The making of modern-day Russian dissidents
Members of Pussy Riot, Maria Alekhina, left, and Nadya Tolokonnikova speak at Amnesty International's "Bringing Human Rights Home" Concert at the Barclays Center on Wednesday, Feb. 5, 2014 in New York. (Photo by Evan Agostini/Invision/AP)
Members of the Russian radical feminist group Pussy Riot during their rehearsal in Moscow, Friday, Feb., 17, 2012. Members of the group stage performances against the policies conducted by Prime Minister Vladimir Putin. (AP Photo/Sergey Ponomarev)
Amnesty International members hold their hand knitted Pussy Riot fan scarfs to support the members of the Russian punk band, in Brussels on Sunday Feb. 17, 2013. Three members of the feminist punk band Pussy Riot were sentenced to two years imprisonment for performing a protest song in Moscows Christ the Saviour Cathedral. Although Ekaterina Samutsevich was conditionally released on appeal on 10 October, her two band mates, Maria Alekhina and Nadezhda Tolokonnikova remain in prison. (AP Photo/Geert Vanden Wijngaert)
This photo provided by Maria Alekhina, a member of the punk band Pussy Riot, was taken in the back of a police detention vehicle after she and several others were detained in Sochi, Russia, on Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2014. Fellow band member Nadezhda Tolokonnikova wrote on Twitter that she and Alekhina were detained Tuesday while walking in downtown Sochi, the host city of the Winter Olympics. (AP Photo/Maria Alekhina)
A general view shows the prison where Nadezhda Tolokonnikova is kept, in Krasnoyarsk, Russia, Saturday, Dec. 21, 2013. The Russian parliament has given approval to an amnesty that could pardon jailed members of the punk band Pussy Riot, Tolokonnikova and Maria Alekhina who are serving two years in prison on charges of hooliganism for an irreverent protest at Moscow's main cathedral. (AP Photo/Pavel Golovkin)
Russian punk group Pussy Riot members Nadezhda Tolokonnikova, in the blue balaclava, and Maria Alekhina, in the pink balaclava, make their way through a crowd after they were released from a police station, Tuesday, Feb. 18, 2014, in Adler, Russia. No charges were filed against Tolokonnikova and Alekhina along with the three others who were detained. (AP Photo/Morry Gash)
Members of the Russian radical feminist group Pussy Riot try to perform at a the Christ the Saviour Cathedral in Moscow on Tuesday, Feb. 21, 2012. Members of the group stage performances against the policies conducted by Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.(AP Photo/Sergey Ponomarev)
Russian punk group Pussy Riot members Nadezhda Tolokonnikova (in the blue balaclava) and Maria Alekhina (in the pink balaclava) make their way through a crowd after they were released from a police station Tuesday in Adler, Russia. No charges were filed against Tolokonnikova and Alekhina along with the three others who were detained.
What makes someone into a dissident? Why do some people give up everything – home, family, job – to embark on a career of protest? Or, to put it differently, why, on Feb. 21, 2012, did a group of young Russian women put on short dresses and colored tights, place neon-hued balaclavas over their faces, walk into the Cathedral of Christ the Savior and mount the altar? And why – although they knew that their compatriots would be indifferent and that arrest might follow – did they begin to sing:
Virgin Mary, Mother of God, Banish Putin
Banish Putin, Banish Putin!
In Words Will Break Cement, an investigation of the origins and motivations of Pussy Riot, the art-punk group that staged this famous performance, Masha Gessen set out to answer this question. She met several of the women in person and corresponded with two others, Nadezhda Tolokonnikova and Maria Alyokhin, while they were in prison. She met some of their parents and husbands, in various stages of estrangement, and in one case a daughter.
