Three of Alexei Navalny’s lawyers handed prison sentences of up to 5.5 years on “extremism” charges

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A judge from the Petushki District Court in Russia’s Vladimir Region has sentenced Alexei Navalny’s lawyers — Vadim Kobzev, Alexei Liptser, and Igor Sergunin — to 5.5 years, 3.5 years, and 5 years in prison, respectively, according to a report by the independent outlet Mediazona. The lawyers were found guilty under a Russian legal statute concerning participation in the activities of an “extremist organization.” The Navalny-founded Anti-Corruption Foundation (ACF) was labeled with such a designation in June 2021, placing it on the same level as al-Qaeda in the eyes of the Russian judiciary.

Prior to sentencing, prosecutor Andrey Katkov had requested 5 years and 11 months of imprisonment for Kobzev, 5 years and 10 months for Liptser, and 5 years and 6 months for Sergunin — this despite the latter’s guilty plea.

Earlier in the day, police in the city of Petushki, Vladimir Region, detained four journalists who had been accredited to cover the trial. The police claimed that the action — carried out at the train station — was undertaken in order to identify the journalists, Mediazona wrote. Despite the claims of law enforcement officials, one journalist said he was detained “on suspicion of theft.” Among those taken into custody was Mikhail Lebedev, a correspondent for the independent outlet SotaVision.

Around 70 people gathered outside the courthouse, including journalists, spectators, and lawyers who came to support Kobzev, Liptser, and Sergunin.

In late December, the defendants made their closing statements. Independent Russian publication Novaya Gazeta published Vadim Kobzev’s in full:

“Your Honor, esteemed participants in the trial,

My speech consists of three parts. The first part is one of gratitude.

First and foremost, I wish to express my gratitude to the presiding judge for a measured and balanced approach to conducting the trial. Your Honor, I sincerely admire your truly stoic calmness and Herculean patience. At times, your face betrayed hints of inner conflict, but your composure always prevailed. Thank you especially for your unwavering politeness and punctuality throughout the proceedings.

I also wish to thank the judge's assistant for her professionalism and competence in her challenging work. On a more personal note: Olesya Vladimirovna, your radiant, calming, and exceptionally kind smile every morning before the hearings gave me an incredible boost of warmth and optimism. Thank you for your smile.

I thank the prosecutors for their restraint and equanimity and, especially, for the absence of melodramatic exclamations and hysterical outbursts often characteristic of the prosecution in such trials.

Of course, my immense and singular gratitude goes to the lawyers. Brilliant defense, impeccable arguments, perfectly calibrated documents, and high-level oratory skills. A better defense cannot be imagined. It’s no secret that the overwhelming majority of you worked entirely pro bono. Lawyers who defend on a pro bono basis in socially significant cases deserve universal respect and honor. Taking this opportunity, I express my deep appreciation and tip my hat to you.

Esteemed Andrey Andreevich Grivtsov, Denis Karlovich Leisle, Andrey Anatolyevich Orlov, Alhas Leonidovich Abgadzhava, Rustam Adamovich Zhane, my deepest respect to you!

Now to you, Alexei Evgenievich. Before the trial, we hardly knew each other. I knew you were Liptser, and you knew I was Kobzev. No more than that. During the long and tedious reading of protocols by the prosecution, we got to know each other better, and our casual acquaintance grew into a friendly relationship. I am truly glad about this. During the trial, you were often my support and ally. I tried to be the same for you. I sincerely hope I succeeded.

The second part of my speech I call philosophical.

The question is: How did we all end up here — in a courtroom, in 2024, in such an unusual composition? To illustrate, let me recount a recent case. In 2012, a famous pop singer, Nikolai Baskov, released a music video for one of his songs. A video like any other, attracting no particular attention outside his fan base. Yet 11 years later, the Tagansky District Court of Moscow noticed the video, and in December 2023, it was banned under the 'LGBT propaganda' law. The court ruled that, and I quote, 'the relationship of the lyrical protagonist' with another man contained 'communicative signs of a romantic relationship.' The TV channel Tochka TV was fined 1 million rubles for airing the video.

How did this happen? What exactly occurred? The country changed over 11 years, and new times arrived. Did Nikolai Baskov or the video’s creators know in 2012 that it would be banned 11 years later for promoting something or other? No, they did not. Could they have foreseen this? No, they could not. More importantly, should they have foreseen it? Of course not.

Over 11 years, the state changed its lens and, peering into the past through a new filter, condemned Baskov’s video.

The same metamorphosis happened with Alexei Anatolyevich Navalny’s thoughts — thoughts expressed aloud, written down, or stored on a hard drive.

We are being judged for transmitting Navalny’s thoughts to others. Could Navalny have imagined in 2011 that by 2021, all his activities over the previous 10 years would be declared criminal, and by 2024, his lawyers would be tried for transmitting his thoughts? Did I know in 2010 that I’d be imprisoned for this in 2023? The answers are rhetorical.

Moreover, during the trial, we saw that even the officers of the Federal Penitentiary Service and Investigative Committee in 2021 didn’t yet know this themselves, quietly and peacefully eavesdropping on Navalny’s thoughts in prison and storing them in a safe.

And, of course, I must draw everyone’s attention to one of Navalny’s thoughts that was overheard: the idea of discussing rising food prices on Telegram. A witness from law enforcement stated in court that he personally considers this thought extremist and criminal. For transmitting this thought, lawyer Liptser sits beside me behind bars.

Who knows? Perhaps in 5–10 years, hundreds in Russia will be imprisoned for reporting price increases. The future is unknown, but we know the past. We know that in the 1930s, ‘40s, and ‘50s, people in Russian courts, with similarly serious expressions, sent citizens to camps for expressing skeptical thoughts about the authorities. A joke about the USSR’s constitutional order or officials — critical or mocking thoughts — was then precisely the same as what we now call 'discreditation' and 'extremism.'

The final part of my speech is both literary and historical. In Erich Maria Remarque’s novel Spark of Life, set in a concentration camp near a fictional German town in the spring of 1945, American soldiers enter the camp. The captured former commandant tries to justify himself:

‘I didn’t know about it. It was others, acting independently…’

An American corporal responds: ‘Of course. Always others. And those who died here over the years, how about them? Or was that not you either?’

‘That was orders. Duty.’

The corporal turns to another soldier: ‘In the coming years, two phrases will be the ones we hear most often around here: 'I was following orders' and 'I didn’t know.'’

The commandant protests: ‘I did everything I could…’

‘And that,’ the corporal replies bitterly, ‘will be the third.’

Your Honor, as you retire to deliberate, I sincerely wish that in connection with your verdict, you will never, under any circumstances, have to utter any of these three phrases.

Thank you for your attention.”

According to the prosecution, the lawyers' alleged activities constituting participation in an “extremist organization” involved taking Navalny's letters out of prison so that the contents could subsequently be published online. The investigation claimed that this allowed Navalny to “continue functioning as the leader of an extremist community.”

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Earlier in December, it was revealed that Navalny’s meetings with his lawyers in prison had been secretly recorded by Russian authorities, violating both Russian law and attorney-client privilege. Cameras installed in the ceiling of the rooms where Navalny and his lawyers met were also used to capture the contents of documents involved in the meetings. As a result, everything Navalny wrote was recorded.

Kobzev, Liptser, and Sergunin were detained in October 2023. Their trial began in September 2024 and was held behind closed doors.

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