In Meljine, very close to the marina, at the “Maksim” hotel, every Monday at 6:30 PM, a small group of people gather and… write letters. Real, paper letters, which are then put in envelopes and sent on a long and very slow journey.
Who writes paper letters today, in the 21st century? Why?
They talk about this in their confessions for "Vijesti" Aleksandar Topaz i Alexey Belenkin, emigrants from Russia living in Montenegro.
TOPAŽ: WE WROTE 3.141 LETTERS FOR 837 POLITICAL PRISONERS
My name is Aleksandar Topaž.
I am an emigrant from Russia and currently live in Herceg Novi.
We have learned from that, letters take a long time to reach their recipients. And sometimes they don't arrive at all. It is much faster and easier to send an email or contact the person directly via internet messenger. But the problem is that there are places where emails don't reach. And there are people who don't have access to the internet. These people are - political prisoners. And that place is - prison.
That's why adult men and women take ordinary ballpoint pens and write letters on paper, like in the 19th century, put cheerful postcards drawn with colorful felt-tip pens in envelopes, exchange stickers and write to their acquaintances, and often to unknown addressees, about how they are doing in Montenegro, about their lives, about cats, about the sun, about the sea...
Similar gatherings are held every week in Podgorica, Budva and Bar. The first such evening was held in Budva on October 30, 2023, which means that we have been writing to Russian political prisoners for more than two years. We hope that with each letter we send at least a little Montenegrin warmth to a prison unit somewhere in Siberia.
February will mark the fourth anniversary of Montenegro becoming a new home for thousands of Russian emigrants. Russian children are attending local schools, people are learning the Montenegrin language, getting acquainted with traditions, and gradually getting used to leaving their previous lives behind. At the same time, many of us continue to watch with pain what is happening in Russia today.
Some Russians who live in Montenegro today faced political persecution even before leaving for their different opinions and disagreement with the government's policies. With the beginning of the war against Ukraine, the scale and number of repressions in Russia have increased manifold and continue to grow day by day. Readers of "Vijesti" have probably heard about the case Alexei Navalny and his death in the prison unit, as well as for a number of other resonant processes that resonated.
However, right now, thousands of people, about whom no one knows and about whom the media does not write, are in Russian prisons and camps on political charges. At the very beginning of the war, the State Duma adopted a law on criminal liability for “fake news about the activities of the Armed Forces of the Russian Federation”. Today, any person who dares to write their opinion on social networks about what is happening in Russia and Ukraine, which differs from the official state propaganda, is subject to criminal liability. In other words, just for expressing disagreement with the government’s policy (not because of actions, but because of words!) people are given the status of extremists and sent to serve long sentences in inhuman conditions in Russian prisons and camps.
We emphasize: these are not politicians, these are ordinary people who could not remain indifferent and silent. People who are being sentenced to huge prison sentences for the simple, human sentence: "No to war!".
Mikhail Simonov, 67, a retired railway worker from Voronezh, wrote on social media: “They are killing children and women, we are singing songs on Channel One. We, Russia, have become godless. Forgive us, Lord!” He was sentenced to six and a half years in prison. Tatyana Laletina, 23, an artist from Tomsk, transferred $10 from her account to a Ukrainian humanitarian foundation. She was sentenced to nine years in prison for high treason. Varvara Volkova, 25, a flight attendant from the Moscow region, got into an argument in their village's general internet chat room with a tanker - a participant in a "special military operation" - about the war in Ukraine. The tanker was later killed, and the girl was arrested and sentenced to seven years in prison after being reported by pro-government activists.
There are not a few such stories, not even a few dozen - there are thousands. According to estimates by human rights organizations, an average of five people are arrested in Russia every day for political reasons. They end up in prisons, often without public support and media attention, left to fend for themselves in the face of a repressive apparatus that has inherited and carefully preserved all its features from Stalinist times over the years. Their cases are often secret. Sometimes all that can be found out about a political prisoner is his name, year of birth and the address of the prison unit. Out of fear or conformity, relatives and friends often cut off contact with them. Letters from strangers become their only alternative source of information. They remind them that on the other side of the prison wall there is another world and people who think and feel the same as they do. And, equally important, the very act of receiving letters shows the prison and camp administrations that this person has not been forgotten. This is, of course, a very weak, but still certain protection against possible abuse. And there are few places in the world as terrible as the prisons in Russia.