Gessen’s book in fact begins with Tolokonnikova’s 4-year-old daughter, Gera, who was bored and fidgety on the 11-hour drive to Mordovia. She was on her way to visit her mother in a labor camp. Gessen sat with the family during that drive and during their four-hour visit, in a tiny rectangular room divided by a tall desk. The desk was manned by a prison officer who after some time agreed, reluctantly, to let a sulky Gera sit on her mother’s lap. The conversation ranged from Gera’s favorite foods to the nature of truth, the subversion of language and the ways in which the Russian political system is reflected in prison regulations.
Later, at one of many tedious hearings on her prison conduct, Tolokonnikova expanded further on some of these themes. When guards accused her of refusing to participate in camp activities – including, incredibly, a prisoners’ “Miss Charm” contest – she made a speech: “I assert that it is the principles in accordance with which I conduct my life – feminist, anti-patriarchal, and aesthetically nonconformist principles – that are the basis for boycotting the Miss Charm contest.”
Her conversation alternates between mundane, profound and pretentious. Gessen, here as elsewhere in this excellent short account, doesn’t hesitate to show all these sides of her heroines’ lives. She takes them seriously but understands how odd they all seem in the idea-free zone that is Vladimir Putin’s Russia, and how peculiar their philosophical evolution. Having grown up without ideology, they struggled in different ways against boring schools, feckless parents, pervasive alcoholism. The 24-year-old Tolokonnikova grew up in the Arctic town of Norilsk, and her grandfather was a gulag guard; as a teenager, she taught herself existentialism. Another group member studied engineering and worked on nuclear submarines before quitting and drifting into art photography. Alyokhin, now 25, became an activist because she heard that a national park she loved was being handed over to developers: “I found two telephone numbers and addresses on the internet, packed a knapsack, and, straight from college, went to the offices of the World Wildlife Fund and Greenpeace.”
These three women and a handful of others wound up meeting in various Moscow apartments and art schools, where they eventually conceived the songs and “actions” that became the works of Pussy Riot, a group of one or two dozen women. They had no money, no backers. They were sustained in part by a feeling of camaraderie, though that was elusive: As the group constantly redefined itself, the members quarreled, disagreeing about legal and artistic tactics.
They also kept going because of what Gessen calls “Theory” with a capital T. In a country where the government controls the media, political parties are often fictitious and election campaigns are controlled theatrical productions, it can be hard to express political opposition. Pussy Riot decided to do so using the language of Western radical feminism: Unable to fight the system openly, they gained energy from their determination to fight it aesthetically, as conceptual artists and shock performers. If Red Square was a symbol of power, they would perform a song called “Putin Pissed Himself” there. If Putin wanted to co-opt the church as a form of support, then they would use the church as a site of protest, too.
The question now is whether they can broaden their message – or if they even want to. Certainly Pussy Riot appeals to Western hipsters: These women will always be welcome at a certain kind of gathering in Moscow or in Manhattan. But there isn’t much evidence that they appeal to the Russian heartland. Until now, that wasn’t the point: Pussy Riot was conceived as an art collective, not a political movement, and most of its still-anonymous members want it to stay that way. Recently, several of them disowned Alyokhin and Tolokonnikova because they participated in an Amnesty International concert in New York City. The group’s members could not become “institutionalized advocates of prisoners’ rights.” True Pussy Riot performances could only be “illegal” and conducted in defiance of convention and institutions of all kinds.
Gessen doesn’t claim Pussy Riot will ever move beyond these unconventional goals, and her book doesn’t hold up its members as any kind of ideal. But one senses her desire for the book’s two central heroines to evolve and to become real leaders. In the epilogue, she describes another one of the group’s members who had been half-involved, who had stayed away from the cathedral performance and yet who was, when Gessen met her, fervently hoping that Alyokhin and Tolokonnikova would soon be released: She very much wanted to be part of something – anything – once again.
There are so many drifting, disillusioned young people in Russia, and many of them are waiting to be part of something. If only the “passion of Pussy Riot” could be organized and directed, Gessen hints, then it might make a difference.