‘The injustice of it all broke me’ A funeral attendee describes bidding farewell to Alexey Navalny
On March 1, Russian opposition politician Alexey Navalny was buried in Moscow. Thousands of people gathered outside the church where his funeral was held and the nearby cemetery where he was laid to rest. Police cordoned off the Church of the Icon of Our Lady Soothe My Sorrows in advance and began checking people’s documents and belongings. In the end, only a few of the mourners who came to pay their respects were actually able to attend the service. In her own words, one woman who made it inside the church describes the funeral service for Alexey Navalny.
When I first found out about [Alexey Navalny’s death], I felt a lot of rage, a lot of anger. The injustice of it all broke me. I couldn’t fathom how it could happen this way. How is it possible for there to be such an injustice in front of the whole world? I was incredibly angry, and I needed to do something with that feeling, to express it somehow. Today, I’m feeling horrible. I don’t know how to describe the feeling — grief and enormous loss. I’m really scared.
I had the goal of getting into the Church [of the Icon of Our Lady Soothe My Sorrows for the funeral]. I went there early, around 9:00 or 10:00 in the morning. There were a lot of people near the metro. There were police, communication vehicles, buses. As I approached the church, OMON [riot police] were walking alongside me. There were also a lot of them around the church. They set up barriers at the entrance, and there were metal detectors at the gates. Everyone was being searched and recorded on camera.
When I entered the church, a Friday service was going on. There were about 30-40 people there. The women standing next to me looked like regular parishioners. I overheard them whispering that there were a lot of people today. It didn’t feel like an ordinary day. There were strange people there. For instance, there was a group of young people who seemed to be from some pro-government organization. They huddled together and didn’t pray or cross themselves — just stood and talked to each other. I don’t know why they came. From what the women next to me were saying, I understood that the service had been dragging on for a long time. It ended about an hour before [Navalny’s] funeral began.
Around noon, Yulia Navalnaya’s mom and, from what I gathered, another member of Alexey's family arrived. By that time, apparently, access to the church had been restricted. Because Yulia’s mom had to show her passport to prove that she was indeed a family member.
At some point, it started to thin out: the usual parishioners started to leave, and only those who came for the funeral stayed. Uniformed police officers came into the church and started driving people out. It didn’t matter what you were doing or who you were — just leave, end of story. The police were quite harsh. One woman started to resist, she was clinging to the door, and they physically threw her out. At that moment, they turned on a siren outside. Next to me, a man was saying a prayer. The mix of wailing and praying was very eerie.
I didn’t leave because I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get back in again, and I sat down with Alexey’s family. We talked a little. I learned that the church for the funeral wasn’t chosen at random. Alexey was a parishioner there, he used to go there. They baptized their son Zakhar in this church. That’s why the priest agreed to conduct the funeral service.
They allowed 70-100 people into the ceremony, although the church can accommodate more. The casket was open. Alexey looked very thin. People came up and placed flowers into the casket. Some were crying, holding candles, praying. There were no extreme emotions, wails, or outbursts. Only one girl was sobbing, but they calmed her down quickly, saying: “Let’s not disturb things, let’s keep quiet.” It was clear that those who came were grieving. Sometimes from in the church, you could hear people outside chanting ’Navalny.’ It gave you goosebumps.
Alexey’s parents and Yulia’s mom sat on a bench [next to the casket]. Alexey’s mom and dad were holding hands the whole time, whenever they didn’t need to cross themselves.
It’s difficult for me to talk about the emotions of people who are burying their child… When the service was over, people started coming up to Alexey’s mom and saying: “Thank you for your son.”
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Interview by Kristina Safonova
Translation by Emily ShawRuss