Pussy Riot co-founder Nadya Tolokonnikova on her support for Ukraine, her OnlyFans work, and the Council of Europe’s Russia platform
In January, the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly (PACE) launched a platform for Russian democratic forces in exile. One of its most active participants, representing (at least in theory) the interests of anti-war Russians, is artist Nadezhda Tolokonnikova. She initiated the platform’s first public statement on Russia’s responsibility for its aggression in Ukraine, a gesture that drew sharply divided reactions. She also came out against Russia’s return to the Venice Biennale, and the PACE group soon followed with its own letter on the subject. At Meduza’s request, journalist Sonya Groysman spoke with Tolokonnikova about PACE, Pussy Riot, and her work on OnlyFans. We’ve translated some of her most notable responses below.
On Pussy Riot’s campaign against Russia’s return to the Venice Biennale
The number of people who want to take part in our protest has been absolutely staggering. Several major collectors, curators, and artists from other pavilions are on board. People are ready to come from across Europe, which is heartening, because the art world has its own mafia — everyone knows everyone, and most people are afraid to go up against the decision of Biennale president Pietrangelo Buttafuoco. And this man is a neo-fascist, a neo-Nazi, a Putin sympathizer who has expressed admiration for Hitler, Göring, and Mussolini.
[The trend towards loosening restrictions against Russia is] deeply dispiriting. And it’s rooted in human psychology, which Putin knows how to exploit brilliantly. New wars break out, attention shifts — and you can’t demand that people stay 100% focused at all times on what you consider the most pressing issue. You have to understand that psychology and push back against the trend.
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[Pussy Riot’s demonstration will be] a protest with an artistic component. Here’s a hint: think of the Pussy Riot protest in Sochi — “Putin Will Teach You to Love the Motherland.” I’m hoping for somewhat less of a beating than we got that time. It’s not Russia, which does make things easier, but the situation has a lot in common. The Venice Biennale is to the art world what the Olympics are to sport — it puts artists on the map, determines who becomes a significant figure and who stays on the margins.
On why Tolokonnikova submitted her candidacy for the Russian delegation at PACE
I don’t think I’m doing it better than [political scientist Ekaterina] Schulmann, for instance, or [activist and Feminist Anti-War Resistance cofounder] Lölja Nordic. But this is a case where it feels right to quote [the artist Dmitri] Prigov: “I’m ready to serve as compost for the meaningful days to come.”
My concern was that the platform wouldn’t have enough voices from what you might call the “Ukraine victory” camp — people who aren’t afraid to say outright: “We want to see Ukraine win. We want to see Russia suffer a military defeat. We believe Ukraine must be supported by all means necessary, including military ones.” It matters to me that more people say this, because otherwise the whole thing becomes a sort of uncomfortable coyness — being for all things good and against all things bad while never actually describing how you get there.
The selection of the 15 members was one of the last decisions made by outgoing PACE president Theodoros Rousopoulos. I think the choices were made largely on the basis of name recognition and media profile. Most likely he’d simply heard of Pussy Riot at some point. And I know that PACE places great importance on feminism and LGBTQ+ rights, so the fact that we’ve always been outspoken advocates for those communities probably played a significant role too.
On whether the PACE platform has any real power or consequence
If you want to be that cynical about everything, then nobody decides anything. Maybe only Donald Trump decides things — is that where we’ve landed?
As someone with an activist background, I find it genuinely interesting to understand how PACE works. I don’t have the kind of worldview where everything should be handed to me on a silver platter.
The Council of Europe is one of dozens of bodies that govern Europe, and it’s the only one we’ve been given access to. It would be absurd to puff ourselves up and claim we’ve become a government in exile. We haven’t, obviously. But we can do something useful.
The Russian opposition quarrels constantly — and that’s actually part of why I wanted to join PACE. I don’t consider myself part of the Russian opposition, so I have nothing to fight over with its members. That means there’s one fewer person in the room looking for a fight.
The stated goal of PACE — as framed, in all likelihood, by the European officials who designed this — is to try to unite, or at least seat at a single table, the Russian opposition. That’s why the platform’s membership was assembled so carefully. It’s clear they thought about it seriously and did a real analysis. And honestly, I think it’s working. We all share common ground on at least three points.
