‘Democracy has to be fought for’ Twelve years after the Bolotnaya Square protests, Meduza’s Russian readers reflect on what went wrong

Twelve years ago, on May 6, 2012, tens of thousands of protestors took to the streets of Moscow as part of the “March of Millions.” The demonstration reached its climax when clashes between protesters and riot police broke out on Bolotnaya Square, resulting in nearly 400 arrests and criminal charges for over 30 of its organizers. The standoff was the culmination of a longer series of protests that erupted in the aftermath of Russia’s allegedly fraud-ridden parliamentary elections in November 2011 and escalated following Vladimir Putin’s victory in the March 2012 presidential election. Putin ultimately responded by introducing a series of draconian laws cracking down on Russian civil society; today, a protest of that scale being held in Moscow seems almost unfathomable. Many of Meduza’s readers have the Bolotnaya Square protests etched into their memory, and we asked them to share their stories and reflections with us. These accounts have been edited and abridged for length and clarity.

Maria

I haven’t thought about that day in a while, but it was bizarre. My family — my parents, my sister, and I — we didn’t miss a single protest back then. We left dad at home that day, and just the three of us went to the protest. I’m glad he didn’t go; I don’t think he’d have been able to handle it physically. 

We were in a great mood when we got to Bolotnaya — everything was pretty normal at first. Then the crowd stopped for some reason; it got really cramped and we started feeling a bit uneasy. We didn’t understand what was going on. Everything was a blur after that. We got to the [Bolotnaya] square and stood around for a bit, but when we tried to head back, we got caught in a stampede. Someone shouted that [riot police] had started spraying tear gas. That’s when everything got really scary. My mom pulled us back out of the crowd. 

Alexey Navalny and [Left Front movement leader] Sergey Udaltsov walked past us, calling everyone to the stage, so we followed behind them. [Riot police] arrested them right in front of us. [Boris] Nemstov somehow managed to climb up, but police got him down and arrested him as well. 

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The crowd stayed in the square, dancing and waiting to see their detained heroes. A loud roar of applause broke out when they emerged on the bridge — bloodied and bruised. Until late that evening, we strolled the nearby streets, running from the cops as they caught anyone they could get their hands on, and mingling with other protesters.

We ended up going to the police department on Polyanka [Street] where they’d taken the arrested protest leaders. There, we were chased away, and then it began pouring rain. That’s how the day ended. 

The next few days of the unofficial, peaceful protests called “Occupy Abay” felt almost utopian. We hung out and calmly discussed politics with people I’d normally avoid at all costs — radical leftists, nationalists even. It was so fun and interesting, and we were all so absurdly optimistic. 

And then it all came to an end. Some of them are dead or in prison; others have been forced into exile or silence. The country came to an end, too. How strange it all was. How naive and stupid. And, yet, how incredible it had all been. 

Ivan

I was just behind the opposition VIPs when the marching stopped. At first, I thought we’d hit another security control point, but then someone at the edge of the Bolshoi Kamenny Bridge shouted out, “There’s more of them than us!” I hopped up to the edge to take a look — and in the direction of the Pashkov House and Borovitskaya [Square] I saw a sea of what looked like astronauts.

Then the detentions began, and everyone started retreating in all directions. I knew at that moment that this wouldn’t end well for us — and, internally, I surrendered.

Danil

I was 17 years old. When a group of young people near the stage started suggesting we storm the Kremlin, I sided with those who criticized them as troublemakers. At the time, I — naively — thought that we’d already won, and that the moral superiority of peaceful protest was enough to enact change. Looking back today, I regret that I wasn’t radicalized enough.

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Kirill

At the beginning of the march, my friend and I happened to be near the LGBTQ+ activists and Pussy Riot supporters. They asked us to hold up a sign at the front of the crowd, and we agreed. Press photographers walked past as we marched with the sign — to this day, our photo adorns the Wikipedia page for LGBTQ+ rights in Russia. I’m so glad we ended up in what was clearly one of the main crowds. 

We’d gone to every major protest rally since the Bolotnaya rally in [December] 2011, and this one was no different at first. When the violence broke out at Bolotnaya, we were on the opposite side of the square. We were trapped between the crowd and the area cordoned off by the riot police, so we didn’t see any of the beatings or the overturned porta-potties. 

For the first time, I had the feeling that we’d get arrested — something that had never happened before. I was already counting on my fingers the amount of days I’d likely be detained to see if I’d get out in time for my vacation: If it was 10 days, I’d make it, but if it was 15, I’d miss my flight. Then, suddenly, the cordon silently came apart. We only learned what had happened not all that far from us on our walk home. 