The letters we write have enormous significance for the prisoners, but no less importantly, for ourselves. They give us the feeling that we can still make a difference, that we can at least slightly improve the life of at least one person. It may be an illusion, but it proves that there is still room for compassion and solidarity in our world. Writing letters to a political prisoner is a symbol that we have not given up and that we have not forgotten, a way to remain human in a world where geopolitics has become more important than human life. In addition, it is the only safe form of protest against state lies and violence that we still have left.
During the “Letters to Political Prisoners” campaign, we wrote 3.141 letters to 837 political prisoners. We kept censors in 252 prisons and colonies busy with “important work.” Thirty-two people we wrote to are already free. And most importantly, we received 791 responses. Each of those responses gives us strength and motivation to continue. Because each of them says that every letter received in prison is like a breath of fresh air. At the end of the year, we organize evenings where we read out loud the responses we received. Sometimes there is so much strength, optimism, and faith in the future in them! It is not clear who supports whom more - we the prisoners or they us.
In addition, artists who have been behind bars send us drawings they made in prison. We print them and write letters to other prisoners on these postcards. Thus, a thread of human participation and compassion stretches through distant Montenegro between two people who have never known each other, scattered in different prisons and camps across the endless expanses of Russia.
We, Russian emigrants of the fifth wave, love Montenegro and are grateful to it for our new home. We are learning Montenegrin and trying to read “On the Bridge on the Drina” in the original. But inside we are still in our homeland and look back with pain. And as in the novel Ivo Andrić A bridge connects different shores and cultures, so we, not having the physical possibility of returning home, build that bridge within ourselves. And this fragile, paper bridge of letters connects us with those who remained in Russia and who found the strength within themselves to remain who they are. With those who are persecuted for the truth. With those with whom we will surely meet again, when the fog that envelops our country once clears.
BELENKIN: LETTERS AND ATTENTION ARE TRULY LIGHT
My name is Alexey Belenkin.
I am a musician and a poet. I am 49 years old, I was born and lived in Moscow. On February 24, 2022, the Russian army, by order Vladimir Putin, started the war in Ukraine. The day before, I had been arrested and sentenced to 30 days in prison for extending my hand to a man standing on the street with a page from a notebook on which was written in ballpoint pen: “No to war.” Under threat of further arrest, I was forced to leave Russia.
Today I live not far from Herceg Novi, in the village of Kuti, at the foot of the beautiful mountain Sniježnica. Here I rent a house from my good hosts, Zorana i AzraI give music lessons, play in a rock band with friends, and learn the Montenegrin language.
But half of my life - the inner one - remained there, in Russia and Ukraine. The war has been going on for almost four years. It has killed and continues to kill thousands of people. Soldiers and civilians. Men and women. Old people and children. For four years I have suffered from constant thoughts about it and from the powerlessness to stop it.
At the same time, in Russia, all those who are against the war are being persecuted with increasing cruelty. People are being arrested, tortured, held in inhumane conditions, denied medical care. They are being sentenced to huge prison sentences.
Many people know about the death of politician Alexei Navalny, who was held in terrible conditions for almost two years. But we know dozens of names of those who died in prison.
Reading about war and suffering every day, I felt a strong need to share my feelings with others. To face this disaster together - and to try to help together.
We started meeting and writing letters to prisoners in Russia. These meetings then spread to different cities in Montenegro. Two years ago, at a gathering in Budva, I listened to them read the answers that had come to us from prison. And then I felt that a new movement was being born in the world - in conditions where nothing can change, we remain human by supporting each other through the walls.
Today I want to share some of those letters with you - with the Montenegrins who welcomed us in this difficult time.
Mikhail Warrior, 66 years old, Moscow, political activist and human rights fighter, my friend. After him, his nephew, a journalist from St. Petersburg, was also arrested, Artyom KrigerMikhail was sentenced to seven years in prison.
