My newsletter covers a wide range of contemporary issues that are relevant to mental health professionals. I am also particularly interested in tracking how events in the public realm manifest themselves in our work, both directly and indirectly. In this month’s newsletter, I focus on the death, and likely murder, of Alexei Navalny, the Russian opposition leader, who died in prison on February 16, 2024. The reason why I have elected to pursue the case of Navalny is not obvious and will become apparent only toward the end of the newsletter.
My curiosity about Navalny has been spurred, no doubt, by his example as sad indication of the threat to democracy globally and of the disturbing reality that the bad guys seem to be winning. Navalny rose to prominence, appalled by the kleptocracy after the fall of communism, and thus devoting himself to various anti-corruption groups. In a fascinating dialogue with the Polish newspaper editor, historian, and oppositional leader, Adam Michnik, in 2015, Navalny emphasizes that the way to vanquish corruption was through democracy (p. 50).[i] He stipulates four conditions to amplify this point: the ruling regime must be easily replaceable, elections fair and transparent, the judiciary independent, and the media free (p. 51). Navalny never pulled his punches in condemning Putin’s pseudo-democracy, which he regarded as “a system of governance revolving around one man” (p. 70).[ii]
Navalny notes that what motivates him is “to prove that the Russian people are no less well adapted to democracy than any other nation” (p. 84). In an astute and prophetic passage, he speaks directly to the Russian people:
We deserve a normal life—proper education, proper medicine, proper roads. It’s not war we need to invest in— it’s human capital. Arriving in Europe, all Russians say, “I want to live as they do here—I want the courteous cops and the quality roads.” But this is something we can achieve only by reforming Russia, not by seizing Ukraine or the Baltics. And the Russian people know this only too well. But the idea of external expansion is being aggressively driven into their heads (p. 104).
This was written after the Crimea invasion in 2014 but before the war with Ukraine in 2022. Navalny was a passionate advocate for Russia embracing the identity of being a European country, an idea has become remote at the present time, given the ongoing war and Putin’s recent reelection.
In Herszenhorn’s biography, Navalny is quoted making another declaration that is haunting to hear: “If Russians and Ukrainians are told to shoot each other, then they should stand back-to-back at the border and shoot at those who give such orders” (p. 211).[iii] Navalny mistakenly predicted that Putin would threaten, but then back away from an invasion, which he deemed unimaginable. Perhaps, Navalny was naïve about Putin, but not many people predicted his appetite for war and aggression.
There are a few points about Navalny that are worth stressing and honoring. First, his courage, which was exemplified throughout his life. He was undaunted in taking on corruption and what he persistently termed Putin’s party of “crooks and thieves.” His courage was evident especially after being poisoned and treated in Germany, when he returned to Russia, knowing he would be arrested (and likely convicted and sent to prison). There is, perhaps, some grandiosity in Navalny’s belief that he might be an exception and not suffer the brutal fate that transpired. Herszenhorn’s biography suggests that a weaknesses of his was not being able to back down from a fight. This might be right, but I still admire his choice not to compromise his beliefs, even at the peril of his own life. At a time when it is tempting to be cynical about social change, the memory of Navalny as a lover of truth and justice deserves abiding respect.
The second point worth appreciating about Navalny was his evolution from nationalism, which included flirtation with the right wing and brandishing a gun in videos, to including tolerance for migrants as part of his platform when he ran for mayor of Moscow. He remained strongly identified as a Slav, extending a sense of connection to people from Ukraine and Belarus, and contrasting this to how he felt about people from Central Asia. In discussing the matter of church and state with Michnik, Navalny tells us that while he respects their separation, “suitable conditions must also be created for the church to propagate Christian ideas” (p. 76). He tells us that he believes in a “healthy conservatism,” which defends “the preservation of the family” (p. 77). Not surprisingly, Navalny was not a fan of the Pussy Riot. Diversity and gender do not seem to figure in Navalny’s politics.
Still, Masha Gessen, a friend of Navalny and a trustworthy guide, argues that Navalny grew to be a more sophisticated thinker over time: from being an ethno-nationalist to a civic nationalist, and from being a libertarian to a social democrat.[iv] In his dialogue with Mishnik, Navalny is candid in reflecting on the past: that he had overestimated Yeltsin (who ended up promoting Putin) and failed to appreciate Gorbachev, which he freely admits were positions he came to regret. Navalny was someone who was able to change his mind and acknowledge mistakes.
