Patriot

Mikhail Gorbachev was widely unpopular in Russia despite being celebrated internationally for ending the Cold War and facilitating German reunification. His domestic reputation suffered due to unpopular policies, particularly his anti-alcohol campaign launched soon after he took power in 1985. Aimed at combating widespread alcohol dependency, which caused significant societal harm, the campaign led to harsh measures like vineyard destruction, alcohol sale restrictions, and inflated prices. While alcohol-related mortality dropped, the campaign alienated much of the population due to its intrusive methods and the ensuing boom in homemade alcohol production. Since many in the government continued to drink, Navalny presents it as a “triumph of hypocrisy” (53).

Gorbachev’s governance was characterized by indecisiveness and half-hearted reforms. He often announced bold changes only to backtrack under pressure. His signature policies of perestroika (“restructuring”) and glasnost (“openness”) created immense expectations that his government struggled to meet. Attempts at economic reforms floundered, resulting in severe shortages and the introduction of ration coupons for essentials like sugar and soap. The economy’s collapse was blamed on the reforms themselves rather than the prior decay caused by the Soviet system. 

Despite his failures, Navalny points out that Gorbachev made significant contributions. He championed disarmament, reducing the global threat of nuclear war. He also released political prisoners, though reluctantly and under international pressure. His refusal to use state power for personal enrichment set him apart from many contemporaries, who exploited the chaotic transition from socialism to capitalism. They “scooped up whole industries” to enrich themselves (59), destroying Russian infrastructure for their own benefit.

Gorbachev’s reforms triggered a cultural and informational awakening. Glasnost ended censorship, allowing investigative journalism and critical discussions on television. Programs like Vzglyad revolutionized media by blending rock music and social critique, profoundly influencing young Russians, including Navalny. Soviet films like Assa and The Needle explored taboo subjects like drug addiction and ecological disasters, amplifying societal discontent. 

The Soviet economic collapse was accelerated by the rise of cooperatives, Navalny says, which were meant to merge socialism with entrepreneurial spirit but instead fostered corruption. While a few entrepreneurs thrived, most people struggled as shortages worsened. This disparity bred resentment and reinforced negative stereotypes about business.

The war in Afghanistan further strained the Soviet state. Navalny recalls how military deaths from the war were marked by red stars on apartment blocks and how the conflict, driven by outdated geopolitical ambitions, drained resources and morale. It also fueled the rise of global Islamic extremism, with US-supported fighters later turning against their former backers. 

The failed August 1991 coup against Gorbachev by communist hardliners marked the Soviet Union’s final crisis. Tanks rolled through the streets as Navalny begrudgingly went to work at his family’s dacha (holiday home or cabin), unaware of the unfolding historical drama. The coup attempt collapsed, symbolizing the irreversible decline of Soviet power. 

Looking back, Navalny acknowledges Gorbachev’s transformative role in history. While Leo Tolstoy argued against the influence of individuals in historical events, Navalny believes that Gorbachev’s unique combination of ideals, mistakes, and indecision hastened the Soviet Union’s collapse. His unintended legacy was a freer, though deeply flawed, post-Soviet Russia. Navalny expresses gratitude that Gorbachev dismantled the Soviet system, sparing him from a life constrained by its oppressive bureaucracy. Despite the inequality and corruption that followed, Gorbachev’s actions allowed for greater personal freedom and opportunities, reshaping Russia’s historical trajectory.

In August 1991, Navalny saw Soviet military tanks moving “in the direction of Moscow” (72), an unusual and alarming sight in an army town where military activity was commonplace. Turning on the TV, residents saw Swan Lake playing. This was historically a sign of major political upheaval. It soon emerged that the State Committee on the State of Emergency, led by senior Soviet officials like Prime Minister Pavlov and KGB Chairman Kryuchkov, had declared a state of emergency, claiming power and detaining President Gorbachev at his dacha. Their broadcast announcements were riddled with Soviet-era clichés, signaling a desperate power grab. 