"...My sincerest greetings and warm wishes to your new Russian friends. It's wonderful that you're finding each other there and sticking together. I also really liked your kittens, future cats. (…) Well done, cats - keep it up! All the best to you and all your loved ones and new friends. "
"As for the repressions in our country, I am mostly informed. We live in terrible times… It is very important that you and your comrades do not allow the world to forget about political prisoners. I think that is of enormous importance.. "
Last fall, in protest against the unjust actions of the prison administration, Mikhail went on a hunger strike. He refused first food, and then water - for a full fifty days. He is now recovering in prison and I hope his health will stabilize. He has been held in solitary confinement for months; here is his last message to his friends:
"I ask for forgiveness from everyone I made worry about me. You can still live here: you can read, go for a walk, and so on. You don't need to worry about me.. "
Irina, 37 years old, artist and eco-activist from Samara. Sentenced to 20 years in prison.
“…Hello, I received your email… Thank you for your support. Each of us goes through our own trials. If I were you, I would feel the same. I am very familiar with these feelings. And the questions hanging in the air. And the sadness and anxiety… Letters and attention are truly light. We are not alone. Although this world causes deep sadness. It does not take all of humanity to destroy everything. Everything that is so expensive and precious. Here, neither love nor kindness can fix anything anymore. (…) What is light for me…? I have not found the answer yet…”
“…I want to try my hand at illustrating books. Several people encouraged me to do this. Thanks for your help. Your poems are great, I liked them. I understand - I'm drawing compulsively now too. I'm reading your poem and wondering if I could illustrate it… There are so many layers to it. I'll be looking forward to new letters and news (…) Peace to your home!”
“…It’s wonderful that my drawing reached you. Honestly, I was already confused about how many poems and drawings there were. I think there was only one. I managed to draw it at the last moment. And then they transferred me from Samara - they probably got bored of me.”
Marija, journalist from Barnaul, 48 years old, mother of two daughters. Sentenced to six years in prison.
"...The poem is wonderful, lacy, airy, thank you! Five days ago I was released from the disciplinary isolation ward. It happened unexpectedly (…) they released me on the eve of the evening count. I am now getting used to a different environment (…) The cell is painted, the sanitary area is separated from the rest of the space. The lime affects the external appearance - I constantly get dirty, like I used to do in a chalk school. I arrange postcards around the table, regularly changing the setting. I write, occasionally glancing at the flowers and cats that dominate today's exhibition..."
"Ljosha, how do forced emigrants from Russia behave in a small European country? What traditions and holidays does the Russian diaspora cherish? I love our beautiful, suffering homeland, our people who have preserved intelligence and humanity in an atmosphere of centuries-old burning of these qualities..."
Alexey and Elena, spouses, 52 and 51 years old, Stavropol Territory. Sentenced to 16 and 13 years in prison.
“…Hello, Alexey! I recently received your letter and immediately replied. I want to express my immense gratitude for your support and participation (…) Knowing that there are people who think of us, sympathize, share our ideas and hopes - it means a lot to us. It helps us endure hardships, difficulties and humiliations. It simply makes us live. I am not exaggerating (…) The photo of the blooming almond tree reminded me of my home. In my yard there was a peach tree very similar to this one. I always loved nature; before my arrest I was engaged in beekeeping and viticulture (…) I had my own house, the small joys of life, like many others. I could live the same way now, burying my head in the sand. But my Lena and I could not do that. I am sincerely grateful to you for communicating with my wife. It means a lot to her. At first she was deeply depressed and convinced that people did not care about her, moreover - that they despised us. But the very first letter from the volunteer lifted her spirits. I would like to make a big request - If you write to my wife, tell her that I love her and miss her very much... We will get through this and be together again!"
“Dear Alexei Borisovich! I was very glad to receive your letter! (…) I love my husband very much, the feelings are mutual and our love helps us survive. He is the best and most wonderful man. (…) I feel so-so, I am trying to survive in this place, the most important thing is not to get sick. I work in a sewing workshop. I am very tired of the people around me (…) The photo shows a beautiful house in Montenegro, as well as nature, known for its beauty. Of course, I am trying to endure and believe in our bright future. Families will be reunited, there will be peace and happiness. We are waiting for that beautiful future. Convey the best wishes to the people you meet every week. With respect, Jelena.”
Bonus video:
