Dissidents by chance: The Kremlin has turned to labeling random people in Russia as traitors and terrorists

Доступно на русском

The subjective sense of being a “foreign agent”

Even before the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022, the Russian judicial and law enforcement systems operated under a principle commonly referred to as “Basmanny justice.” For people whom the state viewed as physical or political threats, there existed a separate layer of repressive rules that effectively allowed the Kremlin to dictate court rulings as it deemed necessary.

For the overwhelming majority of citizens, the risk of prosecution under “political” charges remained minimal. Violations of the unwritten “Basmanny” rule often sparked public outrage, preventing the authorities from overusing their exceptional privilege. However, after the “foreign agent” designation was introduced following Putin’s return to the Kremlin in 2012, the government began testing its limits. Among the first to be branded “foreign agents” were the Golos election monitoring association, the Memorial Human Rights Center, and the Sakharov Center.

In 2017, the legislation was expanded to include a registry for media outlets, soon encompassing virtually all publications operating independently of the Kremlin. Two years later, the status of “individual — foreign agent media outlet” was introduced for bloggers and artists. Today, any Russian citizen can be designated a “foreign agent” provided that the Justice Ministry decides the person is “under foreign influence.”

In 2025 alone, the label was applied to space writer Vitaly Yegorov, Soviet-era filmmaker and screenwriter Eduard Topol, bodybuilder Alexander Shpak, philologist and poet Polina Barskova, and even prominent pro-Kremlin blogger Roman Alekhin. Nobel Peace Prize laureate Dmitry Muratov has been listed as a “foreign agent” since 2023. The sole criterion for assigning the status is the subjective judgment of Justice Ministry officials.

The erosion of boundaries between “political” and “nonpolitical” cases is most pronounced in matters of state security — particularly criminal cases against people whom the Russian authorities designate as enemies.

A country of spies

Among the most serious articles in Russia’s Criminal Code are those covering treason and espionage. Both are commonly referred to as “spy” charges, but treason applies only to Russian citizens, while espionage applies to foreigners and stateless persons. Espionage carries a maximum sentence of 20 years in prison. Since 2023, treason can be punished by life imprisonment.

For many years, “spy” charges were applied selectively, typically at the behest of top officials seeking to identify internal enemies. In the 20 years following the adoption of the Criminal Code in its current form in 1997, about 100 people were convicted under these provisions. There was only one acquittal: In December 1999, after three and a half years of legal proceedings, treason charges were dropped against environmentalist Alexander Nikitin. Three other cases were dismissed, and 17 people were pardoned by the president. About a quarter of all cases during that period were opened amid the 2008 war with Georgia, with another spike following Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea in 2014. Investigations into “spy” cases were typically handled by officers of the elite First Department of the Federal Security Service’s investigative directorate.

That practice changed with the start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Some treason and espionage cases were transferred to regional FSB offices, and new offenses were added. Two new “spy” articles were introduced: “Confidential cooperation with a foreign state, international or foreign organization,” and “Providing assistance to the adversary in activities knowingly directed against the security of the Russian Federation.” Most significantly, prosecutions under these provisions became widespread.

According to the study by Pervy Otdel and Parubets Analytics, there were 196 known defendants in “spy” cases before the war, but by the end of 2025, that number had surged to 1,627. The past year alone set a record, with more than 600 new cases and at least 468 convictions. Around one-third of those convicted were citizens of Ukraine. There were no acquittals.

Types of state treason

Most wartime “spying” cases fall under the charge of treason: 61% in 2024 and more than 77% by the end of 2025. Data on these cases are incomplete and can only be collected with delays, as Russian authorities deliberately restrict access to such information. In most cases, even the names of defendants, the substance of the charges, and the dates of arrests and verdicts are not disclosed. Authorities do not say which detention center or penal colony a person is being held in. Many cases are fully classified, a practice the state uses in order to limit the public’s right to know how proceedings unfold.

In more than one-third of treason cases (35%), defendants are accused of transferring state secrets to foreigners. In many instances, however, the “secrecy” of the information proves illusory, as the materials were publicly available. In some cases, information is declared a state secret only after its alleged “disclosure.”

One example of such retroactive “secrecy” is the case of Perm photographer Grigory Skvortsov, who in June 2025 was sentenced to 16 years in prison on treason charges. Skvortsov had shared materials with an American journalist from the book Soviet “Secret Bunkers”: Urban Special Fortifications of the 1930s–1960s, by historian Dmitry Yurkov.

The book was written using declassified sources, was freely sold on the Ozon marketplace until April 2025, and remains available for download from numerous websites. Nevertheless, the FSB deemed Skvortsov’s actions to constitute the transfer of state secrets.

Another 30% of treason cases are linked to arson and sabotage. While such acts fall under other provisions of the Criminal Code, investigators often identify elements of “treason” or “confidential cooperation” in them. This allows prosecutors to seek harsher penalties while maintaining the appearance of legality.

For example, defendants accused of arson who would normally face no more than five years in prison can receive life sentences regardless of the actual damage or threat to public safety they may have caused. After all, the minimum sentence for treason is 12 years, more than twice the maximum penalty for arson itself.

