The Future Is History: How Totalitarianism Reclaimed Russia

while nemtsov was locked up, Russian soldiers in unmarked uniforms invaded Crimea. Nemtsov wrote a short blog post and had it sent to Echo Moskvy, the radio station where he was a regular on the air and had his own blog on the website. Echo sent a message back: he needed to tone down the post. Specifically, they wanted him to remove the phrases "fratricidal war," "mentally unstable secret-police agent," and "the ghoul feeds on the people's blood." Nemtsov refused and put up the post on his Facebook page instead.

Putin has declared war on Ukraine. This is a fratricidal war. Russia and Ukraine will pay a high price for the bloody insanity of this mentally unstable secret-police agent. Young men will die on both sides. There will be inconsolable mothers and sisters. There will be orphaned children. Crimea will empty out, because no one will vacation there. There will be billions, tens of billions of rubles taken from the old and the young and thrown into the fire of war—and then even more money will be needed to support the thieves in power in Crimea. He must see no other way to hold on to power.

The ghoul feeds on the people's blood. Russia will face international isolation, the impoverishment of its population, and political crackdowns. God, what have we done to deserve this? And how long

will we continue to put up with it?⁵

The same day, six people came to Manezhnaya Square and unfurled a banner that said "For Your Liberty and Ours." It was a double quotation: a Polish slogan adopted in the nineteenth century by Russian supporters of Poland during its struggle for independence, it had been used again in 1968, by the seven dissidents who came to Red Square to protest the Soviet invasion of Czechoslovakia. All seven had been arrested then, and sentenced to prison terms and Siberian exile. This time, the six protesters were arrested as soon as they unfurled their banner.⁶ Later that day more people went to Manezhnaya and others went to the Defense Ministry building—no one really knew where to go, in no small part because Nemtsov, Navalny, and several of the activists who had for years taken care of the where and the when and of getting the word out were in jail. By the end of the day, 362 people had been arrested.⁷ This was the day the parliament approved use of force abroad and Nemtsov and other Russians who were paying attention realized that their country had started a war with Ukraine.

There was also a hastily organized march in support of the invasion—the parliamentary newspaper described it as a march "in support of the people of Ukraine and against the provocateurs who have usurped power in Kiev."⁸ Pro-Kremlin youth organizations advertised for participants on social networks:

RALLY AND CONCERT, 500 RUBLES FOR 1 HOUR

Rally connected with current events in Ukraine. Meet up at 15:00 at Pushkinskaya Metro station, in the center of the hall. 50 young people needed. Apply here with two photographs, name, last name, age, and phone number, or call 89104465285, ask for Maxim. Cash

payment upon completion.⁹

The ad spoke more to the youth movements' standard organizing practices than it did to the need to pay people to celebrate the occupation. The outpouring of joy was massive and genuine. Zhanna felt it happening all around her. Everyone had lost their minds. Zhanna experienced political outrage—political passion even. She had never felt it before, not even when her father was arrested on New Year's Eve 2009, certainly not when she was running for office. All these years, her support for her father's causes had been intellectual: she had agreed that he was right on the merits of his arguments, and even that was not true all the time. But now she felt like she was staring into an abyss. How could people—intelligent people like her grandmother or the people she worked with—not understand that war would bring disaster? How could people whose opinions on the economy she respected not understand that the economy would now go from sluggish to death-bound? She realized, quickly, that they too felt gripped by passion, and that passion had nothing to do with intelligence. She also realized that refusing to share her nation's joy made her a pariah at her office and in her country.

She wanted to talk to her father about it, but he was in jail again. She brought him food. It was a newly renovated jail building this time, with shiny slippery tile floors and plastic window frames, and, as it turned out, bizarre food rules: tomatoes were allowed but cucumbers were banned.

She talked to him as soon as he was released.

"We have to leave," she said. "This country is finished."

He listened.

"I want to quit my job," she said. "What's the point of debating the future of the gas monopoly when the country itself has no future?"

"Don't quit," he said. "Find another job first."

"I want to go to Ukraine."

"Then go."