I’m not someone who is often lost for words. But, huddled in a secluded corner of the University Library Tea Room, I find myself trying to think of how to start an interview that, by Vladimir Kara-Murza’s own admission, should not have happened. I’m grateful when he interjects with a warm suggestion: “Should we talk about Cambridge?”
Kara-Murza studied history at Trinity Hall in 2000, but his involvement in the Russian dissident movement started before then. In 1999, aged just 18, he was already working for the Democratic Choice of Russia party, advising stalwart Putin critic Boris Nemtsov. He would go on to serve as deputy leader of the People’s Freedom Party (one of the leading pro-democracy parties in Russia) and face two attempts on his life by Russian secret services, and then indefinitely imprisoned in a high security Siberian prison on the opposition to the war in Ukraine. He was only released in a high stakes prisoner swap last year. In spite of all this, the dissident is keen to emphasise the importance of his time at Cambridge in shaping his trajectory.
“I think Cambridge is a really good launching craft for life, for professional career, just for everything really, it teaches you to be independent,” he remarks, reminiscing on the opportunities he had to define himself while at university. Through debates at the Union, running his College’s history society, and trawling the UL’s archives, Kara-Murza had a depth of opportunities to define himself at Cambridge. There’s a depth of emotion in his voice reminiscing on his time here. “It’s always a little sad to come back here, a little nostalgic, because it just makes you realize how much time has passed.” But, he is quick to remind me that this is no ordinary visit: “It’s my first time since prison…I was certain that I was going to end my life in that Siberian special regime prison. I never thought I’d be back here again.”
Of all the things he took from university, his education as a historian is what informs his political mission. “I think if there is an educational background, an academic background, a profession that prepares you best for political life or participation in politics, this is history,” he asserts confidently. For Kara-Murza, historians know best “how the world works”. They’ve studied the rise of dictators, the corruption of power, and most importantly “how the story ends,” especially in the case of his native Russia. This historical intellect “never came as useful to me as it did when I was sitting in that Siberian prison,” he declares “because I always knew I was right”.
“I never thought I’d be back here again”
Kara-Murza was treated differently to most prisoners in Russia. Those who chose to speak out against the regime are seen as “the most dangerous criminals, because we can ‘infect other people’s minds’, with thoughts and ideas as the regime sees it. They’re probably right in this sense,” he remarks dryly. I’m taken aback by how calmly he describes the conditions he endured. 11 straight months of solitary confinement in a two by three meter concrete cubic cell, with only one small window – recounting endless days where there is “nothing to do, there is nowhere to go, there is no one to speak to”. This treatment is a form of torture, he makes clear, because it strips away the most important aspect of our humanity: “I think it was Aristotle who said that we human beings are social animals, and we need human interaction, contact with each other, just as much as we need water to drink.” Without the comfort of socialising, Kara-Murza experienced his imprisonment as being “an effort to remain sane”.
Even in this state, it was his education as a historian that, in Kara-Murza’s words, “stopped me going crazy”. He proudly recounts his studies of the Russian dissident movement’s history, reading their books, interviewing them for documentaries, and working under them. Through this he gained “invaluable advice” on surviving solitary confinement. “You have to find something with which to fill your brain.” Despite being allowed at most two books a day, he spent his days “sitting morning till night, learning, learning”.
Listing off his compatriots, he explains how famous dissident “Vladimir Bukovsky learned English when he was sitting in the Vladimir City prison. Latan Sharansky practiced his Hebrew. Soviet prisoners who were Roman Catholics learned Latin, I decided to learn Spanish.” He was painfully aware of the absurdity of the endeavour “I never, never thought I’d be able to use Spanish in real life. At best, I thought if I do go crazy, at least I’ll be able to shout at walls in a perfect Castilian dialect!”, he jokes. But he insists learning kept him grounded, “I could tell myself that I’ve actually done something useful today.” Even in the worst conditions imaginable, Kara-Murza found value in engaging his brain.
“Opposition is a term that belongs to democratic societies”
Since his release, Kara-Murza has been organising against the Putin regime, working with fellow activists in order to organise an opposition movement. When asked about it, the first thing he does is correct me, “I’m not sure that term opposition really plays anymore,” he points out sharply. “Opposition is a term that belongs to democratic societies […] in my country, people who oppose this regime are either murdered or imprisoned like I was.”
He’s keen to draw a line between a lack of opposition and support for Putin, claiming that “too many people in the West” buy into “Kremlin propaganda” that the Regime enjoys widespread support. He insists that “there are millions of people in Russia who oppose this dictatorship, who oppose this war of aggression,” but this sentiment relies on “glimpses” of opposition. Kara-Murza dismisses opinion polls, TV debates, and elections in Russia as nothing more than a “circus full of a couple of hand-picked clowns” that act to legitimise Putin, but instead points to “glimpses” of resistance, of dissidence, from the Russian people.
“It was appeasement. It was enabling”
Urging westerners to treat Putin as a dictator, Kara-Murza once again evokes history in a grim warning, when he recalls how “Putin was Putin from the very beginning […] but Western leaders on both sides of the Atlantic chose to turn a blind eye in hope of maintaining some sort of modus operandi with him on the international stage. It was appeasement. It was enabling,” reminding me again that we “have seen this story before”. This is where the thrust of Kara-Murza’s concern lies, that by treating Putin as a colleague and a legitimate leader, the rest of the world forgets the people facing his repression and violence – both Russian and Ukrainian.
This consideration is paramount in Kara-Murza’s view on settling the war in Ukraine, that leaders must remember to “put people first”. He discusses a joint campaign between Ukrainian and Russian human rights organisations to assure that any settlements “include the provision for releasing all Russian political prisoners who are in prison because they spoke out against this war”. There’s serious personal weight for Kara-Murza in this, considering his “torturous” imprisonment. But it’s an issue far bigger than one person, and one experience: “There’s hundreds more like me,” he points out. “We have more than 1300 political prisoners in Russia […] And the fastest growing category on that list of political prisoners is people who have spoken out against the war in Ukraine […] they are captives of this war as much as anyone else, and they must not be forgotten.”
Want to share your thoughts on this article? Send us a letter to letters@varsity.co.uk or by using this form.