For a little while, the period of “Bolotnaya protests” gave me hope for democratic change in Russia. But it became clear after May 6th that it was time to give up on this dream. I moved to the E.U. shortly afterwards, and I’ve only been back to Russia for short visits. I doubt I even need to say this, but the last few years have only strengthened my conviction that I made the right choice.

Kristina

I was 16 or 17 years old. I lived really far from Moscow and only saw what they allowed us to see. I didn’t seek out any alternative information on the Internet, and I wasn’t into politics; I just didn’t have the inclination for it. Although, come to think of it, I started having conversations when I was 15 about how something just isn’t right here. I could see that the people around me — unlike the “defeated enemies” from the history books — weren’t able to live very well in “great Russia.” It just didn’t all add up, and no one would have a serious conversation with me about it; they ignored me. 

I wish I’d known more back then. I’d have actually committed to emigrating instead of just dreaming about doing it one day. It would have meant that I wouldn’t be just starting my journey now; I was one of those who left in 2022. I regret all the time I lost — today, people write online about how they understood all this back in 2012. For everyone else, everything was fine until Russia’s attack on Ukraine and mobilization. 

I sympathize with all those who fought for a free Russia back then and suffered because of it.

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Artem

I wasn’t there, and now I’m ashamed of that. If “sympathizers” like me had joined the protestors, I think history would have turned out differently. There was a sea of people — but it could have been an ocean. A truly powerful force. 

Ilya

It was the last opposition protest I’ve been to. I was young, fired up, and full of hope for change. It felt like if we exerted just a little more pressure, didn’t disperse, and stayed there until inauguration day [May 7th], then everything would change — the authorities would listen to us and backtrack, and they’d hold new elections. After all, there were so many of us.

I scuffled with a riot officer in the first few rows before he hit me with his baton and I managed to run away. But then — when the police got ahold of the next guy from the crowd and carried him off — I looked back. I saw that the majority of protesters didn’t actually want to change anything; they just stood there screaming “shame” and filmed everything on their phones. And if I were the next one to be grabbed and carried off by police, no one would stand in their way (but, rest assured, at least I’d be able to find a cool video of myself online after getting out of jail a few years later). I remember being an election observer and seeing all the ballots for Putin with my own eyes — and even if it wasn’t 65%, it was definitely more than half. I turned around and went to the exit; they were still arresting people in the square. 

It clicked in my head that day that these people, even those gathered that day on Bolotnaya Square, don’t actually need anything; for them, Putin will do. People are ready to shout “It’s time to take power,” but they aren’t ready to actually take it. And yet, a year and a half later, they watched [the Euromaidan protests in] Kyiv with inspiration and pride in their neighbors and thought: “That was our chance — and we missed it.” 

So I left because it seemed like it was the only right thing to do. Now I read the news about Russia’s special military operation from abroad, and I don’t see anything inspiring — just darkness. 

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Olga 

That day at Bolotnaya Square, I was wearing a tank top with the phrase “I c==3 Putin” written on it. I was a bit nervous taking the metro — it wasn’t every day that I was leaving the house with an image of a penis on my clothes. I can’t say that Bolotnaya felt like a watershed moment because, before it, there was also the Chistye Prudy rally on December 5th, 2011, and the Sakharov Avenue protest on December 24th, 2011. 

I still remember how fast we had to run that day [May 6th]; it took me a while to catch my breath, but I was so happy that I’d come to know the side streets of Zamoskvorechye so well in the six years I’d been living in Moscow. My friend’s boyfriend was charged in the Bolotnaya Square case and was given a prison sentence (I didn’t know him personally, but when someone in the same social circle as you goes to prison — it’s sobering).

I didn’t stop going to protests, but it became a lot scarier. Now, 12 years later, the idea of voicing your opinion in a crowd of thousands in Moscow seems impossible. It feels hopeless.

Dmitry

I’d participated in almost all of the winter 2011 and spring 2012 street protests since the Solidarity protest on Chistoprudny Boulevard [December 5, 2011]. My brother and I went to the [May 6, 2012] protests at Bolotnaya with less enthusiasm than we’d had at the winter demonstrations; once the authorities “certified” the parliamentary and presidential elections, the illusion that collective action could affect regime change was shattered. But still, it seemed wrong to just throw up our hands and do nothing. 

I was on the right-hand side of the Maly Kamenny Bridge when the marching stopped unexpectedly. The Internet was spotty, and we weren’t getting any messages from the protest leaders at the front of the demonstrations. But everyone around us was calm; I guess they were just enjoying the sunny spring day. The crowd then started inching toward Bolotnaya Square, and my brother and I were able to get into the middle of the square. 

