his profile. I called my friend in Moscow to see what she thought about the action but she did not share my enthusiasm. As I recall she dismissed him off hand. “He’ll be a crook too. They’re all the same. Better the devil you know.” I could imagine the shrug on the other side of the line. And in time, when he was convicted for fraud and embezzlement and who knows what else, she took that as evidence of her position.
At first, I was hesitant to read Patriot. I already knew him well – what else could this book possibly offer me? I was wrong. Patriot is superb. It’s at time capsule that takes the reader back to his early childhood growing up in closed military towns and spending his summers on a farm with his grandmother in Zalissia, Ukraine. It follows a young man coming of age just when his country crumbles apart. I was struck by how quickly I had forgotten that his movement against corruption had significant momentum – not just in Moscow and St. Petersburg – but across Russia. It seems an incredibly long time ago.
He had always imagined writing a memoir in his old age, but then it became clear that he was not in a position to put things off for the future. He started writing while he was in Germany convalescing from Novichok poisoning. Much of the book is written contemporaneously. It’s harrowing stuff. And yet impossibly funny. It is all very Navalny.
A couple of weeks ago, my husband and I participated in the March for Clean Water protest in London. Water. What could be more basic? The legacy of Thatcher’s privatisation of the water companies has led to chronic lack of investment in our water utilities. Our Victorian infrastructure is failing. To put it bluntly, we – and helpless wildlife – are swimming in poo.
Around the time of the march, I was midway through Patriot, so Navalny was ever-present in my thoughts. It may sound corny, but I felt he was with us as we marched along the Thames, across Westminster bridge and on to Parliament Square. Double decker sightseeing busses drove alongside, filled with tourists snapping pictures of us.
This is what democracy looks like.
I had no fear of arrest or being barred from exercising my right to protest. We would not suffer retribution next week. The tax authorities would not suddenly be interested in our affairs. How many of the tourists on those busses would say the same? How exotic was our display?
A few short days later, democracy has never seemed bleaker. The next four years make my stomach tumble with queasy dread. I vacillate between complete certainty that we are all doomed to persuading myself that it’ll be fine. I fear for the planet.
Democracy is messy. And ugly. The temptation to cover my eyes and ears and ignore it all has never been greater. I have no idea what the future has in-store but one thing is certain – I’ll have to tap into that little bit of Navalny within.