Public reaction, however, was defiant rather than fearful. In Moscow, people gathered around the Russian parliamentary building to support Russian President Boris Yeltsin, opposing the coup. The emergency committee’s clumsy TV press conference backfired when Vice President Gennadiy Yanaev appeared nervous, his trembling hands betraying weakness rather than projecting strength. Journalists openly mocked the coup plotters, highlighting the absurdity of the power grab by “inept individuals” (75).

The attempted coup unraveled quickly. Moscow citizens built barricades. Military units, including the Taman motorized rifle division, refused to follow the committee’s orders. In a decisive moment, Yeltsin climbed atop a Taman tank to address the crowd, flanked by the Russian tricolor flag, a symbol of resistance against the Soviet regime. By August 21, the coup was effectively over as Soviet troops withdrew from Moscow.

After Gorbachev’s return, he found his political authority shattered. Yeltsin had become the popular hero, while Gorbachev was seen as indecisive and complicit by some. The failed coup expedited the Soviet Union’s collapse. On December 8, 1991, the leaders of Russia, Ukraine, and Belarus—Yeltsin, Kravchuk, and Shushkevich—signed the Belovezha Accords, formally dissolving the USSR and establishing the Commonwealth of Independent States. They bypassed Gorbachev entirely, ending his presidency and Soviet power. 

Despite Vladimir Putin’s later denunciation of the Soviet collapse as a “major geopolitical disaster” (78), at the time, he quietly transitioned from KGB service to working under Leningrad Mayor Anatoly Sobchak, an ally of Yeltsin. Many Soviet officials, including Putin, capitalized on the system’s collapse to pursue personal gain.

The Soviet collapse also unleashed numerous ethnic conflicts across former Soviet republics like Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia, and the Baltic states. Long-suppressed nationalist grievances erupted into wars and mass displacements. Russians in newly independent states faced discrimination and uncertain futures. Moscow’s lack of a clear policy on protecting or repatriating Russians left millions stranded, their citizenship status unresolved. Although Russian leaders often invoked “Russophobia” in rhetoric (81), their policies offered little practical support. Even decades later, bureaucratic barriers made it difficult for ethnic Russians to claim citizenship. Proposals like automatic citizenship for those with Russian ancestry, similar to policies in Germany or Israel, were repeatedly rejected. This failure reflected a consistent disconnect between Moscow’s nationalist narrative and its actions. 

Ultimately, Navalny presents the Soviet Union’s collapse as driven less by foreign conspiracies than by internal failures such as economic mismanagement, corruption, and failed reforms. The Communist Party’s incompetence and the KGB’s coup attempt sealed its fate, while nationalist fervor reshaped the post-Soviet landscape. Yeltsin emerged as Russia’s first post-Soviet leader, leaving Gorbachev politically irrelevant and the USSR a relic of history.

Navalny reflects on the collapse of the USSR, seeing it not as the downfall of a country but as the fall of a corrupt, oppressive regime, the demise of which he “rejoiced” at (83). He recalls protests in the Baltic republics demanding independence and opposing the Soviet government’s lies, censorship, and economic hardship. People wanted freedom, modern goods, and a better life. 

While Soviet leaders like Putin later became nostalgic for the USSR, Navalny points out that ordinary people fought for basic dignity and opportunity. During this period, Navalny’s main concern was preparing for university. Education was highly valued in Soviet society, symbolizing status and opportunity. Students faced intense pressure to get top grades, and vocational schools were considered a last resort for underachievers. His family, particularly his well-educated parents, expected him to pursue higher education to maintain the family’s social standing.

Despite struggling in math and science, Navalny excelled in literature and history. His love of reading shaped his academic interests, though certain books “were extremely difficult to get ahold of” (86). Although he tried various sports, including martial arts, none stuck due to a lack of personal interest, lack of local facilities, and minor injuries. A pivotal moment came when he faced a school bully who repeatedly extorted money from him. After enduring months of harassment, Navalny finally retaliated in a fit of anger, surprising both himself and the bully. This act ended the bullying, a formative experience that reinforced his belief in standing up for himself.