Less than 20 minutes after the start of the protest at Bolotnaya, a fight broke out, and it became clear that the protest would not go as planned. My brother and I decided to go across Luzhkov Bridge, which the police hadn’t closed yet. From there, we could see the crowds of protestors — and a black riot police helmet floating down the river from us. 

Today, my friends and I (we all left Russia) often think back to the events of 2011–2012, and we blame ourselves for not sticking around until the end — then the total usurpation of power and the war in Ukraine wouldn’t have happened. But when I think back to that [Bolotnaya] protest, I remember the absolute chaos of it all, and how we had no idea what was going on around us. In order to put up a strong resistance, we would’ve needed a fierce and aggressive crowd; people ready for street combat. But I didn’t see anyone like this. 

I think the only ones who came prepared to fight that day were the riot police. As for the protestors — we had our guard down, and we found ourselves out of our depth. 

Denis

I went to Bolotnaya that day with an acquaintance who I’d gone to several other protests with before. Ten years later, I’d come to learn that that same acquaintance supports the war [in Ukraine]. 

We were deep in the crowd when the clashes with the police first started, so we didn’t understand what was going on. Everyone was pushing and shoving, and they began chanting stuff like “The police are with the people.” Most people started trying to get away from Bolotnaya, and I had to drag this one girl I’d met at the start of the protest out of the chaos — she’d become my wife four years later. 

There’s a common belief that democracy is mostly established through peaceful means. That’s a fairytale. In most countries, people have established democracy through blood; democracy has to be fought for. But no one dared to explain this to protestors — not to those at Bolotnaya, nor to those who came after. They were probably afraid that people wouldn’t understand. 

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Katya

In 2012, I was working for a newspaper and went to Bolotnaya to report on the protest. I didn’t have a photographer or a cameraman with me; I just took notes in my notebook and texted updates to my editor. Before the stampede and the police clashes started, I remember the riot police coming up and hitting on me. Then we got to Bolotnaya Square and realized that the passage through the area had been blocked off. Navalny, Yashin, and Udaltsov were sitting on the ground in a sign of protest, and me and other journalists were all clustered around them. More and more people started coming up and crowding the area cordoned off by the riot police and the metal detectors that blocked the entrances to the square. 

So many people had crowded into the square; we were all squeezed together and people started pushing and shoving. I’m pretty short, so I remember everyone’s shoulders closing in around me, and the sky, suddenly, disappeared. It felt like my ribs were caving in. I was terrified, and I started screaming — probably also because a huge red-headed photographer pulled me up, lifted me above the crowd, and tossed me over the police cordon. I ended up on the other side of the cordon, between the riot police and the police vans. Someone had taken a photo of my fall; I saw it many times on social media and Facebook afterwards. 

The general feeling among the crowd, especially at the beginning, was, “We’re strong, we can do this, Russia will be free,” and all that. I left Russia the following year. Now — 12 years and countless protests later — the same chants and slogans that used to inspire hope and excitement now bring hopelessness, numbness, and sadness. It’s a great sorrow that the hopes and dreams of so many people that day at Bolotnaya haven’t come true. 

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Anton

My friend and I were marching at the front of the demonstration. I was 24 years old, and he was around the same age. It was the first protest we’d ever been to — and the most intense. It had already felt like there was nothing the government could do to stop us; everyone around us looked so cool and cultured. 

When we got to Bolotnaya Square, we saw the roadblocks and the cavalcade of security forces. I remember thinking the officers in the first row were so young; they jutted out like they’d been put up front as some sort of police initiation. 

After that, I remember Navalny telling people around us to sit on the ground. Then they started arresting people. We stood up, everyone squeezed together like sardines. At one point, someone threw a cobblestone, and the cops started running into the crowd and grabbing people. We tried to get in their way; others started hitting them with flagpoles and ripping off their helmets. At some point, one guy who was really worked up shoved a piece of cobblestone or asphalt into my hand. Stone in hand, I set my sights on the “crown jewel,” aiming to cut through the eight or so meters between me and the Kremlin, but I got worried that I’d hit a protester on the back of the head. 

In the end, we managed to get out of there. I remember how scary it was when a group of riot police burst into the crowd and started bashing people with their batons. Then the cops retreated but “forgot” one of their own; he found himself surrounded by protesters and started screaming bloody murder, crying for his “comrades” to come get him. He was scared to death. 

For me, that day was a turning point. Doubt began to creep in that we wouldn’t be able to change anything, but I’d hoped I was wrong.