First: our unanimous position on Ukraine. That’s exactly why we made it our first statement. I was the one who pushed for it. There was a lot of suspicion, including from the Ukrainian delegation, and we needed to state the obvious out loud: yes, we are not Kremlin apologists.
Second: documents for Russians in exile. We’re all in agreement that this needs to be worked on. Some people call them alternative passports, but whatever you call them, people who have spoken out against Putin and Russia’s aggression in Ukraine have effectively found themselves stateless.
[Third:] Political prisoners. Vladimir Kara-Murza and Natalia Arno, for instance, managed to get language included in a PACE resolution specifying that any ceasefire between Russia and Ukraine must include the release of Russian political prisoners — people who spoke out against the war and are now losing their lives and their health in Russian prisons. That’s crucial, because when the time comes to talk about peace, there’s no guarantee that European officials or the Ukrainian side will think to advocate for them.
On my end, I’m preparing several exhibitions in Strasbourg in April about political prisoners. One of them — about women against the war, curated by the Feminist Anti-War Resistance — will be held in the PACE building itself. Another will feature work made by political prisoners. We want to tell their stories to Europeans and to European parliamentarians.
People like the teenager Arseny Turbin, who is being sentenced to an enormous prison sentence; the doctor Nadezhda Buyanova; the journalist Antonina Favorskaya; the politician Alexei Gorinov; and others. Not all prisoners produce work that can be exhibited, but we still want to tell their stories, so we’ll show their portraits alongside accounts of their cases.
On whether it’s unwise for a Russian political figure to explicitly support the Ukrainian military
War is a tragedy, but I proceed from the principle that a victim has the right to self-defense.
My particular strength is that I’m not afraid to hold unpopular positions. I’m used to the hate — it rolls off me like water off a goose. What matters more to me is being honest with myself. I never tell people what they should do; I believe everyone makes their own choices.
From the very first day, I made a decision for myself: I had to support Ukraine’s military needs, because the more effectively Ukraine can defend itself, the lower the body count will be.
On Pussy Riot’s activities in the U.S.
[In the summer of 2025], at the invitation of a curator friend, I was doing an installation and extended performance at a contemporary art center in Los Angeles. It was called Police State — after a song I released in 2017 — and within the logic of the art institution, it was framed as a response to Trump’s election.
Three days into the performance, protests broke out near the museum against Trump’s immigration enforcement agency, ICE, and their horrifying raids. The museum closed because of the protests, and then there were these tragicomic headlines: “Police State Exhibit Closed Today Due to the Police State.”
It was extraordinary. Every artist dreams of breaking down the wall between art and reality — and for me that wall keeps crumbling, over and over, even without my doing anything.
That evening, when I left the museum, I joined the protests and for the first time in my life encountered tear gas and rubber bullets. There’s just a line of cops pointing something at you that looks like a water gun — and could easily take out your eye. The feeling was uncanny: I felt completely at home.
On New Year’s I’d made a wish to feel a little more at home in exile. But that wasn’t what I had in mind.
On her OnlyFans work
Like a lot of things in my life, it started as an experiment. I was talking with a friend of mine who’d started an account — she’s a hardcore leftist, a feminist. And I was struck by how positively her audience reacted. For me, that signaled some kind of shift in society, in how female sexuality is perceived.
Before that, I’d interviewed women with OnlyFans accounts — including the porn actress Stoya. She told me that OnlyFans gave her real independence, freedom, the ability to make content from a perspective that interested her — a female gaze, a queer gaze. Because when she started in the industry, 10 or 15 years ago, most directors were men who decided what was sexy and what wasn’t. OnlyFans shifts that dynamic: you become your own curator, producer, director, and art director.
I was genuinely surprised by how respectful the people who came to my page turned out to be. At first I assumed I’d shut it down within days because of hostile messages. But honestly, in five seconds on Twitter I receive far more abuse than I’ve gotten in five years on OnlyFans.
I help people enjoy female domination, and that’s great. I had one subscriber who was a prison guard — and I told him: “From now on you have to treat the inmates well, and for me you have to wear a cage on your genitals for five hours a day.”
Interview by Sonya Groysman