Navalny attempted to enroll in Moscow State University’s law faculty, the most prestigious in Russia. Despite passing several exams with high scores, he narrowly missed admission due to systemic bias favoring elites and bribes. He ultimately enrolled at the Peoples’ Friendship University of Russia (formerly the Patrice Lumumba University), known for educating foreign students from developing countries. Navalny recalls his excitement about university life, noting that his classmates were smart and diverse. He chose to study law, avoiding math-heavy subjects like economics. 

As the 1990s progressed, Russian society experienced chaos and rampant crime. Organized crime syndicates, often run by ex-sportsmen and former soldiers, gained immense power. Krysha (“protection”) from gangs became essential for businesses to survive. Notorious criminals controlled entire districts, filling the power vacuum left by the USSR’s collapse. 

Navalny describes the criminal world’s rise, where ex-convicts became local authorities, displacing state officials. He recalls encountering Emil, a local gang leader in his hometown, symbolizing how criminal organizations replaced Soviet-era structures. This lawlessness and the dominance of gangs defined the “accursed ’90s” (99), a period that many Russians still associate with instability and hardship.

Navalny recounts his university experience, marked by disappointment, awkward social dynamics, and struggles with corruption and transportation. Although initially drawn to a clique of privileged students driving flashy cars, he remained close to his more intellectual, introverted friends. 

His daily life revolved around battling Moscow’s unreliable public transport, especially the notorious No. 26 bus, which disrupted his attempts at enjoying a typical student social life. Living far from campus forced him into long commutes, often involving dangerous walks along poorly lit roads. Despite this, he avoided renting an apartment closer to the university, feeling that staying grounded in his military-town upbringing kept him from potentially reckless behavior.

His university experience was tainted by pervasive corruption. Bribery was common, with students openly paying professors “to pass exams” (108). Navalny admits to participating reluctantly, including paying off a vindictive professor through a corrupt department head. This practice reflected broader societal decay in post-Soviet Russia, where institutions were collapsing, everyone had a “super-cynical attitude to everything” (109), and corruption was normalized. 

The university also became a hotspot for drug trade, driven by international students from developing countries who established drug distribution networks. Navalny witnessed brutal police crackdowns and was repulsed by the grim realities of substance dependency, contrasting sharply with any glamorized portrayal of drug culture.

Politically, Navalny’s views evolved from fervent support for Boris Yeltsin’s government to deep disillusionment. He initially idolized Yeltsin, believing in democratic reforms and the promises of a market economy. He passionately defended the administration’s controversial policies, including privatization and military crackdowns on parliamentary opposition, seeing them as necessary steps toward progress. 

His disillusionment began after a “catastrophic failure” at a corrupt customs office while importing a car from Germany (125). The chaotic, bribery-ridden customs process exposed the emptiness of Yeltsin’s reforms. Seeing Yeltsin’s press secretary engage in performative visits while public services crumbled shattered his faith in the government’s sincerity. Navalny later recognized Yeltsin’s administration as a kleptocratic regime where personal enrichment overshadowed reform. He describes Yeltsin’s family benefiting from power through luxury properties and secret wealth, contrasting this with the democratic ideals many Russians believed in.

Navalny criticizes Russia’s missed opportunities after the fall of the Soviet Union. He laments that unlike other post-communist countries that embraced reforms, Russia was held back by self-serving elites masquerading as democrats. He connects this historical betrayal to the rise of Vladimir Putin and the perpetuation of authoritarianism, expressing regret over his youthful support for a system that ultimately failed its people.

Navalny recounts a “dramatic turn” in the narrative (130), transitioning from writing about his life in a comfortable house in Germany to composing from a prison cell. He discusses how, after recovering from the poisoning incident, he returned to Russia despite clear risks. 

Initially planning to return in December, he postponed the trip to mid-January upon advice from his wife, ensuring that he was physically fit in case of another attack. On January 17, Navalny prepared for his flight from Berlin to Moscow. His day started with anxiety and introspection about the future, tempered by lighthearted musings about marketing holidays. He attempted a vigorous tabata workout but aggravated an old back injury, adding physical discomfort to the emotional stress. This back injury would haunt him in the coming months.