This practice of combining charges — particularly in cases labeled as terrorism-related — first emerged in 2023, but it has since become routine. Compared with 2024, the number of such “combined” cases rose by 50%, now accounting for about one-tenth of all treason and espionage cases. These cases are heard by military courts, and sentences can reach 30 years.

The disproportionate nature of punishments is also evident in other types of cases, such as donations to Ukrainian charities, which are often classified as treason in the form of “aiding a foreign state.” One of the most striking cases of the past year involved nuclear physicist Ruslan Shadiyev, who according to investigators sent a donation equivalent to about 12 euros to cryptocurrency wallets allegedly linked to the “Get Lost” (“Idite Lesom”) draft evasion project and to Ukrainian units made up of volunteers from Russia — the “Freedom of Russia Legion” and the “Russian Volunteer Corps.” Shadiyev was sentenced to 18 years in prison on charges of treason and aiding terrorist activity.

Shadiyev said he was unaware that the organizations were banned and believed his money would go to charitable causes. Even setting that aside, a donation of about 1,200 rubles cannot pose a threat to the security of a nuclear power and should not be punished with sentences typically reserved for Islamic State militants.

Cases based not on actions, but on the mere allegation of intent, make up about a quarter of all such prosecutions. Additionally, approximately every seventh treason case is opened over the accused’s alleged intent to join Ukrainian armed formations. Evidence typically consists not of concrete preparatory steps, such as buying equipment or tickets to Ukraine, but of correspondence with feedback bots operated by Ukrainian organizations.

Every tenth case involves alleged cooperation with foreign intelligence services. These cases are also usually based solely on messages, without proof of actual cooperation or harm to national security. Often the correspondence is not with Ukrainian forces but with an FSB officer, as entrapment has become routine.

Sentences are also becoming harsher. In 2024, the median sentence in “spy” cases was 12 years, but in 2025 that figure rose to 15 years. In addition, in 2025 courts issued two life sentences for treason — before that, the longest prison term ever imposed under such statutes was 27 years.

The most alarming trend, however, involves the widening pool of people targeted under treason and espionage laws. The largest group of defendants consists of Russian citizens with no ties to the military, politics, or public administration. Many are IT specialists, businesspeople, teachers, or rank-and-file employees. They have no access to state secrets and no authority or resources that could pose a threat to national security. The overwhelming majority had never engaged in political or civic activity. Yet the most severe criminal charges are now routinely applied against them.

Terrorists by appointment

According to another study by Pervy Otdel and Parubets Analytics, a similar surge has been seen in terrorism cases. Over the past five years, the number of convictions under terrorism statutes has tripled: from 310 people convicted in 2020 to 1,026 in 2024. Data for the past year are incomplete, but based on available figures — 659 convictions in the first half of the year — the final total is expected to reach 1,300. The trend began before the war but was sharply accelerated by the new domestic Russian reality.

The largest share of terrorism cases — just over 40% — fall under the article covering “public calls for terrorist activity, public justification or propaganda of terrorism.” As might be expected, the provision encompasses an extremely broad range of statements. In practice, law enforcement can treat any remarks about a terrorist attack made in the presence of more than two people as constituting a “justification.”

Waves of such cases follow every major attack — a practice that long predates the full-scale invasion of Ukraine. Beyond intimidating the public, security agencies use these prosecutions to save face: when they fail to catch actual perpetrators or prevent attacks, cases for “justification” allow them to simulate the defense of state security.

After 2022, use of the “justification” article expanded further as cases involving attacks themselves became more frequent. From 2020 to 2022, the annual number of defendants in such cases did not exceed 40. In 2023, there were 121 cases; in 2024, 205. Full data for 2025 are not yet available, but based on the 147 defendants recorded in the first half of the year, about 300 cases are expected.

One reason for the growth is that authorities classify acts such as attempting to set fire to military enlistment offices and railway signaling equipment — common in the first two years of the war — as terrorist attacks. Another factor is Ukrainian operations that Russia also labels terrorism.

A key case was the October 2022 bombing of the Kerch Bridge, organized by the Security Service of Ukraine (SBU). A truck carrying explosives disguised as rolls of plastic film detonated on the bridge early on Oct. 8, 2022, collapsing about 250 meters (820 feet) of roadway and destroying several rail cars of a passing freight train. Five people were killed, and traffic across the bridge was temporarily halted.

Russian authorities classified the operation against the bridge as a terrorist attack, and at least 13 people were convicted of “justifying terrorism” over comments posted on social media about the explosion. Most received prison terms, including prominent sociologist Boris Kagarlitsky and Moscow municipal deputy Alexei Gorinov.

The longest sentence — 16 years — was handed to 67-year-old St. Petersburg human rights activist Sergei Skobov, who was convicted simultaneously of “justifying terrorism” and of “participation in a terrorist organization” due to a single social media post and alleged ties to the Free Russia Forum. At the time of Skobov’s sentencing, the forum had been designated an “undesirable” organization, but not a “terrorist” one.