The third point that is striking about Navalny is from a report, based upon his final months in prison. The New York Times article documents his stalwart defiance, his engaged correspondence, and his effort not to be crushed by being in solitary confinement for 300 days in a cell measuring 7 x 10 before being transferred to even harsher conditions. At the center of his prison life, we are told, were books. He reread Solzhenitsyn. And he said he came to love memoirs: “For some reason I always despised them. But they’re actually amazing.” I was intrigued by this revelation—both why he had hated memoirs and why he came to admire them.
Readers of this newsletter might recall that I am completing a book about memoirs that contend with therapy. The aim of the book is to claim that while memoirs and therapy are indulgent (stemming the Latin root of “seeking free expression”), they are not self-indulgent. Memoirs often exemplify free expression, rather than mere navel-gazing. Indeed, the best memoirs are rarely about the self, but about the relationship between self and others. Perhaps, this can help us make sense of why Navalny initially hated memoirs. He might well have associated them with self-indulgence—reveling in private life and being apathetic about politics. Such a mentality, retreating into the self might be especially tempting in enduring a corrupt society, where oligarchs have appropriated the most valuable resources and grab power for themselves.
So, what changed Navalny’s mind? How did the actual experience of reading memoirs change his opinion about them? (And what were the memoirs that he read? I would love to know). Perhaps, he came to realize that memoirs are records of a particular society at a particular time, that they are more than just reflections of an individual about him/her/their self. Perhaps, he also came to a new understanding of the preciousness of an inner life, all the more so when prison provided such limited stimulation. Having so much time on his hands in prison, Navalny was able to get past memoirs as about the almighty self, valuing and learning from their creative voices.
Of course, it is impossible to say what Navalny had in mind in noting his change of heart regarding memoirs. I speculate here with great respect for his plight—a human being whose commitment to truth-telling and justice became too threatening to a dictator besieged by an ongoing war. I imagine that Navalny must have been thinking about how intertwined the personal and the political are. When the political realm is so vicious we still possess the capacity to turn inward. As Navalry observes in comments preceding his dialogue with Michnik, “the only way to defeat a dictatorship is to preserve one’s inner freedom. Even when no other freedoms remain” (p. xxi).
Navalny’s courage and his willingness to change his mind both converge in his change of heart regarding memoirs. His moral heroism deserves to be acknowledged— his willingness to die, rather than to compromise his beliefs. But moral heroism is a rarified quality, and it cannot be expected for everyone. It does raise a difficult question that is related to our work as clinicians: do we encourage patients to have the courage of their conviction or do we help them to make choices that are more pragmatic and likely point to compromising standards. More perspicuously, would we be willing to respect patients’ choice that might include risking their lives? And, if not, might we unwittingly be supporting a lower standard of morality? Who can say whether Navalny would have been better off living comfortably with his family in Europe versus the choice that he made—to sacrifice his life for his love of truth and justice. Altruistic risks, it seems to me, deserve their own category, separate from risks like self-harm or harming others.
[i] A. Navalny and A. Michnik (2015). Opposing Forces: Plotting the New Russia. London: Egret.
[ii] For an excellent discussion of despots who rely on pseudo-democracy, see William Scheuerman’s Why Do Authoritarians Win?, a review of John Keane’s new book on “the new despotism”: https://www.bostonreview.net/articles/william-e-scheuerman-why-authoritarians-win/?utm_source=Boston+Review+Email+Subscribers&utm_campaign=a0c4609e29-reading_list_3_24_2024&utm_medium=email&utm_term=0_2cb428c5ad-a0c4609e29-41179525&mc_cid=a0c4609e29&mc_eid=13ca2371c7
[iii] D. Herszenhorn. (2023). The Dissident. New York and Boston: 12 Hachette Group.
[iv] M. Gessen (2024). The Death of Alexei Navalny, Putin’s Most Formitable Opponent. The New Yorker (https://www.newyorker.com/news/postscript/the-death-of-alexey-navalny-putins-most-formidable-opponent)