A forced end

Thanks to the editors. To mark the closure of Novaya Gazeta, a small gathering gathered in front of the Moscow office on November 9th, with editor-in-chief Dmitry Muratov in the foreground.

Thanks to the editors. To mark the closure of Novaya Gazeta, a small gathering gathered in front of the Moscow office on November 9th, with editor-in-chief Dmitry Muratov in the foreground.

The last editorial meeting began at twelve o'clock. Subsequently, on November 9th, the government-critical Novaya Gazeta evacuated its centrally located Moscow office, where it had carried out journalistic work for 29 years under unbearable conditions. A small crowd waited in front of the front door and shouted “Spasibo” (thank you) as the editorial team members came out into the street. On the wall of the house someone pasted over the sign indicating the editorial office was located here, and now it reads: “Novaya Gazeta had its headquarters here.”

The inventory is being stored for the time being. It is the temporary bitter end of a media institution that presented events in post-Soviet Russia in an unvarnished and critical manner. And the admission that, under the current conditions, independent, investigative journalism no longer has a place in Russia.

Editor-in-chief Sergei Sokolov nevertheless conveyed a bit of optimism in his improvised speech. "We're not saying goodbye, we'll definitely think of something," he said in front of the assembled group. After all, it is not just a newspaper or a website. Rather, Novaya Gazeta embodies an idea and a goal in life for its employees, which cannot simply be destroyed. He promised that the newspaper would return as soon as the first signs of political change became apparent.

Most recently, the editorial board feared that Novaya Gazeta could be classified as extremist. Then everyone who works for the newspaper would be liable to prosecution.

On October 30th, the news of the newspaper's closure sounded very different. Maybe because the shock was still too deep. "The Russian authorities and the Russian secret services have forced the editorial team to stop their work," it said. Under the title “Nas ubili” (They killed us), Sokolow, who replaced his long-time predecessor Dmitry Muratov three years ago, recapitulated the newspaper’s good and bad years in a video speech on YouTube.

Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov called the closure of Novaya Gazeta a "normal rotation process" and contradicted the theory that an era of independent media was coming to an end. He talked about “tough competition” in the media business, without mentioning the immense government pressure the newspaper was exposed to. Most recently, the editorial board feared that Novaya Gazeta could be classified as extremist after an unknown person broke into the editorial offices. Then everyone who works for a newspaper would be liable to prosecution. The rooms may have been bugged.

However, this incident was just the latest in a long series of bans, attacks, house searches and even murders. Constant official inspections and the threat of losing editorial offices were the least of the problems. Grave decorations and a cut-off mutton's head in front of the door or caustic chemical substances that were showered on the entrance area are just a selection from the repertoire of the opponents that the newspaper had to contend with.

Worse was the revocation of the media license after the start of the Russian war of aggression against Ukraine, although the newspaper adhered to the rule not to name the war as such. However, that remained the only concession to the new realities. In 2022, the newspaper lost its printing press; without a media license, the rare print editions were only allowed to appear in a circulation of 999 copies. This was followed in April of this year by the arrest of investigative journalist Oleg Roldugin, who had moved to Novaya Gazeta a few years ago and who will soon be put on trial for unlawfully obtaining personal data. In September, the newspaper was classified as a “foreign agent,” which prohibited advertising revenue, and most recently the bank accounts were simply closed.

There was so much hope when the paper was founded. Novaya Gazeta simply means New Newspaper. On April 1, 1993, when the very first task appeared, there was still a spark of optimism in Russia. Around 40 Komsomolskaya Pravda employees founded an independent newspaper under the difficult conditions of the sudden transition to the so-called free market economy, led by Dmitry Muratov and Sergei Sokolov.

Financial difficulties accompanied the newspaper from the beginning, as did all kinds of hostility. The editorial team and authors took up the issues of the time and accepted high personal risks. Igor Domnikov wrote about corruption and the close connection between the Russian state apparatus and criminal structures. He died in 2000 as a result of multiple blows to his head with a hammer. Anna Politkovskaya, who was best known for her reports from the North Caucasus republic of Chechnya, which was devastated by war and violence, was shot dead in her home in 2006. Natalya Estemirova from Grozny, on whose daring assistance Politkovskaya had relied, was kidnapped and murdered three years later.

In 2022, Muratov was doused with paint containing acetone on a train, which got into his eyes and caused chemical burns. The year before he had received the Nobel Peace Prize as an award for his work. Among other things, he advocates for the interests of political prisoners. In an interview for the US broadcaster CNN in September, he demanded that the USA should work for their release. Last week he discussed this issue with prominent leftist Boris Kagarlitsky, who is currently serving a five-year prison sentence. Muratov had visited Kagarlitsky in a penal colony near Tver.

The very last print edition of Novaya Gazeta was sold out before the printer had finished its work. The editors praised her as “strong and terrible”. As always, it contains a lot of research on explosive topics - the consequences of the war in Ukraine, the machinations of the Orthodox, and eerie goings-on in the deepest Russian province. We can only hope that Sokolow is right and times will get better again.