Preparations intensified as Navalny reviewed a major investigative project exposing corruption involving Russian leadership, echoing the narrative from the opening chapter. His team worked against tight deadlines, knowing the potential repercussions of the report’s release. They devised contingency plans for various arrest scenarios, anticipating possible detainment upon arrival in Moscow. 

The airport experience was chaotic. The flight was swarmed by journalists eager for a story. During the flight, Navalny maintained his composure, even joking with reporters that everything “[wa]s going to be fine” (146). Upon nearing Moscow, the plane was diverted from its original airport, seemingly to prevent a public welcome. Despite confusion and delays, Navalny landed at Sheremetievo Airport.

At passport control, Navalny was detained by border officials despite his lawyer’s presence and protests. He was escorted to a police station in Khimki, where a surreal series of events unfolded. After a night in a cell, he was abruptly taken to what appeared to be a staged court hearing within the police station. The “Kafkaesque” hearing was conducted with preselected “public” members and compliant media representatives (159). The judge ignored legal objections from Navalny’s lawyers, proceeding swiftly to authorize his detention. Navalny was sentenced to one month in pretrial custody at the notorious Matrosskaya Tishina prison, a decision clearly prearranged before his arrival. 

Despite the farcical nature of the proceedings, Navalny remained defiant. He shouted words of encouragement to supporters gathered outside the police station. His departure from the courtroom was marked by a mixture of emotion and determination. At the prison, the intake process was dehumanizing but familiar. After being searched and deprived of personal belongings, Navalny was placed in a stark, empty cell. Denied books or newspapers, he requested paper and a pen, determined to continue writing despite his imprisonment.

Navalny reflects on a significant moment in his life, triggered by a seemingly minor incident involving a $600 expense. Working as a lawyer for a Moscow property development firm in the late 1990s, he recalls the rampant corruption in the city’s real estate sector, dominated by figures like Mayor Yuriy Luzhkov and his deputy, Vladimir Resin. The company, managed by the Chigirinsky brothers, often organized lavish staff trips to Türkiye, fostering team spirit in unconventional ways. 

During a corporate restructuring, the annual trip was threatened by budget cuts. Ultimately, the trip proceeded, but only employees with over a year’s tenure could go for free. As a new hire, Navalny had to pay his own way, a situation he accepted reluctantly, feeling excluded and frustrated. On the flight to Türkiye, the atmosphere was chaotic. Employees, fueled by alcohol, ignored flight attendants, creating a raucous environment. Navalny later reflected on this behavior during his time on Aeroflot’s board, supporting stricter rules against unruly passengers.

The pivotal moment came during a group excursion in Türkiye. While waiting for a bowling trip bus, he noticed a young woman, Yulia, radiating joy and energy. In that instant, he thought, “[T]his is the girl I will marry” (171). Though shy, he resolved to meet her with the help of his colleague Andrei. They were introduced, and a connection sparked immediately. Their relationship blossomed during the trip. 

After returning to Moscow, Yulia contacted him first, initiating a relationship that soon became serious. Six months later, they moved in together, marrying two years after that. They eventually had two children, Dasha and Zakhar. Looking back, Navalny attributes their lasting bond to compatibility, mutual support, and shared values. He emphasizes the role of “luck” in meeting the right person and the importance of effort in maintaining a strong relationship (173).

Yulia’s unwavering support proved crucial, especially given his political activism in Russia. Despite enduring state harassment, house searches, and asset seizures, Yulia remained steadfast, often more politically radical than her husband. Her commitment inspired him to continue his activism. 

In a personal note posted to Instagram, dated July 24, 2023, he reflects on how easily fate could have taken a different course. Had they not exchanged that initial glance, his life would have been entirely different. Grateful for their shared life, he concludes with a heartfelt birthday message to Yulia, expressing deep love and appreciation for their journey together.