Even Russians who unwittingly played a role in the Ukrainian operation were imprisoned on terrorism charges. In August 2023, SBU chief Vasyl Malyuk told the Ukrainian outlet NV about the planning behind the bridge operation. He said he personally devised the scheme with two subordinates. The couriers were used “blindly” — none of the Russians or Ukrainians involved in transporting the cargo knew explosives were hidden in the film (that went for the deceased driver as well). For them, it was routine logistics work.

None of the defendants in the bridge bombing case attempted to flee. Roman Solomko, a farmer from the Kherson Region who acted as an intermediary in the shipment, voluntarily went to the FSB to give testimony. Oleg Antipov, a logistics specialist from St. Petersburg whose company handled the final stage of transport, was among the first to contact authorities and provide documentation.

Nevertheless, on Nov. 27, 2025, Solomko, Antipov, and six others who were connected in various ways to transporting the “film” were sentenced to life imprisonment. None had any ties to Ukrainian intelligence services or knowledge of the planned explosion.

One of those sentenced, entrepreneur Dmitry Tyazhelykh, owned a SIM card rental company whose services were used by Ukrainian security officers. Tyazhelykh played no role beyond providing a publicly available service. By that logic, anyone who ever provided a service to a person later labeled a “terrorist” could be sentenced to life in prison.

No right to a defense

Another element in the normalization of repression is the systematic prosecution of lawyers for performing their professional duties. Although the Russian state previously interfered with the work of defense attorneys, before the war this mostly took the form of additional legal obstacles. Since the war began, however, those intimidation tactics have increasingly taken the form of criminal cases.

In the first three quarters of 2025, Pervy Otdel recorded 54 new criminal cases and 48 verdicts against lawyers. The grounds for prosecution vary widely, ranging from fraud to insulting religious believers’ feelings and issuing calls for terrorism. Given the fact that the main source of information about such cases is press releases from Russian state security agencies, there are serious doubts as to the validity of the charges. In a number of cases, the political nature of the prosecutions is unmistakable.

Over the past year, the most high-profile case involving lawyers concerned the attorneys of Alexei Navalny: Vadim Kobzev, Alexei Liptser, and Igor Sergunin. The charges stemmed from the lawyers’ transmission of Navalny’s letters from prison — an act that had never previously been considered a crime.

Nevertheless, the court ruled that this constituted “participation in an extremist community,” sentencing the defendants to between three and five-and-a-half years in prison. The contents of Navalny’s conversations with his lawyers were obtained through wiretapping installed under a contrived pretext at the site of their meetings — an action undertaken by state authorities in clear violation of Russian law.

Another key development was the opening of a series of state security cases against lawyers in the Kaliningrad Region — Maria Bontsler, Roman Morozov, Ekaterina Selizarova, and Vladimir Sorokin. Bontsler was detained in late May on charges of “confidential cooperation with a foreign state,” and that same day, FSB officers searched the homes of Morozov and Selizarova, who were said to have known about their colleague’s alleged “criminal activity.” Selizarova was subsequently forced to leave Russia. In September, Sorokin was charged with “financing extremism” in connection with a donation of 500 rubles ($6.50) to organizations linked to Alexei Navalny. Sorokin denied the charges, and investigators presented no evidence.

Criminal cases were also opened against lawyers Dmitry Zakhvatov and Nikolai Polozov after they left Russia. Zakhvatov was accused of making “public calls for actions against state security,” while Polozov was charged with spreading “fake news” about the army. In both cases, the real reason for the persecution was their criticism of the war in Ukraine.

Finally, lawyer Vladimir Buzyurgin from the Novosibirsk Region was charged with “disclosing the secrecy of a preliminary investigation” over an interview he gave after the investigation had already concluded (a similar case was once opened against the author of this article over an interview about the case of journalist Ivan Safronov).

The grim end of “Basmanny justice”

The system known as “Basmanny justice” has finally come to an end — but not in the way many Russians had hoped for. Where there was once a tangible distinction in Russian criminal practice between ordinary and “political” cases, that line has now almost completely vanished. Repression, initially applied almost exclusively to people who actually challenged the state, can now affect virtually anyone.

About 10 years ago, shortly after the annexation of Crimea, the author represented a resident of Sochi named Oksana Sevastidi. Several months before the start of the 2008 Russia-Georgia war, Sevastidi had seen a train carrying military equipment pass through the city and sent a text message about it to acquaintances in Georgia. Although the equipment was not concealed and could be seen by any passerby, her message was deemed to contain state secrets. A year later, she was sentenced to seven years in prison on charges of “state treason.”

Even in the post-Crimea Russian legal system, that case ultimately had a positive outcome. The absurdity and obvious injustice of the charges helped generate widespread publicity, and during a press conference Putin was even compelled to answer uncomfortable questions: How could information that fit into a 70-character text message and which was widely known threaten the security of a nuclear power? In March 2017, Sevastidi and several defendants in similar cases were pardoned and released.

However, in the post-invasion Russia of 2025, Sevastidi’s case would simply be lost among thousands of similarly absurd ones, and the seven-year prison term that seemed so severe in the mid-2010s would now appear relatively minor against the backdrop of life sentences.